Karin Fossum - Calling Out For You aka The Indian Bride

"I've been thinking of the winter of '59, when we had so much snow. You and Kristine were playing behind the house. I could see you through the window. I had measles and had to stay indoors. You were so overexcited and screaming and giggling, I could hear you all the way to the living room. The weather was mild and you did the most awful things in that wet snow. Do you remember? I daren't say it aloud even if you can't hear me. I said nothing to Mum. She would have had a fit. People do so many strange things, Marie. I'm still thinking about Poona's brother. He's sent me a pretty photograph of her. It's bigger than the one I took and I've bought a fine frame for it. I've promised to get in touch with Shiraz when the date for the funeral has been set. But I don't suppose he'll come back. Possibly he thinks it's a sin to bury her in our consecrated earth. Consecrated earth, now what is that? Earth is earth, surely. I've spoken to Pastor Berg. I gave him something to think about, I can tell you. Has her brother really approved this, he kept fussing. Are you quite sure? We can't risk there being any repercussions. And a Hindu, too. I can't mention that in church, Jomann, I hope you understand. He's nice, the vicar, but terrified of getting into trouble. Nevertheless, I was given permission to play Indian music at the start of the service. Have to look for some in town. Mode has some CDs at the petrol station, but I don't suppose he'll have what I'm looking for. I do hope Karsten will come, but I'm not sure he will. Do you know what? In some ways I think it's a miracle you're still alive. When your body isn't able to feed itself. I don't think you ought to drive again. You can call me if you're going somewhere, I'll take you. Karsten is always so busy. But we can talk about that later. When you wake up."

Mode took a coin from the bowl and put it in the Wurlitzer. The music's as old as Einar, so help me God, it crossed his mind. The café was busy. Einar was drying glasses. He wasn't very talkative these days. Rumour had it that Lillian had started packing. Wicked tongues thought it a bit odd that the break-up had happened so soon after the murder at Hvitemoen and the arrest of Gøran Seter. Imaginations were working overtime.

Nudel, Karen and Frank sat chatting in a corner. They ordered more beer and looked across to Mode's petrol station where Torill was working behind the counter. Mode came over to their table and sat down. He was a quiet man with a calm face. His hair was blond and thin and combed straight back from his forehead. He looked older than his twenty-eight years.

"Of course, we can sit here saying Gøran is innocent," Frank said. "But the truth is that if they'd nicked someone else other people would be sitting at some other table saying exactly the same thing. That's what I think."

They all looked down at their glasses.

"Another thing is…" Nudel said anxiously. "All the stuff the cops know that they haven't said. When they go as far as bringing him in, they have to know a lot more."

"Yes, but for goodness' sake!" Frank said, shaking his head. "Has Gøran ever hit anyone?"

"There's always a first time," Mode said, lighting a cigarette.

"I wonder if we're allowed to visit him?"

Einar coughed from behind the counter. "There are restraints on his letters and visits. None of us would get in. His parents, perhaps. No-one else."

"Imagine sitting alone in a cell, no radio, TV or newspapers. Not being able to control what they write about him."

"Does anyone know what sort of chap this defence lawyer is?" Nudel said.

"Thin, grey fellow," Mode said. "Doesn't look very tough."

"Well, it's not exactly muscles that lawyers need most of in court," Frank said. He rocked his heavy head from side to side. "They're talking about forensic evidence. I'd like to know what they mean by that."

"Hair, stuff like that," Nudel said. "It would be bad news for Gøran if he's left any hairs behind."

"You talk as if Gøran did it!" Frank said heatedly.

"But, for fuck's sake," Nudel said. "He's in there! They're putting together a case against him. They must have something on him."

"But I don't understand," said Frank, as if he could not grasp even the possibility that he might be so mistaken about another human being. "They'll probably have him examined by a psychiatrist to decide if he is sane."

"Well, he is. At least we know that."

Frank took several gulps of his beer and burped. "Whoever smashed that woman's head in certainly isn't."

"He could be sane otherwise," Einar said. "Just not at that very moment."

A new comment which needed digesting. It was quiet for a while. Everyone had a picture of Gøran in their minds. They imagined him sitting at one of the tables, drinking from a plastic cup. They imagined his face desperate and lost, with beads of sweat on his forehead. Crouched in a chair, a hard chair perhaps. He'd been sitting there for a long time and was starting to jerk from side to side. His back ached. He kept looking at the clock. A gruff interrogation leader in front of him who decided how long they were going to sit there. The image was very vivid to them, but incorrect.

At that very moment Gøran was sinking his teeth into a fresh-baked pepperoni pizza. The cheese formed fine strings which he gathered up with his fingers.

"You were used to Ulla," Sejer said quietly, "and when she said she was breaking up with you, you didn't take it seriously?"

"No," Gøran said, munching greedily. The pizza was good, he had asked for extra seasoning.

"So it didn't upset you?"

He swallowed and washed the mouthful down with Coke. Ran a hand through his coarse hair. "No," he said.

"Ulla said you were angry. Strange how people are. We see things differently. Perhaps you weren't sad either?"

"Sad?" said Gøran blankly.

"Tell me something that would make you sad," Sejer said.

Gøran thought hard. He took another bite.

"Can't you think of anything?"

"I'm never sad."

"But what if you're not happy? You're a nice guy, but surely you're not always happy?"

"Of course not."

"So?"

Gøran wiped his mouth. "If I'm not happy, then I'm angry, of course."

"Ah… I get it. But you can't possibly have been happy when Ulla broke up with you?"

Long pause. "I understand what you're getting at."

"You were angry. Can we agree on that?"

"We can agree on that."

Another pause.

"So you called Lillian. You asked if you could come over?"

"Yes. She said it was fine."

"She's saying that you never came to her house. Did something happen?"

"No! I was with Lillian."

He took a fresh napkin and wiped his mouth again.

"Did you need comforting?"

Gøran snorted. "I never need comforting."

"So what did you need?"

"For Christ's sake, man. Use your imagination!"

"You needed a woman's company?"

Gøran gawped at him and leaned forward across the table. He was grinning so heartily that Sejer frowned.

"Please explain to me what's so funny. You're too quick for me, Gøran."

Gøran digested the compliment and mimicked Sejer. '"You needed a woman's company.' Good God, when did you grow up? In World War One?"

Sejer smiled. "I'm old-fashioned. So you've found me out. But anyway. What did you need?"

"To come," Gøran said curtly. He sank his teeth into the pizza once again.

"Did you?"

"I've already told you."

"No. You called Lillian. She said you could come over. Let's do this one step at a time. Just what were her exact words?"

"Eh?"

"Can you remember exactly what she said?"

"She said it was fine."

"Just 'That's fine'?"

"Right."

"Did you notice a foreign woman walking along the road as you came driving?"