Karin Fossum - Eva's Eye

“Thin slices. Wait till the butter turns brown and then skim them quickly across the pan. Just as if you were running barefoot across newly laid asphalt. Whatever you do, don’t fry them.”

“I don’t think my father would take to raw meat.”

“Don’t ask what he wants, just do as I say.”

She smiled suddenly, and Eva was captivated by this chubby woman in her white nylon coat and becoming little net cap. A symbol of hygiene perhaps, but it looked more like a little crown, she thought, and all the dead meat on the counter was the realm over which she reigned.

She weighed the meat and put the price sticker on, gently, as if bandaging a wound. A hundred and thirty kroner, it was an unbelievable price. Eva wandered for a while among the shelves, picking out the odd small item, which she dropped in her basket, it was best to put them straight into the fridge without saying a word to her father, otherwise he wouldn’t accept them. Cheese, liver pâté, two bags of the best coffee, butter, cream. Biscuits with fillings. And on an impulse she grabbed three pairs of pants from the clothes rack. It was just a case of smuggling them into his chest of drawers and hoping he’d use them. By the checkout she added a box of marzipan and nougat chocolates, two magazines, and a carton of cigarettes. The final bill was overwhelming. But it struck her that all old people ought to be able to buy such a basket of groceries, at least once a week, so that they could enjoy themselves a little at the end of their lives. Young people can eat porridge, she thought. She paid, carried the bags out to the car, and drove back.

“Why did he do it, d’you think?” said her father, as he chewed the tender meat.

“Do what?”

“Kill her. In her bed and everything.”

“Why are you curious about it?”

“Aren’t you?”

Eva waited a moment and chewed slowly, mostly for show, she could have swallowed the meat whole. “Yes, a bit. But why do you ask?”

“I’m interested in the dark side of human nature. You’re an artist, aren’t you interested? In the drama of humanity?”

“It was a bit unusual, the world she lived in. I don’t know anything about it.”

“She was about your age.”

“Yes, and rather silly. Laying yourself open to that kind of trade isn’t particularly clever. She was probably only thinking of one thing: the most money in the shortest possible time. Tax free. They must have started arguing or something.” She filled her father’s glass and ladled a spoonful of gravy over his meat.

“It’s a sort of threshold they cross,” he said pensively. “I wonder what it is, what it means. Why some people overstep it, and others could never dream of doing so.”

“Everyone can,” Eva said. “It’s circumstances which dictate. And they don’t step over either — they stray over. They don’t see it until they’re on the other side, and then it’s too late.” It is too late, she thought in astonishment. I’ve stolen a fortune. I really have.

“I socked someone at work once,” her father said all at once, “because he was malicious. A really rotten character. Afterwards he showed me real respect, as if he acknowledged the fact. I’ve never forgotten it. It’s the only time in my life I’ve ever hit someone, but just then it was totally necessary. Nothing else in the world could have soothed my fury, I felt that I’d have gone mad if I hadn’t given him one, it was as if my brain was seething.” He took a few sips of wine and smacked his lips thoughtfully.

“Aggression is fear,” Eva blurted out suddenly. “Aggression is always really just self-defense, in one way or another. A method of defending oneself, one’s own body, one’s own intelligence, one’s own honor.”

“There are people who kill merely for gain.”

“Yes, of course, but that’s something different again. The woman in the paper certainly wasn’t killed for money.”

“In any case, they’ll get him soon. One of the residents in the block saw the car. I think it’s so funny, the way their cars always give them away. They haven’t even got the sense to use their damn feet when they go off to commit their awful crimes.”

“What did you say?”

“Didn’t you see that bit? He hadn’t realized it was important. He’d been away until this morning. But he’d seen a car go around the corner at high speed, early in the evening. A white car, not entirely new. Probably a Renault.”

“A what?” Eva dropped her knife on her plate so the gravy splashed.

“A Renault. A special model that’s not very common, so they thought it would be easy to find him. These car-registration places are good, it’s just a matter of searching for everyone with that type of car and visiting them one by one. And then they have to produce an alibi, and God help the ones who can’t. Clever stuff.”

“A Renault?” Eva ceased chewing.

“Yes. Elderly taxi driver, knew about cars. Lucky it wasn’t some old woman, they can’t tell the difference between a Porsche and a Volkswagen.”

Eva prodded her broccoli and felt her hands shaking. What a nuisance, she thought, talk about a blind alley! “He could have made a mistake. Think of all the time they’ll waste!”

“But they haven’t got anything else to go on, have they?” her father said in a surprised voice. “Why should he make a mistake? He knows about cars, that’s what they said on the radio.”

She gulped at her wine and tried to conceal her despair. Could a Renault really resemble an Opel? French cars looked so completely different. Perhaps he was some fool who wanted to seem important. She thought of Elmer and how happy such a ridiculous observation must be making him, he must have heard it, he was probably glued to the radio during the news bulletins and was even now rubbing his hands with relief, it was enough to make you weep.

“D’you want mousse for pudding?” she said abruptly.

“Yes, if I can have coffee as well.”

“You always do!”

“Yes, yes,” he said disconcerted, “it was only a joke!”

She got up and cleared the table, there was a clatter and clash of plates and cutlery, she’d have to do something about this. It was her fault that he was still free, they could have got him already if she’d told the truth. Now perhaps they’d arrest someone else. She placed a cigar next to her father’s glass and rinsed the plates. Afterwards they ate their mousse in silence, it stuck to her father’s upper lip like white foam and he licked it off with great relish. He glanced at her now and again, he’d adopted a slightly lower profile. Perhaps, he thought, it was a bad time of the month. When she’d settled him on the sofa, she went to wash up. First she stuffed four hundred-kroner notes into his jam jar and hoped that he didn’t know exactly what his financial resources were. Afterward, they sat next to each other on the sofa, sleepy from the food and wine. Eva had calmed down.

“They’ll get him all right,” she said slowly. “There’s always someone who’s seen something, who’s just a little slow off the mark, but they come forward eventually. Nobody gets away with that sort of thing. The world isn’t that unjust. It’s difficult to keep quiet as well, perhaps he’ll confide in someone when he’s drunk or something like that. A man who’s capable of killing like that, in anger for example, who’s that unstable, he won’t be able to control himself for the remainder of his life without giving himself away. And then he’ll have to confide in somebody. Who’ll go to the police. Or perhaps they’ll offer a reward, and then someone or other will rush out and report him, some greedy type.” Her own words stuck in her throat. “What I mean is, somewhere there’s a person who feels responsible for seeing that right prevails. People are just a little slow, that’s all. Or they’re scared.”