The Murder of Harriet Krohn (26 page)

“I was desperate,” Charlo says, nodding. “And I was also ashamed. I was unable to look after my family, and that was a huge, unbearable humiliation.”

“That’s not difficult to understand.”

“Luckily we managed to keep it from Julie. She wasn’t all that old at the time. But now I’ve bared my soul to her. I’ve told her everything.”

“There are no secrets between you anymore?”

“No. No big ones at least.”

He drains his glass.

“Except for the fact that you’re sitting here,” says Sejer. “Haven’t you got to explain that to her as well?”

“Naturally. In one way or another.”

“What will you tell her?”

“The truth, of course. That I’m only being questioned as a witness.”

“You think that’s what you are?”

“Am I a suspect? If that’s the case, I assume you’ve got a duty to inform me.”

Sejer nods gravely. “Well,” he says, “we have reasonable grounds for suspicion. That’s why you’re here.”

“Is that so?” says Charlo. “You’ve come out with it at last. You couldn’t exactly be accused of jumping the gun.”

“Let’s tidy things up a bit,” Sejer says. “Certain things are getting in the way. Unimportant things.”

“Such as what?”

“Your trip to Kongsberg. Can we sweep that out of the way?”

“Why?”

“You were never there. You’re simply trying to fill up the evening.”

“Of course I went to Kongsberg. Why should that be a problem?”

“I believe you drove straight to Hamsund. And there was a large bunch of flowers on the seat next to you. You parked behind the old hotel and got out with the flowers.”

“You’ve obviously got it all worked out. So, what did I do next?”

“You went to number four Fredboesgate. The green house. And rang Harriet Krohn’s bell.”

Now it’s been said. It’s out in the open. But there isn’t such a roaring in his ears as he’d anticipated. He says: “No. No, I didn’t go to her house. I don’t even know who she is.”

“I don’t believe that either. I think she was selected fairly randomly. But by being armed with a bouquet of flowers, it was easy to gain access.”

“I never bought any flowers!”

“Easy now, Mr. Torp. Listen to me. We ought to try to tidy things up here and not spend time on trivialities. We know that you had flowers.”

“I bought them for Julie.”

“So, they were for her? But back then, in November, when she wouldn’t see you? You’ve already explained about that.”

“I was trying to get her to forgive me.”

“But it didn’t work?”

“I knocked on the door of her room, but she wasn’t there.”

“So what did you do with the flowers?”

“I threw them away.”

“Where?”

“Just in a garbage can, somewhere in town. I was upset.”

“You had very little money. But you splurged on expensive flowers?”

“When it comes to Julie, nothing is too much.”

“So this visit to her digs is something you’ve only just remembered now?”

“Yes, I’d forgotten it. But it’s coming back slowly.”

“In other words, there could be other things you’ve forgotten?”

“I don’t think so. I’d probably suppressed the memory of the flowers. It was a setback.”

“You didn’t have other setbacks in the course of the evening?”

“Oh yes, the collision. You could call that a setback.”

“But that wasn’t your fault; you had the right of way.”

“Yes. But it was a miserable end to a miserable evening.”

Sejer nods and makes notes. “Is that the way you’d characterize the evening? Miserable?”

“Yes. I got home completely exhausted. I felt as if I’d been put through a mill.”

“That’s pretty strong. But is it your instability you’re talking about now? You were exhausted by it?”

“Yes. I remember sitting in a chair in my living room and finding my wits slowly returning. As if I’d been far away.”

“Had you been?”

“What?”

“Had you been far away? Out of yourself?”

“Yes, I think you could say that. As if my body and soul had lost contact with each other. Have you ever experienced that?”

“Yes, I have indeed. You feel like a robot.”

“Exactly,” replies Charlo.

“Did you feel like a robot?”

“You could put it that way.”

“What sort of injuries did you sustain in the collision?”

“Injuries? Oh, nothing at all. I got off with a bad shock. And I strained both wrists because I was clutching the wheel so hard.”

“So you escaped completely uninjured?”

“Yes, we both did. Or did he injure himself? He said nothing about it. But then he didn’t get the chance because I was so mad.”

“No, he hasn’t said anything about it. He was actually talking about you.”

