Karin Fossum - Calling Out For You aka The Indian Bride

He sat in his armchair for a long time, thinking. Should he report this? He remembered that it had said in the papers something about a missing suitcase. But this was Einar, a man he knew. Had known all these years. A hardworking family man with a spotless reputation. True, there were rumours that his marriage was in trouble and that the wife had secrets of her own. But Gunwald wasn't small-minded, he didn't judge people for such things. Einar had probably dumped some rubbish and that was, strictly speaking, illegal, but you didn't call the police just for that. If he were to call they would ask him who he was. And of course Einar had not killed a defenceless woman. He was certain of that. But perhaps it was important. Why had he thrown the suitcase into the water? Assuming it was a suitcase. He could call anonymously, he thought that was allowed. He closed his eyes and saw the silhouette once more. Suddenly he felt cold. Got up and went over to the cabinet, where he found a bottle of Eau de Vie. Poured himself a large glass. He didn't want to get mixed up in something like that. Young Linda Carling, however, she had cycled past and told them what she'd seen without hesitation. But then she was young and full of energy. He was old, well past sixty. But if he were to call and say: someone stood out at the tip of the point and threw something into Norevann. I was out with my dog. I didn't see who he was. And I didn't see what he dumped. But it could've been a suitcase. Then they would send out divers and find something. And if it turned out to be a sack of rubbish then there was no harm done. Call them now and tell them that. Don't mention Einar's name. He drank more Eau de Vie. Besides, though it was Einar's car, he might not have been the one driving. He had a son who sometimes borrowed the car. Ellemann. It could have been Ellemann Sunde. But he was short and this had been a tall man. It was definitely Einar's car. He had not seen the plates, of course, but he recognised the rear of it, it was always parked outside the café with its rear towards the road. A Sierra estate. He saw it every day from his own shop. Was the hotline open now, this late in the evening? He swallowed more Eau de Vie. It was hard to go to bed without telling anyone. Anyway, it struck him that Einar would never dump rubbish in the lake. He had a huge skip, which Vestengen Transport emptied once a month. Gunwald had never seen it full. It contained paper cups, styrofoam and coffee filters. He looked down at the dog. Caressed its head. "We'll call in the morning. It's time for bed now. You didn't bark," he whispered in disbelief. "And I'm damned if I know why you didn't. You always yap at the slightest thing."

The water was five metres deep and very muddy. Two divers were working away. Sejer stood at the tip of the point and saw the blurred figures arch like huge fish. Skarre sidled up to him.

"Tell me about Gøran Seter," Sejer said.

Skarre nodded. "Nice young man. Nineteen years old. Only child of Torstein and Helga Seter. Still lives at home in his old bedroom. Works for a carpenter. Went to the gym in town on the evening of the 20th, the Adonis Health Studio. Passed Hvitemoen around 8.30 p.m."

"And afterwards?"

"Spent the evening with his girlfriend, Ulla. They babysat her sister's child."

"How did he react to your questioning?"

"He answered willingly. However, I noticed some red stripes on his face. Partially healed cuts."

Sejer looked up. "I see. Did you ask about them?"

"He'd been playing with his dog. He has a Rottweiler."

"This weight training – is he very committed to that?"

"Absolutely. We're talking about a bundle of muscles. Around 100 kilos, I'd say."

"Did you like him?"

Skarre smiled. At times Sejer asked some strange questions. "Yes, I did actually."

"We need to speak to his girlfriend."

"We do."

"I've been thinking of something," Sejer said. "Who goes out in the evening? Late in the evening, down to the lake. People with dogs?"

"Probably," Skarre said.

"If I'd lived where Gunwald lived, then this is just where I'd walk my dog."

"I don't think he takes it for walks. That dog's a real porker."

"Nonetheless we should talk to him. If it was him who called, he'll crack at the slightest pressure. He's not very tough."

"Crack under pressure?"

"We'll see what we find."

"He sounded strange on the telephone," Skarre said. "Reeled his words off as if he'd learned them by heart before slamming the phone down. Scared stiff."

"Why, do you think?"

"I think he was lying. Said he'd only seen the outline of a man. Perhaps he actually saw who it was. And that terrified him. Possibly it was someone he knew."

"Exactly."

Sejer stared into the deep. Bubbles surfaced and burst. One of the divers broke the surface and swam towards the shore. "There's something down there. Looks like a box."

"Could it be a suitcase?" Sejer said.

"It might be. It's heavy. We need a rope."

He fetched a coil of nylon rope and disappeared under the surface once more. The men on the shore held their breath. Sejer forced his eyes until he felt dizzy as he stood there leaning forward, peering.

"They're coming up. They're ready."

Two technicians pulled the rope in small tugs. Soon they saw something break the surface. They saw the handle to which the green rope was tied. Sejer closed his eyes with joy. He grabbed the handle and helped drag the heavy suitcase up on to the shore. For a while it lay there, soaking wet, glistening in the grass. It was an old suitcase of brown imitation leather with solid handles. Fastened to the suitcase was a brown folder of the same material. A nametag was attached to the handle, but water had erased the writing. He knelt on the grass and looked at the suitcase. He could not help but think of Jomann.

"How much water has got in?" Skarre said.

"Quite a lot. It's old and worn."

Sejer lifted the suitcase. "God, it's heavy. I don't see how she could've walked along the road with it."

"If that was what she did. She sat in the café drinking tea. Einar Sunde is the only one who saw her leave."

"But she was killed where she was found," Sejer reminded him.

"But what if there were two? If there was a customer at the café when Poona arrived?"

"And they both tried it on and one of them drove after her to finish it off?"

"Yes. Something like that."

Carefully Sejer lifted the suitcase into the car.

"Skarre. We'll check the contents of this. You go and talk to Gøran Seter's girlfriend."

"Yes, boss." Sejer rolled his eyes. "She works in the mall, sells perfume. It all fits, doesn't it? A beefcake and a painted doll, textbook stuff," Skarre said.

"Just get out of here," Sejer ordered him.

"Why the sudden hurry?"

"You said his face was scratched. Check his alibi."

The suitcase was unlocked. It was secured with two broad straps pulled tight. Sejer slid the locks open. Two sharp clicks were heard. Then he opened the lid. Wet clothes and shoes. For a while he stood staring at the exotic colours. Turquoise, lemon, orange. And underwear. It looked brand new and was folded into clear plastic bags. Two pairs of shoes. A sponge bag with a floral pattern. A bag with different-coloured hair bands. A hairbrush. A dressing gown, rose-coloured and silky. The clothes were folded neat and tight. Her few possessions looked lost and strangely misplaced in the meeting room. The objects overwhelmed them. She would have placed her belongings in the drawers in Jomann's bedroom. The brush on the chest of drawers, the sponge bag in the bathroom. The shoes in the wardrobe. In her mind she had imagined unpacking with her husband helping her. She had 1,000 metres to go when she died.

They found Poona's papers in the brown folder. Travel insurance and passport. On the photograph she was very young and looked like a ten-year-old. She didn't smile in the photograph.