Authors: Karin Fossum
"If it wasn't you, then we'll know, Gøran. From our findings. From what you're saying."
"Everything's a mess."
"Were you with someone?"
"No."
"Did you ask Einar to help you get rid of the suitcase?"
"She didn't have a suitcase!"
The words rang out in the room. Escaped involuntarily from his lips. Sejer felt a chill down his spine. He remembered it now, he was there in his mind. He saw her walking.
She didn't have a suitcase!
"But the bag," he said calmly. "You do remember the bag."
"It was yellow," Gøran groaned. "It looked like a fucking banana."
"Yes," Sejer said. He said it softly, almost inaudibly. "There she comes walking. You see the yellow banana. Was she hitchhiking?"
"No. She was walking along the road. Then she heard the car and stopped. I wondered why and braked automatically. Thought she might ask for directions. But she asked about Jomann. If I knew him. I said no, but I know who he is. I can give you a lift. She got in. Sitting straight up in the passenger seat.
"'He's not at home.'
"'We can look,' I said. And asked what she was doing there."
Gøran was talking to the table. Sejer listened, not daring to breathe.
"'Is my husband,' she replied, smiling. Squeezing the silly bag between her hands.
"'Fucking hell!' I laughed. 'That dirty old man!'
"She looked offended. 'Not polite to say so. You are not very polite,' she said.
"'No,' I said, 'I'm not very polite, screw it. Especially not today. And neither are women.'"
Gøran paused. Sejer felt a trembling in his body, which slipped away and was then replaced by unease. What he was witnessing was the actual story. It made him both relieved and sad. A cruelty he didn't want to see but had become a part of. Forever, perhaps.
"I remember her plait," Gøran said. "I wanted to pull it right off."
"Why?" Sejer said.
"It was so long and thick and tempting.
"'You angry?' she asked, pretty cautiously, and I said, 'Yes, very angry. You women are so stingy.' Then she got a strange look on her face and shut her mouth.
"'Or maybe you're not stingy?' I said. 'Not if you're prepared to settle for old Gunder, and in that case I should be good enough for you.'
"She looked at me blankly. Started fiddling with the car door. I said, no, leave the fucking door, but she panicked and pulled and pushed like a maniac and I thought: She's one of those emotional women who don't know what they want. First she wants to get in the car, now she wants to get out. So I drove on. As we passed Gunder's house she gave me a really distressed look. Started screaming and shouting. So I slammed the brakes on. She wasn't wearing a seatbelt and went slap into the front window. Not that hard, but she started howling."
Gøran inhaled deeply. His breathing grew faster. Sejer imagined a car, askew on the road, and the agile woman, pale with fear, with her hand on her forehead.
Gøran's voice changed suddenly. It became lifeless, almost commentating. He straightened up and looked at Sejer.
"'Do Indian women have just as much room down there as Norwegian ones?' I asked her, and stuck my hand down between her thighs. She went off her rocker. Lost it completely. She got the door open and stumbled out. Ran out into the meadow, terrified."
And Linda, Sejer thought, is approaching on her bike, perhaps she is right around the bend. Any second now she'll see the car.
"I grabbed one of the dumbbells from the back seat and ran after her," Gøran said dully. "I'm in good shape. Running was
easy, it turned me on, but she was fast, too, she ran like a fucking rabbit through the grass. I caught up with her at the edge of the woods. It was weird—I saw a light flash in one of Gunwald's windows. But it didn't worry me."
"Did she scream?" Sejer said.
"No. She was busy running. All I heard was her feet through the grass and my own breathing."
"So you caught up with her. Then what did you do?"
"I don't remember anymore."
"Of course you do. What were you feeling?"
"I felt incredibly strong. My body was on fire. Besides, she was pathetic."
"In what way?"
"Everything was pathetic. Her going to Jomann's. The way she looked. Her clothes and jewelry. All that tinsel. She wasn't young, either."
"She was thirty-eight," Sejer said.
"I know. It said so in the paper."
"Why did you hit her?"