“I suffered no injuries, as I’ve said.”

Sejer sits back in his chair and looks appraisingly at him.

“There was blood on the lower part of your parka. Where did it come from?”

“No, you’re on a wild-goose chase again. There was no blood anywhere.”

“On the right side of your parka. Obvious bloodstains.”

“I think I know what he was referring to. That parka did have some bad stains, and he possibly thought they were blood. I was changing the engine oil on one occasion, and I made a mess. That was why I threw it away, as I’ve already said.”

“You dumped it because it was worn out.”

“And because it was stained.”

“Once again, you’ve left out a detail. Let’s look at some others.”

“No, there’s no point. There’s nothing more to say.”

“You weren’t involved in a brawl with anyone in the locality?”

“Certainly not. I’m a peaceable man. And I certainly would have remembered that.”

“Yes, I believe you when you say you’re peaceable. But we have in fact established that you do occasionally lose control.”

“Only very rarely.”

“And the seventh of November was one of those rare occasions. I believe you’d had just about as much as you could take that evening. I believe that’s why you keep forgetting things. Let’s try again. You drove around to the back of the hotel and parked. A man walking a dog observed the car. This isn’t something I suspect or suggest—it’s something I know for a fact.”

Charlo closes his eyes. I’m ill, he thinks. Gradually I’ll get weaker and weaker. I mustn’t think about that now. He says: “All right. I must have forgotten that as well. I sat there and had a cigarette, then I drove out again.”

“Out again and where?”

“Past the railway station to this celebrated junction.”

“You drove straight from the hotel and had a collision?”

“That’s right.”

“So, you needed a cigarette?”

“Yes.”

“Did you have to drive to the back of a hotel to roll a cigarette?”

“No. Not really. I could have stopped along the road. There wasn’t any traffic.”

“So why this maneuver?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps I wanted to hide. I was feeling pretty desperate.”

“You say you were desperate. Tell me about that feeling of desperation. Did it come over you slowly? Or in a sudden rush?”

“I can’t remember that well. No, I think it came on slowly. I don’t know. I had so many emotions. I badly needed a way out. A way out of all my difficulties.”

“Was that what you were thinking when you drove out of town? That you needed a way out?”

“Yes, I was thinking about that a lot.”

“You’d given up the idea of robbing a bank. Did you have any other ideas?”

“The bank job was a joke. I never gave it serious consideration.”

“OK. Perhaps you thought of something else?”

“No, everything looked bleak.”

“But still you drove to Hamsund? Taking the E134 along the river and then onto the R35?”

“I was hoping something would turn up.”

“A miracle?”

“I don’t believe in miracles.”

“You had a more tangible plan?”

Charlo wrings his hands and reaches for his tobacco. Tears it out of the pouch and lays it on a cigarette paper.

“Only vague thoughts.”

“Can you let me in on them?”

“No. I’m not taking that chance. You could get the wrong idea.”

“What sort of wrong idea?”

“About what I’ve done and haven’t done.”

“So you’re worried about that? About what I think?”

“I know what you’re after; I’m not that stupid.”

“Tell me.”

“You don’t need me to do that.”

“I don’t. But I think it’s good to put things into words. It’s not as dangerous as you think.”

“I’ve got my own thoughts about that.”

“That’s your prerogative.”

A pause. Each falls silent. Sejer thinks his own thoughts. Charlo tries to rest a bit, restore himself. He curls his toes in his sneakers, no problem.

“So, you drove up Fredboesgate. You parked behind the old hotel, and then you left the car. Where did you go?”

“I didn’t go anywhere. I just sat in the car smoking.”

“You’ve forgotten something important again, Mr. Torp. The witness who spotted your car said it was empty. You weren’t in it. Where had you gone?”

“Maybe I took a stroll along the street. I can’t quite remember.”

“Can you remember Harriet’s house?”

“I’ve no idea where she lived.”

“In the green house, number four.”

“No, I can’t remember that.”

“But you looked at the lovely listed buildings?”

“I admired them, but not in great detail.”

“Tell me where you went.”

“Well, I might have walked to the end of the street, and then possibly I turned and came back again.”

“Did you meet anyone?”

“Not a soul.”

“This is very important, Mr. Torp. What time was it when you took your stroll in Fredboesgate?”

