Karin Fossum - Eva's Eye

All the windows were thoroughly blacked out. There was no chance that light could seep out. She switched on her torch.

It sent a bright white beam straight into the fireplace. She moved to the middle of the floor and tried to get her bearings. The sofa was covered with a checked traveling rug, Maja had once sat there relating all her adventures, and there’d been many of them. Even though they were no more than thirteen at the time. And they’d gawked at her, with a mixture of trepidation and awe. Some had lowered their eyes. Ina pursed her lips and didn’t want to hear more, she was a committed Christian.

A troll with a warty nose and a spruce tree in its hand stood in the fireplace. A witch doll was hanging from the ceiling; it glowered down at her with shiny button eyes. She saw the dining table, a small corner cabinet high up on the wall, a dresser displaying cups and plates. A chest of drawers, probably containing mittens and woolly hats. Two diminutive bedrooms, with their doors open. The little kitchen with drawers and cupboards. The iron ring in the floor and the trapdoor she’d have to open to get into the cellar. An excellent hiding place, dark and cold. Or the shed with all its tools, and the outside toilet, which had been incorporated into the cabin. They just had to pass through the lobby first, they’d gone in twos, petrified and hysterical because Maja had been reading them some blood-curdling real-life murders. They went with shoulders hunched and the paraffin lamp quivering. And there was the gas stove. “Now, don’t go blowing the hut to bits!” were her father’s parting words as he went back to his van. There were two large bookshelves above the sofa, lots of paperbacks and some cartoon series. Maja had brought several issues of Cocktail with her, she remembered, they read aloud to each other, but only after Ina had gone to bed.

Eva felt cold. There was no point just sitting there in a daze, she had to make a plan. Try to put herself in Maja’s place, work out what had gone through her mind as she’d stood there with her money in her hands and wanted to make sure no one would find it. She had lots of imagination and could have come up with something quite improbable. Eva immediately thought of the earth closet. That the cache was submerged in the night soil. Or, good God... could it be buried outside in the heather? She got up, trying to hold the panic at bay. Time was limited, she had to get away before it was light. Elimination, she thought, forget about the places where the money certainly wasn’t . The obvious places. Like the desk, the corner cupboard, and the chest of drawers. Search systematically and calmly, she imagined it might be in plastic bags or envelopes secured by rubber bands, protected from the damp. The first bedroom contained a chest of drawers. She rejected that too, and concentrated on the more unusual possibilities. First the cellar, it was the least pleasant place, after all. She got hold of the iron ring and raised the trapdoor. A black hole yawned at her, and an icy draft arose from the darkness. Perhaps there were rats down there. The trapdoor could be hooked open and she climbed down with the torch in her hand. It was impossible to stand upright, so she crouched on her haunches and directed her light at the shelves, at jam jars and pickled cucumbers, red and white wine, port, sherry, and more jam jars. A cake tin with pictures of Snow White and Cinderella. She shook it and heard the small cakes inside leap and dance with fear. Frozen potatoes with long chits, cans, which she lifted — they were heavy and intact. Some bottles of beer and more of wine. Maja never managed to empty her cabin for the winter. The beam of light played over the uneven stone floor; there was the smell of rot and decay, but otherwise it was completely bare. Finally, she seated herself on the bottom step and shone her torch right over the tiny room once more, slowly and carefully. No cartons or crates by the stone walls and no cavities in them. Was it possible to roll notes up and push them into empty wine bottles? No, for goodness’ sake, she rose and climbed back up again, replaced the trapdoor carefully, and began opening the kitchen cabinets. The ones that contained crockery and glass she closed again immediately, but cupboards with saucepans were examined more thoroughly, she lifted them off one another, looked into them, shone her torch into the back of the compartment. Nothing. She peered into the oven, moved into the living room and looked under the sofa. Inside the books on the shelves perhaps, it would be a bit of a job if she had to open each one individually, but obviously she hadn’t put the money there either, but it might be in the fireplace, perhaps a little way up the chimney. She put one foot into the grate and pointed the torch upwards. Nothing. Then she thought of the settle bed by the dining table. They usually contained storage space, and this turned out to be the case here, too. Inside were slippers and old ski boots, thick sweaters, an aged anorak, and a couple of rugs. And then she caught sight of an old radio, and had the idea that maybe Maja had opened it, taken the insides out and hidden the money there, but she doubted that Maja had the technical ability for such an operation.

The bread bin, she thought suddenly, on the kitchen work surface. Or the tureen on top of the corner cupboard. Inside the wall clock perhaps? What about the old rucksack hanging on a nail — that’s where it is, she thought, and pulled it down. Empty. Eva illuminated her watch, which showed almost one o’clock. Then she went into the bedrooms, removed the bedclothes and mattresses, took a quick look through the chests of drawers anyway and two narrow wardrobes, which contained windcheaters and down jackets. An old salt tub was full of scarves and thick woolen socks. Back to the kitchen again where she opened all the small china jars, which were filled with exactly what their labels proclaimed: salt, flour, pearl barley, and coffee. Out to the lobby where she fumbled behind a small curtain beneath a bench, but found nothing other than a washing basket, a brush, and a sticky bottle of disinfectant.

There remained the extension. The workshop, the tool shed, the earth closet. The door creaked ominously as she opened it, and the room was windowless. The floor sagged slightly. Eva could hear her starchy windcheater crackling in the silence. A large workbench stretched along the room. There was a tool-board on the wall, and someone had drawn around each individual item with a pencil, so that it was easy to replace after use. Another chopping block. Old garden furniture, an old mouse-nibbled foam rubber mattress, skis and ski poles. Snow shovel. She didn’t know where to begin. Unless to try the earth closet first and shine the torch down there. She crossed to it and opened the door. The toilet was tiny, but it had two seats, and it was a long way to the soil beneath. Both holes were covered with squares of polystyrene and there wasn’t much of a smell inside, it probably hadn’t been used for a long time, and it was cold. A picture of Crown Prince Haakon wearing a blue V-necked jumper graced the wall. His teeth shone chalky white in the darkness. Did he realize, she wondered, that people hung his picture in their bathrooms? There was a piece of rug on the floor. Eva pushed off one polystyrene square and bent over. She tried to hold her breath as she looked around the underside in case it was taped in position. She could see nothing. She removed the other square and shone her torch there too, the dark mass down below was indistinct, but she could make out individual bits of white paper. She imagined how millions might lie at the bottom of that heap, in a metal box, for example. That would have been a job.

She stood up again and breathed out. Perhaps she should prod the mass with a ski pole or something, there were several pairs by the workbench. Some really old ones with tattered rings, others of fiberglass with little white plastic discs on the bottom. Then all at once she felt silly, realized that of course the money wasn’t buried in the ordure, there were limits. For a moment she stood indecisively looking about. An old, flecked plastic bucket stood beneath the workbench with a couple of bottles of turpentine — and a tin of paint. It was a large tin, maybe ten liters. She stole over to it, crouched down and read: Protective Wood Stain, Mahogany. Shook it and heard something flop about inside the tin. She put her nails under the lid and tried to prize it off, but it wouldn’t budge. She found a screwdriver on the board above the workbench, forced it under the rim, and eased it up. The tin was full of flat packets. Packets covered with aluminum foil, they resembled ordinary packets of sandwiches. She gasped and stuck the torch under her chin, picked up one of the packets and began to tear off the foil. A wad of notes. She’d found it!