"Why? I was holding the dumbbell in my hand. She curled up with her hands over her head, waiting for the blow."
"Couldn't you have turned around and left?"
"No."
"I need to know why."
"Because I'd reached a boiling point. I could hardly breathe."
"Did you hit her many times?"
"I don't think so."
"Could you breathe again once she collapsed?"
"Yes, I could breathe again."
"Did she get up again, Gøran?"
"What?"
"Did you toy with her?"
"No. I just wanted to finish the job."
"There were traces after you ran all over the meadow. We need to get this right."
"But I don't remember any more."
"Let's move on. What did you do when she finally lay still in the grass?"
"I drove to Norevann."
"What did you do with your clothes?"
"Threw them in the lake."
"You put on your gym clothes?"
"I must have."
"And the dumbbells?"
"I put them in the car. One of them was bloody."
"You had scratches to your face. Did she scratch you?"
"Not that I remember. She hit my chest with her fists."
"How long were you by the lake, Gøran?"
"Don't know."
"Do you remember what you were thinking as you got back in the car and drove home?"
"It's difficult. I drove to Lillian's."
"You're getting fact and fiction mixed up again."
"But I know that's how it was. I would see her in the rear-view mirror. She waved from the window, hidden slightly by the curtain."
"Why did you return to the crime scene?"
"Did I?"
"Had you lost something? Which you absolutely had to find?" Gøran shook his head.
"No. I panicked. What if she was still alive and able to talk? So I got up and went back to the car. Got in and drove back. Then I spotted her. She was staggering around the meadow like a drunk. It was a nightmare. I couldn't believe that she was still alive."
"Go on."
"She was crying for help, but very feebly. She'd almost lost her voice. Then she spotted me. It was strange, but she raised her hand and called for help. She didn't recognize me."
"You'd changed your clothes," Sejer said.
"Yes. Of course."
He lost his concentration for a moment. "Then she collapsed in the grass. She was in a totally different place from where I'd left her. I grabbed one of the dumbbells and ran out into the meadow. Bent down and stared at her. That's when she recognized me. Her eyes at that moment, they were indescribable. Then she called—it seemed—for help, feebly, in a foreign language. Perhaps she was praying. Then I hit her many times. I remember thinking it was strange that there could be so much life in a person. But in the end she stopped moving."
"The dumbbell, Gøran? What did you do with it?"
"Don't remember. I might have thrown it in the lake."
"So you went back to Norevann?"
"No. Yes. I'm not sure."
"And afterward?"
"I drove around for a bit."
"So you went home at last. Tell me what happened then."
"I chatted to my mom a bit and then I took a shower."
"And your clothes? Gym clothes?"
"I put them in the washing machine. Afterward I threw them out. I couldn't get them clean."
"Think about the woman. Do you recall what she was wearing?"
"Something dark."
"Do you remember her hair?"
"She was Indian. I guess it was black."
"Was she wearing earrings? Do you recall them?"
"No."
"Her hands, which she hit you with."
"Brown," he said.
"With rings?"
"Don't know. Don't know any more," he mumbled. He flopped onto the table.
"Do you confess to murdering this woman, Poona Bai? On August 20th at 9
P.M.
?"
"Confess?" Gøran said, frightened. It was as if he suddenly woke up. "I don't know. You asked to see my images and that's what you got."
Sejer looked at him calmly.
"What shall I write in the report, Gøran? That these are your images of Poona's murder?"
"Something like that. If that's all right."
"It's not very clear," Sejer said slowly. "Do you consider this a confession?"
"Confession?"
Once again there was a frightened expression in Gøran's eyes.
"What do you think it looks like?"
"Don't know," Gøran said anxiously.
"You've given me some images. Can we call them memories?"
"I suppose we can."
"Your memories of August 20th. A genuine attempt to reconstruct what happened between you and Poona Bai?"
"Yes. I suppose so."
"So what have you in fact given me, Gøran?" Gøran leaned across the table. In despair he sank his teeth into his shirtsleeve.
"A confession," he said. "I've given you a confession."
