The Indian Bride (25 page)

Gøran bit his lip. "If she doesn't she's lying. We're talking about a married woman here. What if she won't admit to it?"

"I'll ask her."

Gøran shivered. Sejer took a last look at the dumbbells. They were heavy and round and smooth. He clearly wanted to take them for examination, but to do that he would first have to charge Gøran and it was too early for that. He left the room and Gøran followed him down the stairs. His mom appeared in the doorway to the kitchen; she gave them a frightened look. At the same time Sejer heard the dog scratching from the other side of a closed door. It was whining.

"Is something wrong?" she said anxiously.

"Probably not," Sejer said and took his leave. Gøran's mother went over and patted her son, brushing his shoulders. Then she noticed his bare feet. She fetched a pair of slippers from the hall. Gøran stuck his feet in them obediently. Sejer was reminded of curling. The mother was like a broom, the way she swept potential obstacles away from her son's path so that he would slide effortlessly straight into the goal. He had seen it many times.

He went out to the car. Gøran's father was chopping firewood. He looked up as Sejer appeared, and elaborately turned his back.

***

"Hello, Marie," Gunder said.

He studied her lifeless face. "I'm cross today. Let me tell you one thing, journalists are vermin. If they find a tiny crack, they'll squeeze through. Yesterday they called eight times. Imagine! Most of them women and they were ever so concerned, oh yes! Their voices soft like beggars. They all know about Poona, that she was coming to me. It's in your own interest, they say, that you talk to us. Tell us your side of the story. We'll write about it anyway. Not because we'll sell more papers, but because it's our job. People really care about you, you and your Indian wife. They want to know who she was and where she was going. They're worried about you and they want to know what's going on. They say things like that, Marie. We're right outside your house, can we come in? they said. I hung up. Then another paper calls. And so on it went. And then they started ringing the doorbell. When I opened the door, there was a lady there with a bouquet of flowers and a huge camera. I couldn't believe my eyes. I think you're stupid, I said. Plain stupid. Then I slammed the door. I turned the lights off and drew the curtains. It's not like me to slam the door, but I'm not quite myself.

"The weather today is awful. I'm glad the house is on high ground. The basement is damp, but there are no other problems. I haven't spoken to Karsten, so I don't know how he's doing. But I have much more important things to tell you. I've finally met Poona's brother. My brother-in-law, Shiraz Bai. Quite a character, believe you me. A lean, skinny stick of a man with pitch-black hair. Very like Poona. But not as pretty, obviously. He said I could keep her here in Elvestad. I was so relieved, Marie, you can't begin to imagine. It was I who talked her into coming to Norway and right into this awful business. So now I'm going to tend to her grave for all the years I have left. I suspect that her brother is pleased, too. He was keen that I should pay. But that's easy for us to say. We live in one of the richest countries in the world. Shiraz works at a cotton mill;
they probably aren't paid much. Incidentally, there are rumors that the police are about to arrest someone. A young man from Elvestad—I don't know if you know of him. Gøran, Torstein and Helga's son. He is nineteen. I don't understand why they're arresting him. He's seeing a nice young woman and his parents are decent people. But the truth is, I'm not interested anymore. I would like to see him punished, that's all. But I don't need to know who he is. I don't want to know what he looks like. It will only give me nightmares. Seeing his face in the darkness. Things like that. I just want to have Poona buried. Plant flowers. Autumn comes so quickly. I'm worried that the investigation is taking so long that we'll have frost before then. What do you think the vicar will say? Poona is a Hindu. There must be rules and regulations in such cases. I'll bury her next to Mom. Once you get away from this noisy machine, I'll take you up there and show you, even if I have to push you in a wheelchair. I won't mind pushing you around if it comes to that. As far as Karsten is concerned, well, I'm not so sure. Please forgive me for being so blunt, but you deserved better. I'm saying this out loud even though you can't hear me. What if there was just a tiny chance that some of it filtered through to you? What if you felt so outraged that you woke up?"

***

Skarre was driving. Sejer was thinking out loud.

"If Gøran really did visit this woman, then Linda's sighting of the red car isn't worth a whole lot."

