Karin Fossum - I Can See in the Dark

Now, someone had opened it.

And that someone was at this very moment standing on the doorstep.

‘Riktor? Are you there?’

Then silence for a couple of seconds. There was the sound of light footsteps.

‘It’s only me. Are you at home? May I come in?’

I recognised the voice at once. Sister Anna was standing out there calling, she was the one trying to get in, angel Anna, that good fairy, suddenly here in my house. And here I was, clutching a blood-covered hammer. A miserable alcoholic was lying on the floor with his skull smashed in. A dying man. A moaning man. I laid the hammer on the floor and carefully studied my hands. I couldn’t see any blood on them. I stepped over Arnfinn and crossed the room quickly and went out into the hall. Anna was standing with one foot on the doorstep. She was holding a plate with a small cake on it.

‘Many happy returns!’ she said, brightening as I made my appearance. ‘I know you’re off duty. But you’ll have to put up with a little interruption on your birthday.’

I was overwhelmed by everything about her. The red dress she wore, the walnut-topped marzipan cake she held in her hands.

‘Happy birthday,’ she said again. And then, with a light laugh: ‘Have I caught you in the midst of some evil deed?’

I could only stand there and gawp. I couldn’t utter a word. My heart almost stopped and I felt boiling hot.

‘Maybe you’ve got a female visitor?’ Anna asked.

The question fazed me completely. I was about to nod, yes, I had, just to gain time, when a deep groan from the living room echoed through the house, and out to the door where we stood. Anna immediately became solemn. The cake dish tilted in her hand. She took a small step back and bit her lip, her eyes big with surprise.

‘You’ve got someone with you,’ she said uncertainly.

‘It’s my father,’ I replied. I said it quickly and without thinking. ‘He’s poorly,’ I added, ‘so he’s staying here a few days. Because he’s ill. He’s pretty frail,’ I went on, ‘he calls out whenever I disappear from view.’

I could have bitten my tongue off. I was beginning to get slightly manic, and I still hadn’t taken the cake.

‘Your father?’ Anna said doubtfully. Then she slowly shook her head. ‘Your father?’ she repeated sceptically.

‘I’m rather busy,’ I said clumsily. ‘Or I’d ask you in. For a cup of coffee. But there’s my father. He’s lying on the sofa in the living room. So it’s a bit inconvenient.’

She sent me a look of incomprehension, shook her head almost imperceptibly, as if there was something she didn’t understand. She turned and glanced over her shoulder, as if searching for an answer somewhere out on the drive. I could see that she was struggling to make sense of the situation. Then she held out the cake and nodded.

‘I see,’ she said. ‘Your father. Well, I’m sorry to hear he’s poorly. You must share the cake with him.’

I took the dish and thanked her. Anna retreated to the top of the steps, and stood there for a moment or two, as if considering. And I thought to myself, if Arnfinn moans again, it’ll all be over. Or perhaps it was all over anyway, because the excuse about my father had been a bit rash, and vague recollections of previous conversations, chats when we’d been sitting in the ward office, for example, had begun to plague my mind. What I’d revealed and hadn’t revealed over the years.

‘I’m sorry I took the liberty,’ Anna said, ‘of opening the door and coming in. But I was so certain you were in the house. You always say it yourself, how you like being at home.’

I couldn’t come up with any answer. I was still paralysed with fear at the idea that Arnfinn might groan again. But he didn’t, there was no sound from the living room. I made her a bow as I stood in the doorway, with the cake dish in my hands.

‘Thank you for the kind thought,’ I said, as effusively as I could. ‘You’re in a league of your own when it comes to birthdays.’

‘I think you ought to go back in to your father,’ she said emphatically. ‘When someone makes that sort of noise, it must be serious.’

Then she turned on her heel. She jogged down the steps and on to the drive. I caught a glimpse of her car; it was parked by the gate. Afterwards, I was totally bewildered. I could hardly believe what had happened, perhaps it was no more than a bad dream. And as I stood there like an idiot, with the cake dish in my hands, something reignited my fury, as if a spring within me was wound to breaking point. I slammed the front door shut behind me, dumped the cake on the sideboard and ran into the living room. I picked up the hammer from the floor, and stood there, legs apart, an enraged crook in my knees, seeing the prostrate Arnfinn through the red mist that hung before my eyes.

Then I began to lash out.

I pounded for a good while, the blows landing somewhat randomly, on his head and face, and also on his chest, my fury fuelling my strength, I’d never been so savage and demented. I kept going until I was totally exhausted. I stood staring down at his gory, pulped head. I could no longer tell that it was Arnfinn lying there. A grey and porridge-like substance had poured out of his nose. The membrane around his brain had ruptured. The contents were flowing out, running over his lips and chin.

Afterwards, when my equilibrium had returned, I cut a slice of cake, put it on a plate and carried it into the living room. I sat and ate while I contemplated the object that lay on the floor. The cake was topped with pale green marzipan, and filled with raspberries and cream. The slice had a walnut perched on the icing.

I’d killed a man.

I’d killed him because of a few banknotes, killed him because I’d been hurt, shattered his skull because I’d been taken in and deceived. I was indignant. It was Arnfinn who’d got me into this predicament. Now he’d turned into an insurmountable obstacle, as he lay on the floor, the contents of his brain oozing out over the floorboards and seeping into them. I finished my slice of cake. I saved the walnut until last. I tramped about the house swearing, I cursed him and hurled imprecations at him, against the drunkard, the thief, the deceiver. I had a long night before me. It’s not easy to dispose of a man’s body, Arnfinn was hardly something you could just flush down the toilet. But oh, what a wonderful solution, if only it had been that easy! He deserved no more, even though at certain moments of generosity I hadn’t realised it, and had seen him as a sterling character, a modest creature. My next thought, as I walked about with my hands pressed to my head, was that no one would miss him. But it would be the same when my own time came, not a living soul would regret my passing. When my tough, old heart muscle had contracted for the last time.

I waited until darkness had fallen late that night before going to work. In the cellar I found a spade and immediately set to work digging, with hard, desperate thrusts, just on the edge of the forest. It was harder than I’d imagined, I’ve never had much of a physique, the intellect is more my métier. The blade only bit a few centimetres into the hard, dry ground, and I quickly realised that I’d never manage to dig a grave two metres deep. At best I’d be able to scoop out a shallow trench. I’d have to pile earth on the body and cover it as best I could. Nobody ever came to the house, nobody would see the small mound in amongst the pines and birches, nobody would think there was anything mysterious about an inconspicuous pile of stones on the brow of the forest. So I dug, my God how I dug. There was a crisp, slicing sound each time the blade cut into the sandy soil. There was also a lot of stones, and several roots which caused big problems, and all this began to infuriate me. With the anger came adrenalin, and that provided more strength, which I badly needed in order to conceal my unfortunate accident. I looked about and wiped away the sweat.