Friis tried to keep himself under control.
"Do you understand what you have done?" he said hoarsely. "Do you understand the seriousness?"
"Yes," Gøran said. He lay dozing on the bunk. His body was entirely filled with serenity.
"You have confessed to the most serious crime of all, carrying the law's most severe penalty. Despite the fact that the police don't have a single conclusive piece of evidence. It is highly questionable whether they are able to bring a case on this weak basis at all. In addition they have to find a jury willing to convict you on postulations and hearsay."
He paced the floor angrily.
"Do you really understand what you've done?"
Gøran looked at Friis in surprise. "What if I did it?"
"
What if!
You said you were innocent. Have you changed your mind?"
"I don't care about that any longer. Perhaps I did do it. I've been sitting in that room for so many hours thinking so many thoughts. I don't know what the truth is anymore. Everything is true, nothing is true. I don't get to work out. I feel like I'm drugged," he snuffled.
"They've put pressure on you," Friis said earnestly. "I'm asking you to please withdraw your confession."
"You could have sat in there with me! Like I asked you to! That's my right!"
"It's not a good strategy," Friis said. "It's best for us if I don't know what happened between the two of you. That way I can cast aspersions on Sejer's methods. Do you hear me? I want you to withdraw your confession!"
Gøran looked at him in amazement. "Isn't that a bit late?"
Friis started walking up and down the cell floor again.
"You've given Sejer the one thing he wanted. A confession."
"Are you looking for the truth?" Gøran said.
"I'm looking to save your skin!" he said sharply. "It's my job and I'm good at it. Heavens above, you're a young man! If they convict you, you'll be going down for a long time. The best years of your life. Think about it!"
Gøran turned toward the wall. "You can go now. To hell with it all."
Friis sat down next to him. "No," he said, "I'm not going. Under duress you have confessed to a crime you didn't commit. Sejer is older than you, an authority. He has exploited your youth. It's a miscarriage of justice. You're probably completely brainwashed. We will withdraw the confession and they'll just have to lump it. Now lie down and rest. Try to get some sleep. There's still a long way to go."
"You have to talk to my mom and dad," Gøran said.
***
The fact of the confession had barely been published when the papers had to inform their readers about its withdrawal. At Einar's Café people sat reading, their eyes wide. Those in doubt, who had maintained his innocence all along, felt tricked. In their heart of hearts they could not believe it. That a young man would confess to smashing a woman's head to a pulp in a meadow if he had not done it. They felt sick at the very thought. Gøran wasn't the person they thought he was. They could not relate to
the legal and technical arguments or the article itself, which listed examples of people who had confessed to murders, and much else besides, that they had never committed. One newspaper reeled off several cases. They examined themselves and felt the resistance, felt that it had to be impossible. And that the people who would be on the jury one day would think as they did.
It was quiet at the café, no fresh debates, just people in doubt, wavering. Mode said, no, for fuck's sake, I'd never have believed it. Nudel was silent and Frank shook his heavy head in disbelief. What the hell were you supposed to think? Ole Gunwald was relieved. He had fingered Einar, but he had turned out to be innocent as the driven snow. True, that was what he had assumed about young Seter, but on reflection he did have sufficient imagination to accept the notion of a raging, overly fit young man who had just been cast off by his girlfriend. And then his mistress, so it was said. How had the papers put it? "A killer with brutal strength."
Gunder had twice come to the telephone to listen to Sejer's explanations. First that they had finally achieved a result, then just hours later this retreat, which didn't worry him, he said, the confession would weigh heavily in court, it needed explaining. We're hopeful that Gøran will be convicted, he said, sounding very persuasive. Gunder thanked him, but he didn't want to hear any more. He wanted it all to be over.
"How is your sister doing?" Sejer said.
"No change."
"Don't give up hope."
"I won't. I've got no one else." Gunder thought for a while. There was something he wanted to mention. "By the way, I've received a letter. From Poona's brother. It's still in the drawer. A letter that Poona wrote to him after our wedding. In the letter she told him everything. He thought I'd like to have it."