Karin Fossum - Eva's Eye

“No, they’re cowardly,” mumbled her father sleepily. “That’s the point. People are cowardly, they only think about their own hide, don’t want to get mixed up in anything. It’s nice you’ve got such faith in justice, my dear, but it’s not much help. To her, I mean. No one can help her anymore.”

Eva made no reply, her voice would have broken. She drew on her cigarette.

“Why did you thump that man?” she asked suddenly.

“Who?”

“The man at work, the one you were talking about.”

“I said. Because he was malicious.”

“That’s no answer.”

“Why did you go into such hysterics when Mrs. Skollenborg died?” he asked.

“I’ll tell you about it some other time.”

“On my deathbed?”

“You can ask on your deathbed, and then we’ll see.”

Night was coming on. Eva thought about Elmer and wondered what he was doing. Perhaps he was sitting staring at the wall, at the pattern of the wallpaper, at his own hands, as he marveled at the way they could live their own life like that and act beyond his control. While Maja lay in a refrigerated drawer, without consciousness, without a single thought in her cold head. Eva had no thoughts left either, she poured more wine and felt them fade away into a mist she could no longer penetrate.

The morning arrived, misty and breezy, but the mist cleared as they were having breakfast. The radio murmured in the background. Eva listened with half an ear, which suddenly pricked up. It was the news. A man had been detained in connection with the killing. A fifty-seven-year-old bus driver with a white Renault. They both listened, ignoring their food.

“Ha!” said her father. “He’s got no alibi.”

Eva felt her heart sinking. The suspect admitted to having bought sex from the victim on several occasions. Not surprising, there were lots of them, they had virtually besieged Maja for two years. She could see his future falling apart now, this innocent bloke, perhaps he had a family. She thought: it’s my fault.

“Wasn’t it just what I said,” said her father triumphantly, “they’ve got him already.”

“It all sounds a bit too simple to me. Just because he’s got that make of car and no alibi. And anyway, there’s no law against buying sex. In the old days,” she said raising her voice, “men weren’t men unless they visited a brothel.”

“My goodness,” said her father, glancing up.

Eva was sweating.

“Why are you being so negative? Don’t they always catch them right away? This is a small town.”

“They sometimes get it wrong,” Eva retorted. She was struggling with the tough crust of her father’s whole-wheat loaf as she felt a decision force itself on her. She had to do something.

“There must be loads of men who’ve paid visits to... that woman, and have got white cars, and no alibis.”

She finished eating and got up. Cleared the table. Washed up, pushed her wallet in between two newspapers in the living room, and got her coat. She gave her father a quick hug.

“See you again,” she said waving, “soon.”

“I certainly hope so.”

He pushed back his false teeth, which had a tendency to drop down if he smiled too broadly, and waved after her. As he watched the Ascona lurching up the road, he felt the trembling start as it always did when he’d had company for some time and suddenly was alone again.

Soon she was moving at a good speed down toward Hov tunnel. I’ll head for Rosenkrantzgate, she thought, to the green house. And find out who he is. She had a shoulder bag in the car, and with her long skirt she could pass for a saleswoman, or the representative of some sect or other. Perhaps she might catch a glimpse or two of his wife or get a word with the boy, if that was his son, she thought. Jehovah’s Witnesses, didn’t they always wear skirts? And long hair, at least they’d done so when she was a girl. Or was that the Mormons, or were they the same?

She was inside the tunnel now. She glanced quickly at her own unmade-up face in the mirror, but saw it only in short, orange-tinged glimpses, as the lights of the tunnel roof were reflected in her eyes. She hardly knew herself, as she gripped the steering wheel and felt a smoldering beneath her black overcoat. It was something she hadn’t felt since those childhood days with Maja, that passion had died along the way, in her difficult marriage, in the piles of unpaid bills and the worries over Emma’s weight, in the frustration of not breaking through as an artist. It began somewhere in her chest, but gradually worked its way down to end up in her genitals. The feeling made her come alive, she had the feeling she could stroll into her studio and create a picture of primeval force, stronger than anything she’d ever done before, driven by righteous anger. It excited her. Her pulse rose, and the flaming orange light from the roof of the tunnel kept the fire alight until she was back in the center of town. There she moved into the right-hand lane and drove to Rosenkrantzgate.

The area around the colorful houses was deserted, it was early in the day. She drove a little past the green house and parked behind a cycle shed on the outskirts of the estate. She walked briskly between the houses, trying to look purposeful and satisfied, as if she carried a joyful message in the large bag slung over her shoulder; she noted the details, like the cycle racks, the small area with its swing and sandbox, the washing lines and the hedge littered with the remnants of yellow flowers. The odd faded plastic toy lay discarded on the tiny patches of garden. She turned toward the green house and went up to the first entrance. She’d recognize the blond woman again if she saw her, that slender creature with her frivolous body language. Eva looked at the doorbell, she chose the upper button, which was labeled Helland, but stood there a moment gathering her courage. She peered at the door with its wired safety glass, which she couldn’t see through. She couldn’t hear anything either, so it gave her quite a start when the door suddenly opened and a man was looking directly at her. It wasn’t Elmer. Only two families shared each entrance, so she nodded quickly and stepped aside to let him past. He was looking suspicious. Quickly, she looked at the bells.

“Helland?” she inquired rapidly.

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Oh, then it’s Einarsson I need!”

He turned to look at her before disappearing in the direction of the garage, and she sneaked in through the door like a thief.

It was a porcelain nameplate, crudely painted to depict a mother, a father, and a child, with names under each, Jorun, Egil, and Jan Henry. She nodded slowly to herself and stole out again. Egil Einarsson, Rosenkrantzgate 16, she thought — I know who you are and what you’ve done. And soon you’ll know that I know.

She was back at home again, and in deep concentration.

All other tasks had been laid aside, all scruples burst like tiny bubbles as they reached the surface of her consciousness, all fear had turned in her and become energy. In her mind she could see the unfortunate bus driver, a bit overweight perhaps, rather bald, that was how she imagined him, sitting now in some interview room drinking instant coffee and smoking all the cigarettes he wanted, and that would be quite a lot. The enjoyment had probably gone out of them, but at least it was something for his hands to do, what else could he do with them when he was surrounded on all sides by uniformed officers studying those very hands, and wondering whether he could have killed Maja with them. Naturally they’d do a DNA test, but that would take time, perhaps weeks, and in the meantime he’d have to wait, and even if he hadn’t had sex with Maja that evening, he could have killed her all the same, they’d think. Of course they’d be humane, even though it was a case of murder, the worst and most brutal of all crimes. Nevertheless she had no difficulty imagining some nasty man with ferrety eyes hacking away any security and sense of worth he might possess. Perhaps even Sejer, with all his quiet patience, could be transformed into such a nightmare. It wasn’t impossible. And perhaps somewhere in the background there was a wife fretting, mad with fear. When you get down to it, she thought, none of us can be sure of one another.