"Could he have managed to be in both places?"

Sejer hesitated. "Possibly. But would he have gone to see someone after committing such an act? He would have wanted to be on his own. In a dark place."

"But is a married woman of forty-five going to admit to a relationship with a nineteen-year-old?"

"Perhaps not, to begin with."

"Don't spare anyone, wasn't that what you said? You're not all that tough, Konrad."

"I can learn," he said.

Lillian Sunde appeared in all her glory. Something about her appearance made Sejer suspect that she had seen them from the window and that she had prepared herself well. Her reaction was theatrical when she tried to express surprise. She put her hand over her mouth.

"Oh God! You're here because of the murder?"

They nodded. She was definitely attractive, a bit affected perhaps. There was too much of everything: makeup, jewelry and a whole range of fragrances with no common theme that wafted through the open door. Even Ulla has more style than this, Skarre thought, looking down at the steps for a moment. She ushered them into a hall with black and white tiles that was bigger than Sejer's living room. A broad staircase went up to the second floor. Lillian Sunde wore shoes that clattered with each step.

"You must be desperate for clues if you've come to see me," she said coyly.

Sejer coughed. "I won't waste your time," he said. "Or my own. I just need to know where you spent the evening of August 20th."

They had reached the living room. It was vast, with a sunken sofa in the center of the room. Sejer had never seen anything like it in all his life and was instantly attracted to it. Like stepping into a sandpit. A small hollow in the floor.

Lillian Sunde's eyes widened.

"Me? The 20th? Was that the day it happened?"

"Yes."

He forced himself to look away from the sofa and look instead at her.

She frowned. "I'll have to think about that. What day of the week was it?"

"A Friday."

"Ah. On Fridays I go into town for acupuncture. I have, no, it's irrelevant what I've got, but it helps me. Then I go shopping, food and so forth. I might have been at the hairdresser's that day. I have my hair dyed every six weeks," she said smiling. "And then," she went on, and it was as if she suddenly remembered because she became quiet and her smile vanished, "that was the evening I watched that film on TV." She contemplated this and avoided their eyes by resting her forehead in her hands. "An American film, I don't recall exactly which one. I think it started around 9
P.M.
It was long. I watched all of it."

"Who was with you?" Sejer said.

She glared at him. "With me? No one. The kids have grown up—they're never at home in the evenings now. And as far as my husband is concerned..."

"He works at the cafe."

"Yes. He's rarely home before midnight. And it's 2
A.M.
on Saturdays."

"I need to confront you with something," Sejer said, and recognized the familiar unease. He liked her. She was a nice and pleasant woman who possibly had no reason in the world to have a bad conscience. Yet.

"Do you know Gøran Seter?"

Her eyes widened again. "Gøran Seter? I know who he is. But I don't know him."

"He says he spent the evening with you. Here, in this house."

Her eyes were huge now, like a child's who has seen something appalling. "Gøran Seter? Here, with me?"

"He says you have a sexual relationship and that it has been going on for about a year."

She shook her head in disbelief. Started pacing up and down. Flung out her hands dramatically. "What on earth are you talking about?"

Sejer said: "Is it true? Yes or no," giving her short quarter.
Because he was busy with the questions, he hoped that Skarre was keeping his eyes open. That he was taking in every detail.

"He's never been in this house! Unless he's been here with one of the kids, but I doubt that. Why would he?"

"I just told you. Are you seeing him?"

She fidgeted. Ran her hands through her hair. It was dark copper and piled up on the top of her head. A few long tresses had come loose. The piled-up hair made her seem formal, Sejer thought, but the loose tresses suggested frivolity.

"Honestly! Why is he saying this? I'm a married woman."

"But I understand you are shortly going to be divorced. Am I right?"

She rolled her eyes at how much he knew. "Yes! But that doesn't mean I run after younger men."

"He's nineteen," Sejer said.

"Do you know how old I am?" she said irritably.

"Forty-five, I believe," Sejer said.

She began her pacing again. "I don't understand this," she said, stressed. "Why would Gøran say such a thing?"

