Karin Fossum - Calling Out For You aka The Indian Bride

"I think so. I know what I'm capable of. One hundred and fifty bench presses," he said with ill-concealed pride.

"That doesn't mean a great deal to me, I'm sorry to say," Sejer said. "You could have said one hundred or two hundred. I wouldn't have known the difference."

"Exactly. That's what I think is strange."

Sejer made a note.

"What's that you're writing?" Gøran said.

"I'm making a note of what we're talking about. You've got a handsome dog. Does it mean a lot to you?"

"I'm used to it now. I've had it for four years."

"Then you'll have it for many years to come," Sejer said. "Me, I have a Leonberger. He's just had surgery for tumours on his back. I'm not sure he'll ever walk again. He looks like Bambi on ice, poor chap."

"How old?" Gøran said, interested.

"Ten. His name is Kollberg."

"What sort of name is that?"

"Thank you," Sejer said cheerfully. "That's the reaction I usually get. What's yours called?"

"Cairo. You know, dark and hot."

"Mm. Good name. Unfortunately my imagination is not as sophisticated as yours."

Gøran had now received two compliments in a short space of time, more than normally he got in a year.

"Tell me about some of your girlfriends," Sejer said. He was still smiling, a big trustworthy smile as wide as an ocean.

Gøran squirmed. "Don't have girlfriends," he said. "I'm with a woman or I'm not."

"I see," Sejer said. "You're with women. But you're not fond of them."

"I suppose I like some of them better than others," he said reluctantly.

"Was Ulla one of them?"

Silence. Gøran drank his Coke and caught himself checking the clock. Five minutes had passed.

"How many girls are we talking about?" Sejer looked at Gøran. His skin was smooth and pale, his neck muscular from years of weightlifting, his fists were powerful with short fingers.

Gøran counted in his head. "Let's say twelve to fifteen."

"In how many cases did the girl end the relationship?"

"Hell, never," Gøran said, "it's always me. I get bored easily," he said. "Girls get upset over nothing. There's so much fuss with them."

"Yes. Absolutely. We can agree that they're different. But if they weren't, it wouldn't be any fun chasing them."

"No, ha-ha. You're right about that." Gøran chuckled good-humouredly to himself.

"And Ulla?" Sejer said, cautiously.

Gøran scratched his head. "Ulla is attractive. Fit. The only thing that sags on her is her head from time to time."

"So it was tough when she broke up with you? When you're used to being the one who ends it?"

"The thing is," Gøran said, "that she changes her mind like a kid. She's always breaking up."

"Do you think she'll come back to you?"

"I expect so," he said. For a moment he looked straight at Sejer. "And that moron who identified my car, she couldn't tell the difference between a bus and a truck. That Linda's not all there. It's crap that you take that stuff seriously."

"Let's take it easy. We're in no hurry."

Gøran bit his lip. "You should be out there looking for the bastard who actually did this. You're wasting your time with me here. I hope you've ensured that there are others still looking for him, otherwise I can tell you that you're squandering taxpayers' money in a big way."

Sejer leaned back in his chair.

"Did you like school? You went to school in Elvestad."

"Yes. I liked it."

"The teachers too?"

"Some of them. The one who taught woodwork. And the PE teacher."

"Yes," Sejer said. "You work for a carpenter. What do you do there?"

"I'm an apprentice. Make everything from shelves to flower boxes. To order."

"Do you like it?"

"The boss's all right. Yes, it's fine."

"And there's a pretty nice smell in the workshop, am I right?"

Gøran nodded. "Yes. There's a good smell of wood. And they don't all smell the same. You learn that after a while."

Time passed. The men talked. Gøran's shoulders relaxed. He smiled more often. Helped himself to Coke. Asked Sejer if he was going to get himself a new dog if it turned out to be bad news about what's-his-name again? Kollberg. A ridiculous name for an animal!

"I don't know yet," Sejer said, expressing both exaggerated and genuine sadness at the same time.

He made notes all the time. Did Gøran have any good advice to give when it came to training dogs? I haven't been very lucky with mine, he admitted. Somewhat embarrassed by this admission, he looked at the master like a guilty schoolboy. Oh well, Gøran had that totally under control and, warming to his subject, talked about Cairo, who obeyed his every command. "But if you don't have an obedient dog, it could be that you never really wanted one."

"That was a very insightful comment," Sejer said. And Gøran received his third compliment. Two hours flew by. Sejer wrote up his notes.

"Read this through carefully. You have to sign it, agreeing that this was the conversation we have had. You need to do this every time we've talked. That way it's you who decides what it should say here."

Gøran nodded, read the statement and signed it. Sejer got up and stood next to him.

"Hell," Gøran smiled, looking up from his chair; despite all his strength he felt small next to Sejer. "You're nearly two metres tall!"

He was led back to his cell. No-one had mentioned the murder. He didn't understand that. However, it was lunchtime now. Bacon and eggs. While he ate, he thought about Sejer. It was really very sad about his dog.

"Hello, Marie," Gunder said. He pulled the chair over to her bed. She had been disconnected from the respirator and was breathing on her own, but she had not regained consciousness. He was alarmed by the unaccustomed quiet in the room. She was breathing, but not as regularly as with the machine. It made him nervous and he wanted to help her.

"Today I was looking at that photograph of you and Karsten. From your wedding. How you've changed. Your face has lost its shape. The doctor says it's because you aren't using your muscles. And it won't help if I say something funny, you won't laugh anyway. I can't bear to think about the future, and that really worries me. Poona would have been getting to know Elvestad and the house and the garden by now. She would have learned to use the washing machine and the microwave and the video recorder. We would have sat together on the sofa watching Indian films. They make a lot of films in India. Love stories with tough heroes and beautiful women. Not the gritty real-life films we make about ordinary people. They dream a lot, Indian people. They have to. They are so poor.

"Do you know what? I've had several letters. From foreign women. Russian and Philippine, and they are offering themselves. They say they feel sorry for me. Would you believe it? Poona's not even buried yet. I don't know what to think.

"They are questioning Gøran now. He's denying everything. What else would you expect? Either he did it or he didn't, so he'll never own up to it. It is hard to understand why a young man with his life in front of him would go and do something like this. It said in the paper that he's been remanded in custody for four weeks. I think about his parents a great deal. They're ordinary, hard-working people. Did everything they could for him, I hear. They've had their worries about him and hopes too. Now evidence will have to be found. Evidence beyond reasonable doubt that Gøran is the guilty one. Sometimes I think about what it must have been like for Poona. When she stood there waiting at the airport. When she travelled alone with a strange man right to her death. What about the taxi driver, by the way? What if he did it? And all this because you crashed your car. I'm not blaming you, Marie, but you were never a good driver. Maybe you never should have driven at all.