The Murder of Harriet Krohn (24 page)

Charlo gasps for breath. This persecution infuriates him so much that sweat beads on his brow. He turns on his heel and goes into the living room, lifts the handset, and dials Julie’s number. He crushes the spiral of telephone cord between his fingers.

“Hi there, it’s Dad again. I’m going to be a little late. Something’s cropped up that I have to deal with first. Yes, I will explain. Just wait for me and I’ll be along in a while. No, you don’t need to worry. It’s just some stupid detail, but it can’t wait. I could phone when I’m ready to leave if you want. I’ve got to go now; someone’s waiting. No, he’s not a friend of mine. It’s just some mess from long ago that I’ve got to clear up. Right away. I’ll call as soon as I’m finished. See you soon.”

He cradles the phone and stays there brooding. He feels he’s standing beside himself, that everything is unreal. But he knows this is no dream. The blow has fallen; they’ve come for him.

He gets into the back of the patrol car.

He thinks about the thing that’s stricken him. His central nervous system will slowly let him down. Everything outside the windows seems distant. He’s a tourist on his own street, in his own life. He’s lived on this street for years, but now he sees it all for the first time: the low, brown timber houses; the neat hedges; the occasional ornamental shrub by a house wall, soon to flower and decorate the whole street. A young officer with curly hair is driving the car. Charlo meets his gaze in the mirror and looks away resentfully. He won’t give them anything—not a thought, not a word. They don’t know what he’s made of, how composed he can be. He lowers his head and contemplates the zipper of his jacket. He curls his toes and they feel spry. My God, what toes I’ve got. They obey his smallest command! The doctor has made a mistake. Sejer is taking a shot in the dark. He’s gambling everything now, and he’s going to lose. I won’t break, he thinks. I must just keep a clear head. I mustn’t give myself away.

The officer drives slowly. The car is a Ford Mondeo. The short drive to the police station takes an eternity. He has the constant feeling that he’s seeing the town for the first time, in a sort of sudden attack of clear-sightedness. There’s Cash & Carry, there’s Tina’s Flowers. There’s the model on the billboard in her skimpy lace underwear, smiling prettily as always. There’s the church on the hill above the town and the fire station with its splendid towers. He sees the courthouse looming up on the right.

Sejer opens the door for him and Charlo steps out. He straightens up in the sunshine, filling his lungs with air. He’s struggling with a kind of numbness, and he mustn’t let it take hold. He must tense every muscle in his body and be alert. Stay ahead. Like playing chess, he thinks. He was a good player at one time. He stands there awhile, drinking it in. The sun glittering on the windows, a beautiful tree with bare branches, people strolling in the streets. This is what they want to take away from him. But it’ll cost them dear, he thinks as he walks through the door and into the dim reception area. The building envelops him.

HIS IRRITATION AND
nervousness act as a strong curb on his body. They make his movements abrupt and irascible. He can’t help it, even though he’d like to be leisurely, lithe, and aloof. He’d like to saunter into the office and seat himself with exquisite languor. Be confident and secure and on top of things. He isn’t confident. He jerks the chair out from the desk, causing it to make a loud scraping noise. He pushes his illness out of his mind, plants his feet firmly on the floor, and concentrates on his innocence. It’s the thing he must put across during the interview. He feels entitled to it because he didn’t want events to turn out so. It just happened and he must make the man with graying hair understand this.

He notices the dog, Frank. He’s been lying near the wall. He comes ambling over on his large paws to say hello. Charlo can’t resist the temptation to bend and stroke the wrinkled dog. His fingers vanish in his coat, which feels peculiar, like sandpaper. He looks into his black eyes. One moment he thinks there’s the reflection of a gentle soul; the next, he sees nothing. They just shine like buttons. Sejer walks around the room, and Charlo looks at him sideways on. He appears purposeful and comfortable. He retrieves some documents from a shelf, glances swiftly at his watch, and takes his place in his chair. It’s all accomplished with slow movements, a tardiness that irritates Charlo.

“Well, I think you owe me a good explanation at least,” Charlo says severely.

He tries to sound determined, but doesn’t quite pull it off. Sejer glances up at him. His eyes are at first deadly earnest, but then they soften.