He forgets to think and answers straight out.

“It must have been ten or thereabouts.”

“In other words, whatever you did in Fredboesgate took half an hour? Your car accident occurred at ten-thirty.”

“Well, it took half an hour then. To walk up and down the street.”

“You went up and down several times?”

“You’re making it sound as if I did. I can’t think properly anymore.”

“That’s because we’re going in circles. Perhaps we ought to get right to the heart of the case?”

“What case?”

“The murder of Harriet Krohn. That’s why you’re here. You do realize that?”

“Naturally. Unfortunately I was in the same area, and you people have got no one else to bring in. That’s why I’m here. But driving around the roads is no crime.”

“Of course not. Even so, I find it strange. Up and down Fredboesgate for half an hour. Desperate and depressed, in a wet parka?”

“Yes, I was at rock bottom.”

“You felt yourself to be of unsound mind?”

“No, I wouldn’t say that. That’s putting it too strongly.”

“Were you thinking about the solution? The one you needed so badly?”

“I suppose I was. But I found no solution. I went back to the car, drove away, and let all my despair rain down over the lad in the Toyota. That’s all there is to say about it. I’m sorry, you wanted something else, I’m sure. But that’s all you’re getting.”

Sejer checks his papers again.

“Some minutes ago you said that it was ten-thirty when you turned off toward Hamsund. Now you’ve changed your statement. You walked up Fredboesgate at ten o’clock. Any comment about that?”

“Not really. My brain’s a bit weary.”

There’s a silence. The dog gets up suddenly and whines, giving his master a doleful look.

“Let’s go outside for a minute, Mr. Torp, and stretch our legs. Frank needs to go anyway.”

The dog heads for a flower bed outside the courthouse. He rummages among ornamental shrubs and emerging perennials for a good spot. Then he crouches awkwardly and does his business. Sejer pulls a plastic bag from his pocket.

“What sort of age will he live to?” Charlo asks.

“Quite a considerable one, probably. For a dog at least. Frank is a Chinese fighting dog. A Shar Pei. I hope he’ll be with me a long time.”

He places the bag in a trashcan. Charlo breathes in the fresh air. He is grateful for the break. He’s regained control. It’s important to keep a check on oneself and not make a slip of the tongue. It’s like walking a tightrope.

“Are you a religious man, Mr. Torp?”

“Not really. But there’s some sort of God out there. He’s got his back turned, though.”

“I’m not religious either,” says Sejer. “But I’ve got a lot of time for Roman Catholic confession.”

Charlo rolls up his sleeves.

“Why so?” he asks and stops as the dog pauses. He’s sniffing at a candy wrapper.

“Confession is a type of discipline. You have to express things out loud; you have to find the words. So, at the end of your life, you’ll be glad you’re not full of unpleasant secrets. Because you’ve confessed them bit by bit.”

“You’re an investigator,” Charlo says. “I can see why you’d appreciate confessions.”

“Yes, but it isn’t just that I like them. I mean, at the time it can be hard to see how any good can come out of a confession. But in the long run. For the remainder of your life.”

“I’m unconvinced,” Charlo says. “I imagine a sin getting bigger when one shows it to others. It grows and brings with it a whole load of reproach.”

“In the short term, yes. But I’m talking about the rest of our lives,” says Sejer. “I’m thinking about how we’ve got to die sometime. How we’ll be lying there in a bed knowing that the end is near. To manage that, we must be able to let go of life. If we don’t confide, we have to take all our misery to the grave with us. I shouldn’t like to do that.”

Charlo thinks about what he’s said.

“We don’t take anything to the grave with us.”

“No. But we carry it with us during the process of dying. And the process must be hard enough without that. Don’t you think?”

Charlo reaches for his tobacco again. The dog vanishes into the shrubbery once more and begins digging enthusiastically with his puppy paws, making the earth fly out behind him.

“I prefer cats,” Charlo says.

“Why?”

“They don’t demand things of us like dogs do. Dogs are so intimate, so intense. They make their presence felt all the time. Panting. Begging. Cats are more on the periphery. They jump on your lap if they feel like it, and leave when they can’t be bothered anymore. They don’t impinge on your thoughts.”