Karin Fossum - Eva's Eye

There was silence for a while. She brushed her forehead with her hand and glanced quickly at her wrist, and only then remembered that they’d removed her watch.

“But if it wasn’t Einarsson — who was it?”

“That’s what I’m going to find out. Possibly one of Einarsson’s acquaintances.”

“Find out what’s happened to my father.”

“I’ll do that.” He went to the door, opened it, and turned. “You mustn’t worry so much about us looking at you through the window. It’s only to make sure that you’re all right. We’re not peeping Toms.”

“It feels like it.”

“Pull the blanket over your head. Try to remember that you’re only one of many in here. You’re not as special as you feel. It’s only outside these walls that you become an object of interest, isn’t it?”

“You can say that again.”

“You’ll be hearing from me.”

He closed the door and locked it.

Rosenkrantzgate 16 was newly painted and greener than ever.

He parked by the garage, and was just stepping out of the car when he caught sight of Jan Henry over by the swings. For a moment the boy waited a little shyly, then he came padding across.

“I didn’t think you’d come again.”

“I said I would. How’s it going?”

“Not too bad.” He shrugged his thin shoulders and twined his legs.

“Is Mom at home?”

“Yes.”

“Have you had any good rides? On the motorbike?”

“Yes. But your car was better. The wind is so strong,” he added.

“Wait out here for me, Jan Henry, I’ve got something for you.”

Sejer walked toward the entrance, and the boy sat down on the swing again. Jorun Einarsson answered the door, she was wearing nothing except long johns, or perhaps they passed for tights, he thought, with a roomy sweater over them. Her hair was lighter than ever.

“Oh, it’s you, is it?”

He nodded politely. She immediately stood back and let him in. He halted in the living room, drew breath, and looked at her earnestly.

“Right now I’ve got just one question. I’ll put it to you and leave again right away. Think carefully before you answer, it’s important.”

She nodded.

“I know that your husband was extremely particular about his car. He took great care of it and kept it in thoroughly good condition. And that he was very unwilling to lend it to anyone. Is that correct?”

“I’ll say! He was really possessive about that car. Sometimes they’d even tease him about it at work.”

“But even so, on rare occasions, did he ever lend it to anyone? Do you ever remember him doing it? Even if it was only the once?”

She hesitated: “Yes, he did occasionally. But only very rarely. To one of his mates who he hung out with quite a lot, someone from the brewery. He hadn’t got a car himself.”

“D’you know his name?”

“Er, well I feel a bit funny about mentioning his name here,” she said, as if she sensed a danger she didn’t fully understand. “But he lent it to Peddik now and again. Peter Fredrik.”

“Ahron?”

“Yes.”

Sejer nodded slowly. He took another look at the wedding photo of Einarsson and noted his fair hair. “I’ll be back,” he said softly. “You’ll have to forgive me, but cases like these take a lot of time and there are still some things we need to clear up.”

Mrs. Einarsson nodded and showed him out. Jan Henry jumped up and came running toward him, keener now.

“That didn’t take long.”

“No,” Sejer said thoughtfully. “There’s a man I’ve got to find, and quickly too. Come over to the car with me.”

He opened the trunk and took out a carrier bag from Fina. “A mechanic’s suit. For you. I know it’s too large, but you’ll grow into it.”

“Wow!” His eyes were sparkling. “Loads of pockets! It’ll fit me soon, and I can turn it up.”

“That’s right.”

“When are you coming back?”

“I won’t be long.”

“No. I expect you’ve got lots to do.”

“Well, yes. But I’m also off duty sometimes. Perhaps we could take another drive sometime, if you want to?”

Jan Henry made no reply. He was staring down the road, to where the roar of a large motorbike had broken the silence. A BMW.

“There’s Peddik.”

Jan Henry gave him a lukewarm wave. Sejer turned and stared at the man in the black leather suit as he nosed in by the cycle stand, stopped, and took off his helmet. A man with longish fair hair and a small ponytail at his neck. Now he was opening the zip of his leathers so that an incipient beer belly came into view. In reality he wasn’t that unlike Einarsson. In poor light one might not be able to tell the difference.

Sejer stared at him until he began to squirm on the seat of the motorbike. Then he smiled, gave a brief nod, and went to his car.

“Where have you been?”

Karlsen was waiting in reception. He had been looking out for Sejer’s car for some time now, minutes were passing and no one had phoned with the glad tidings that little Ragnhild had come home long ago and was fit and well. She was still lost. Karlsen was stressed.

“With Jorun Einarsson.” Sejer was tense and excited, which was unusual. “Come on, I’ve got to talk to you.”

They nodded to Mrs. Brenningen and retreated down the corridor.

“We need to bring in a bloke for questioning,” Sejer said, “right away. Peter Fredrik Ahron. The only person in Einarsson’s circle who occasionally was allowed to borrow his Manta. Very occasionally. He works at the brewery, and now he’s chasing after Jorun. He’s been interviewed before, when Einarsson went missing. I’ve just met him outside the house in Rosenkrantzgate, and d’you know what? They look pretty similar. In poor light it would be hard to tell them apart. See what I mean?”

“Where is he now?”

“Still at the house, I hope. Album will have to wait, we’ve got people on that anyway. Take Skarre and bring him in right away, I’ll wait here.”

Karlsen nodded and turned to go. Then he stopped. “By the way, I’ve got a message for you from Eva’s solicitor.”

“Yes?”

“Larsgård’s dead.”

“What do you mean?”

“The taxi driver found him.”

“Does she know yet?”

“I’ve sent one of the girls in to her.”

Sejer shut his eyes and shook his head. He walked up the stairs, digesting the news as best he could, just now he hadn’t time to think more carefully about what it would mean for the remand prisoner on the fifth floor. He shut himself in his office, opened the window and let in some fresh air. Tidied the desk a bit. Went quickly to the sink and washed his hands, drank some water from a paper cup. Opened the file drawer and took out a cassette, it was 360 minutes long and contained Eva Magnus’s confession. He loaded it in the cassette player on the desk and began fast-forwarding it. He stopped it now and then, fast-forwarded a bit more, and found the episode he was searching for at last. He paused the tape and adjusted the volume. Then he settled down to wait, and his thoughts began to wander. Perhaps Ahron had made a run for it, he mused, in which case he might already be a long way off on that fast motorbike of his. But he hadn’t. He was sitting reading the newspaper on Jorun’s sofa, a pouch of tobacco at his side. She was in the middle of the room with an ironing board and a pile of freshly laundered clothes. She looked uncertainly at the two policemen and then at the man on the sofa, who contented himself with raising a single eyebrow, as if they were taking him in at a most inconvenient moment. He rose from the sofa with apparent resignation and followed them out. Jan Henry watched them as they walked to the car. He said nothing. It mattered little to him what they were going to do with Peddik.