“Well,” he says, resting his elbows on the desk, “there are a number of things I need to clarify. You know how it is. We work slowly and methodically. Investigation takes time. Occasionally we have to pester people with questions about what they’ve been up to. I’m sorry you feel hounded, but it’s very important work.”

He looks at Charlo across the desk.

“Let’s make a start. Let’s take the seventh of November again, from the beginning.”

Charlo meets his eyes.

“I’ve said all I have to say about that day, and you’ve made notes. I’ve said a lot more than I needed to. I can’t be bothered to beat around the bush anymore. You must ask definite questions, and I’ll answer to the best of my ability!”

His outburst resonates in the room. Sejer nods seriously.

“In that case, I’ll simply ask you to repeat what you’ve previously said.”

“But what is all this fuss about the seventh of November?”

“It concerns the murder of Harriet Krohn. We’re building up a picture of the traffic; it’s important for us. Every small movement in the area.”

“Really?”

Sejer glances at his documents.

“I’ve got a suggestion. Let’s talk about that trip to Kongsberg, Mr. Torp. It interests me.”

“There’s nothing interesting about it.”

“Quite the opposite. According to your previous explanation, you went to Kongsberg. You walked around the town for an hour. Tell me about that hour.”

Charlo shakes his head uncertainly.

“Are you joking?”

“I never joke. This is deadly serious, Mr. Torp. I want you to be clear about that.”

Charlo feels a wave of resignation. He clutches the arms of his chair.

“There’s not much to say about that hour. I walked around looking at shop windows. My feet were frozen.”

“What did you see in those windows?”

Again Charlo shakes his head. “What a ridiculous question. And you wonder why you need a long time to solve a murder?”

“Can you name anything, Mr. Torp?”

“Name what I saw? In the shop windows? What’s the point of that?”

He folds his arms and sticks out his jaw.

“I need an outline of that hour. Those sixty minutes spent at Kongsberg. We can talk about the reason later. What did you see in the windows?”

Charlo wonders if he’s being serious. It certainly looks like it.

“Most of it was probably clothes and stuff. But to be honest . . .”

“Clothes. OK. I’m making a note. What else did you look at?”

“Well, there was some sports equipment. I can’t remember that well; I wasn’t paying much attention. I was just mooching around.”

Sejer nods. “You were mooching around for sixty minutes. You looked at shop windows, but you weren’t paying much attention. And your feet were cold. So why did you keep walking for an hour?”

“I had nothing else to do. Surely a man can walk around the town without it signifying anything untoward?”

“Where did you park the Honda?”

He shrugs helplessly. “At the railway station,” he says quickly. It just pops out. He knows nothing about Kongsberg. He’s only been there a couple of times. He realizes that he’ll have to conjure up an entire city out of lies. Lie about streets he doesn’t know, thoughts he hasn’t thought, people he hasn’t seen.

“And you went from the railway station and into town on foot?”

“That’s right.”

“Were there many people around?”

“No. The weather was too bad.”

“Did you go in anywhere? To a café?”

“No.”

“Why did you want to go to Kongsberg?”

“It was just a whim. As I said, I was quite down at that point. I drove around to kill time; you’ve got so much spare time when you’re unemployed. I can’t sit watching television all day, and I enjoy driving. Being on the move. My God, things were hard sometimes.”

He speaks tensely, clenching his teeth. Disease is waiting out there in the shadows, threatening him. He moves his feet beneath the desk and tries to collect himself.

“Did you walk over the whole town, or just in the streets of the town center?”

“I stayed mainly in the town center.”

“Kongsberg’s a small place. Didn’t you walk around the same streets several times?”

“Quite possibly, I can’t remember.”

“So, it’s somewhat hazy in your memory, this hour spent in Kongsberg?”

“Yes, I suppose it is.”

“It’s hazy because you weren’t feeling good?”

“Presumably.”

“Did you buy any fuel on the way?”

“No, I had a full tank.”

“Did you speak to anyone at all that evening?”

“No, I didn’t meet anyone I knew. I hardly ever do. I mostly keep to myself.”

“So, that entire evening, from the time you left Blomsgate at six o’clock, until the time you returned at eleven, you didn’t speak to anyone. Apart from the young man who collided with you?”