"Perhaps because it's true?" Again he thought he could see a number of competing emotions flash through her mind. "This is the situation," he said coldly. "There are certain aspects of Gøran's statement concerning that evening that have led us here. If it is the case that you're able to confirm that he was here with you and you can tell us anything about how he acted, then you'll be helping us to move our inquiries forward. Think carefully before you answer. What you say may have a significant effect on how we proceed."

She stared at them in turn and started walking up and down.

"So, I'm to save Gøran's skin?" she said. "But surely he doesn't have anything to do with the murder?"

"Well, you told us that you didn't know him, did you not?"

"No ... but all the same."

Sejer studied her evident dismay and then said: "Is it the case here that you have a choice between saving Gøran's skin and your own reputation?"

She walked out to the kitchen. Came back with a glass of water that she drank while still standing.

"Once, I'll admit to that, I went to a disco in town. Myself and a girlfriend. Gøran was there along with some other young people. We danced and flirted a bit, that sort of thing. He must have got some ideas into his head that he's still fantasizing about. Maybe he's oversexed. He works out a lot. Bulges everywhere."

"You're aware of that?" Sejer said.

She blushed and turned away.

"So there's no truth at all in his story?" he said.

She turned and stared at him. "Absolutely not."

He handed her his card. "My number. If you wanted to get in touch. What was the film about, by the way, the American film?"

"Unrequited love. What else?" she said sulkily.

The news of Gøran Seter's arrest came to Gunwald almost as a physical shock. The name was not mentioned, but he guessed it from the description of a young man, nineteen years of age, who lived with his parents within a few miles of the crime scene. A young man who worked out, who worked for a carpenter, and who drove a car similar to the one seen by the witness who had biked past. He slurped his coffee and clenched the newspaper tight in his other hand. It could not be true. Not the Gøran he knew, who was a bright young man with a great deal of energy, a steady girlfriend and proud parents, a good job, and nice friends. Nor was it Gøran who had thrown the suitcase into the lake.

The article amazed him. He stared at the fat dog under the table. "Did Gøran do it?" he said out loud. The dog raised its head and listened.

"Because it was Einar Sunde who threw the suitcase into the lake." Gunwald was startled. He had said it out loud and he looked over his shoulder. He could just see the meadow between the dark spruce trunks. It lay there as though nothing had happened, a pretty little corner of Eden. The rain had washed away every trace. The blood from the woman's catastrophically wounded body had seeped into the ground and vanished. I have to call, he thought. If only to say that the suitcase has a different
story. I don't need to say it was Einar, only that it wasn't Gøran. I don't understand it, he thought, staring in bewilderment at the newspaper. He read the story through again. Several conflicting explanations as to where Gøran had spent the evening and problems corroborating certain things had put him under suspicion. In addition, there was forensic evidence that needed further examination. The bit about the forensic evidence was pretty awful. Poor Torstein and Helga, he thought. And how the rumors would fly. Personally he never sat gossiping at the café. He was too old for that and preferred to sit alone in front of the TV with an Eau de Vie. But Gøran was probably innocent and the police would discover this without his help. Or maybe they wouldn't? He didn't have to call right away. First he had to think about how he should say what he had to say. It was important that everything was correctly done. He wasn't going to give his name, not under any circumstances. He carried his cup and saucer to the kitchen table and put the dog on the leash. Once again it was time to get ready to sell four cartons of milk, a loaf of bread, and, if he was lucky, a case of beer. He drove off and opened up his shop. Shifted the bundle of newspapers inside. Stared once more at the headlines. It felt strange to know that it wasn't Gøran when everyone else would be thinking it was. A mixture of self-importance and anxiety waged war inside him. If I were young I would have called a long time ago, he thought. But I can't risk exposing myself. I'll be retiring soon.

Linda heard the news on the radio as she sat in her bathrobe at the kitchen table. She shook her head at the news. It couldn't be Gøran. Or did they know something she didn't? She rubbed her neck. It was still aching. She had been taking painkillers, but they didn't help. She felt enveloped in a strange mist where no one could reach her. Inside the mist there was only room for Jacob with the blue eyes. The world became blurred, but Jacob was crystal clear. Sometimes she had long conversations with him. His voice was so real.