Karin Fossum - I Can See in the Dark

Her needle moved like lightning. I sat and watched it for a long time.

‘Nelly Friis’ murder remains unsolved,’ I said.

She gave me a quick look. Her curls were crisp and newly done, her hair sat like a well-fitting cap.

‘That’s a problem for the police. They’ll work it out all right.’

I asked about little Miranda’s progress.

‘They go to the Dixie,’ Ebba said, ‘she and her mother. With their coffee and Coke. Almost every day. What a blessing it is, everything that’s happened. She’s walking almost normally, but it’s taken a long time. When she’s wearing baggy trousers you simply don’t know the braces are there. But she can’t run, of course. She’ll have to plod her way slowly through life. And perhaps that’s no bad thing, you get more out of it that way.’

She held her crocheting up to the light and examined her work, while I admired the complicated pattern, stars within borders, and the minuscule, barely visible stitches.

‘You’ve adapted,’ she noted. ‘You’re flexible. That’s good. What are you going to do when you’re released? It’ll be midsummer. You’ll need a job.’

‘They help with that,’ I explained. ‘We’ve got a kind of support service here in prison. But I’m not working with people any more. It just exasperates me. I can’t take people who plead. I can’t take people who whine and complain. So I’ll have to keep away from them.’

‘There’s good in everyone,’ Ebba maintained.

I didn’t try to deny it. I presented her with a drawing of the sanatorium, in which every one of its windows was an eye looking out on the world. For a brief moment I toyed with the idea of telling her about Margareth, but decided not to. Secrets are my strong point, I wanted to keep it to myself. Our relationship was a bastion for the future, and I added to it, stone by stone, with diligence and care. Margareth knew nothing about it, she didn’t know what I was working up to and hoping for, didn’t know about the dream that I was determined to turn into reality. But one day she would see it, she would see the lovely palace and clap her hands in delight.

And so the days and weeks passed. I conformed, I waited. I’d get out and find a job, then I’d woo Margareth as a free man. With an income and good prospects. With an exemplary record, and my eyes firmly fixed on a new and respectable path. That was the plan.

Humility. Patience. Contrition.

Margareth’s assistant passed away.

I dropped my knife in the sink when she told me, and almost whooped for joy. I’d never have believed a dead kitchen assistant would have given me so much pleasure. I could have leapt and danced with delight, I could have sprayed a bottle of champagne. Thank you, O Lord, her assistant is dead! But I stopped myself. After several months in prison I’d developed a certain amount of tact and propriety. They were the things I needed to conquer Margareth.

When the time was ripe.

Winter arrived and held everything in its icy grip, and the mercury sank towards minus twenty. I feared that the pipes in my house would freeze, and later burst, causing leaks in the spring and then damp problems, as well as bills I wouldn’t be able to pay. So I was given leave to go and switch on the heating. Of course, I thought of Arnfinn lying under his rhododendron bush. Everything was covered in a blanket of snow, even that chapter of my life. I considered that the long year I had to spend alone in my cell would be sufficient punishment for it all. Of course I wasn’t perfect. But I felt that I’d have paid for my sins at last.

The asylum seeker from Somalia had become pals with the big Russian, and they made quite a pair as they sat together in the common room. Two great hunks of brawn and sinew. Now, at least, he’d found his niche, and no longer had to spend his days playing table tennis. Instead, he went to the gym and got even bigger and stronger, if that was possible. His physique was so muscular that he seemed about to explode. He didn’t recognise me. We’d bump into one another occasionally, in the corridor or in the common room, but he looked right through me, his expression vacant. And then, very cautiously, I began to flirt with Margareth. I had to, because time was running out; if I wanted to win her, I’d have to act. Soon she’d understand my motives, and realise they were good. All through the winter they were good.

Now things are gathering pace.

My release is getting nearer, and the time is ticking towards a new life. To date, Nelly Friis’ murder remains unsolved, and I search my mind for a possible explanation. For who’s responsible for making a fool of me. For who has committed a crime and then conveniently framed me for it. Because that’s clearly what’s happened. But perhaps this isn’t even a murder. Perhaps the prosecution service is wrong and she died of natural causes, with nothing more than a sigh, and then it was all over.

Blindly and painfully over.

There are various reasons why people can have blood leakage in an eye; I, who stuck a cannula into one, know that only too well. It’s no proof of suffocation as the doctor maintains.

I think a lot about Sister Anna, my delightful swan, Anna. And whether she’s hoodwinking us. What if her good nature is a camouflage for something else, something that has been going on for years, maybe several patients at Løkka have been dispatched. I’m not stupid. If I’ve pulled the wool over other people’s eyes, they can do the same to me. I know that Nelly had money. Property, shares and personal wealth. What if one of the grandchildren, a nephew, a son or daughter, got tired of waiting for the big prize? The final word has not yet been spoken in Nelly’s case. But I know it will be one day. The truth is an unstoppable force, it will out.

I’m promoted to block monitor.

On account of my exemplary behaviour, because now I’ve learnt. I wash the floor of the corridor in front of the cells and hand out the post. Keep the noticeboard announcements tidy. Pass on messages and take care of small repairs, help shelve books in the library, go on errands from cell to cell, liaise between the prisoners and the prison staff. In short, I’m useful. All day long I help others. I work in the kitchen. I bind Margareth to me with every ounce of zeal and intensity I possess, and I really think she is predisposed towards me. Wasn’t opening up about that brother who dived to his death a vote of confidence? Intimate, almost affectionate, that’s the way I choose to view it. A green light, so I can advance; perhaps she’s waiting even now. She wouldn’t have told just anyone, she chose me. There’s no doubt in my soul. Margareth is within reach, and I’m as excited as a child, when I think of all that’s in store. All that will be mine.

Just as soon as this winter, this long winter, is over.

Just as soon as I’ve made amends.

The snow melts and runs away.

It gurgles grey and dirty down the drains, taking with it leaves and mud, and scouring the roads clean and smooth, and now everything is easier.

January, February and March come and go.

And so the months pass slowly by.

Easter arrives, the place on my calendar where I’ve sketched a chick in the margin. The spring months with all their trickling water, early summer with its shoots. Thus I atone for the hurt and injury I’ve done the patients at Løkka, I pay the price for my frustrated nature. My lack of control. But I don’t complain. Never once have I complained during the long, cold winter. Eventually the snow melts. Summer comes at last, and I’m going to be free again. During the whole of this never-ending year I’ve been consummate in all my behaviour, and he who has paid the price has surely regained his credit. At least, that’s my opinion.