“That’s right.”

Sejer looks down at his papers again.

“Do you think you’re temperamental by nature?”

“I thought you wanted to chart the traffic?”

“Yes. And you were a part of that traffic. Let me repeat the question. Are you an excitable man, Mr. Torp?”

“Not at all. I’m actually quite placid. Ask Julie.”

“But you weren’t that evening. You say it’s rare for you. So why did you lose control on the seventh of November at half past ten?”

“I’ve explained all that.”

“I want to hear it again.”

“I was out of sorts, as I said. For many reasons.”

“Tell me what they were again.”

Charlo props his head on his hands.

“I told you that I had debts. That people were after me. I wasn’t sleeping at night and I couldn’t make ends meet.”

“But now the debts are paid?”

Charlo bites his lip.

“Yes.”

“How did you manage that, Mr. Torp?”

“As I said before, I won some money.”

Sejer nods slowly.

“What sort of gambling?”

Charlo’s brain tries to work rapidly.

“On the lottery,” he blurts out. And regrets it immediately. He can’t think fast enough. Reduced neurotransmission is affecting me already, he suddenly realizes, and it’ll get worse.

“So, you got lucky?”

“I do actually get lucky sometimes. But it isn’t the norm. God knows, I’ve had my fair share of misery.”

“And you rushed off and paid your debts, got a job at the riding center, and were reconciled with your daughter?”

“Yes, things are much better now.”

He moistens his lips and tries to parry Sejer’s words, get a bit of perspective. He’s uncertain about where all this is leading.

“How much did you win, Mr. Torp?”

“It was a tidy sum.”

“Is the amount a secret?”

A chill runs through Charlo. He tries to cling on, but realizes that he’s sliding into confusion.

“I just can’t see the point of all these questions. Surely what I win on the lottery is my own business.”

“That’s all right, Mr. Torp,” Sejer says brusquely. “We can get that information ourselves; it’s the least of our worries.”

His heart sinks.

“It was a syndicate,” he interjects. “Which divided up a large win.”

Sejer leans back comfortably. “And I suppose you can’t remember the name of the person who bought the ticket?”

“No, I bet through a friend, on an impulse.”

“Well that’s all right, then. I’m sure you know the name of your friend?”

“I don’t go around shopping my friends. You people will only start plaguing him with questions.”

“But it’s entirely innocent, Mr. Torp. A lottery win. A name, a date, and an amount are all we require. I’m sure he’ll help us if we ask him nicely.”

“No. Let’s get to the point now. What’s all this about? My daughter Julie is waiting for me. We’re going out.”

“It’s about the seventh of November, as I’ve already explained. It concerns a murder, and I need a murderer.”

“Yes, you said that the last time I was here. But that’s got nothing to do with me.”

“You were in Fredboesgate at a very interesting moment.”

“No, I wasn’t. I was just driving through. It only took a few seconds.”

“You have to leave the main road to drive through Hamsund. Why did you want to go to Hamsund?”

“No special reason. I’ve explained why. I like driving.”

“Even when the road conditions are appalling?”

“The road conditions don’t matter.”

“Were you dressed for that sort of weather?”

“I was as a matter of fact.”

“What were you wearing?”

“I can’t remember. I’ve got several jackets.”

“Could it have been a green parka?”

“It could have been. Don’t ask me questions when you already know the answers.”

“So you have got one?”

“I had one.”

“You’ve got rid of it? Why, Mr. Torp?”

“Because it was old and worn out.”

“What did you do with it?”

“I chucked it in a dumpster. The seams were coming apart. The pockets had worn through and several buttons were missing.”

Sejer begins making notes again. Charlo tries to read them but can’t. He’s not seeing too well either. His vision is blurred. He blinks in bewilderment. He looks at his watch and feels the despair growing as he thinks of Julie waiting. He’s not doing that well. Lying to Julie is easy. This feels impossible. He rubs his face with tired hands. Sits there with his eyes hidden behind his palms. Surely they aren’t allowed to send sick people to prison, he thinks. Automatically he reaches for his back pocket, where he keeps his tobacco.

“May I smoke here?”