Карин Фоссум - The Whisperer

‘I seldom ask for anything,’ she explained quietly. ‘It’s too much effort. I always have to explain something, and I hate explaining myself to strangers.’

‘But you seem quite happy to explain yourself to me,’ Sejer said.

‘I have to.’

‘You don’t have to, you’ve chosen to. Lots of people sit in that chair and refuse to explain themselves, often on the advice of their lawyer. What you don’t tell us, if you so choose, cannot be used against you, but the case will continue all the same. And what you stand to lose is a healthy portion of old-fashioned goodwill from those who will judge you.’

‘So that means I’ll have goodwill? Because I’m giving my version?’

He nodded.

‘Goodwill is worth a lot more than people realise, it can take us a long way. Tell me about the night you discovered the man standing under the street light. Did you sleep at all?’

‘Only in short snatches. I had horrible dreams and woke up, then went back to the dream. There were points when I just lay there dozing, neither asleep nor awake. I really don’t like that grey zone,’ she said, ‘because nothing is certain. I hear something outside and it might be real or it might be a dream, the sounds criss-cross that boundary and create all this confusion. But I did manage to sleep for about an hour in the morning. And then I dreamt that he came back. That he snuck up the drive over to my bedroom window, which was open. That he was standing there, breathing into the room. I could hear his breathing so clearly, it was heavy and had the slow rhythm of a huge animal. But when I woke up, I realised it was just the wind. It sometimes catches the branches on the tree at the back of the house. When I got up and came into the living room, I almost didn’t dare look out the window, but he wasn’t there. An hour later, when I went to catch the bus, I pulled open the mailbox, but it was empty. I couldn’t understand it. He had been standing there by the lamp post, I was convinced that he had left a message and that it was something dramatic, as he’d wanted to make a point with his presence. As though he wanted to say, I’m here now. I kept looking over at the closed shop while I waited for the bus. I still felt bitter that Irfan had not said anything, I was a good customer, one of the best. I bought all kinds of things in his shop, even things I didn’t need, because I liked being there and looking at what was on the shelves. Once I bought a bottle of liquid soap that I poured in the bath. It had these tiny bits of glitter in it that stuck to my skin. You don’t get things like that in Norwegian supermarkets. But then, I’m childish. And I would have to find somewhere else to buy food, and it wouldn’t be as convenient, because I would have to drag all the heavy bags with me on the bus. Shop for a week at a time, not just pop over the road on impulse. I’ve never been much good at planning in advance.’

She sent him a pleading look.

‘Can I write to Rikard Josef? If you read the letter?’

‘What do you want to write?’ Sejer asked.

‘Just a few lines. That I’m thinking about him and don’t judge him in any way, that he must have been in a very difficult situation, and that I was too. That’s what we people do, find ourselves in difficult situations. Goodness only knows what’s wrong with the people who never do.’

‘They don’t exist,’ Sejer assured her. ‘Tell me more about how you feel about your son.’

‘He’s a good boy. But then, all mothers say that. I wonder if he’ll come to my funeral, it might not be long now.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘You never know, things like that. It’s not written anywhere that I’ll wake up tomorrow morning, it’s not a given. Do you take things like that for granted?’

‘I think everything will be all right.’

‘You think so?’

She smiled a little.

‘If Rikard were to die while I’m in prison, would someone tell me?’

‘Of course.’

‘Would I be able to go to his funeral?’

‘Why are you talking about his funeral? Do you think he’s ill?’

‘Maybe. I couldn’t get hold of him and you didn’t talk to him directly when you rang.’

‘I’m not the only one who decides things like that,’ Sejer explained. ‘I’m just a small cog in a big wheel.’

‘No,’ she objected. ‘You’re a big cog in a small wheel. If he dies, I want his body to come back here. I want him to be buried beside my mother and father. I’ve reserved a place for us both. As far as I know he has no one else, he’s certainly never mentioned anything. And if he’s defrauded the hotel, like you say, then his colleagues will have turned against him. Oh, that’s so awful, I almost can’t bear thinking about it. I thought he was so successful.’

She reached for the jug of water that was always on the table, and he noticed that she spilled a little.

‘But you can make friends in prison as well,’ she added. ‘They might even become best friends. You can’t hide in prison, people know the most terrible things about you.’

‘What was your thinking in the days that followed, after you’d seen him watching you?’

‘I tried to keep control. Like when you’re out walking alone at night. You hear someone following, you hear their footsteps. And you know that if you start running, your fear will explode. If you manage to stay calm, you can keep hold of the knowledge that it’s just someone else out walking, like you. I did sometimes pull the chair over to the window so I could keep an eye on the road. And I would sit there for hours, looking up and down, studying each car. It helped me to feel I was in control, that I was prepared. But it was a miserable life. Having to be at the window the whole time was a compulsion. I wanted my old, simple, quiet life back, with no intruders, but I’d lost it forever because someone out there had decided to destroy me. Slowly.’

‘Then there was a long period when nothing happened,’ Sejer said. ‘No letters, and no one watching you.’

‘It was so strange,’ she whispered. ‘I was on my guard all the time, listening and looking. It was a relief to be at work, as I could relax there. I would have worked double shifts if possible, but we were well staffed so there wasn’t any need. But I watched people all the time, and I noticed that if I stared at them, they stared back. All those little mechanisms are amazing — it actually only takes three seconds to pick up signals, for example, fear or scepticism or interest.’

‘You weren’t sleeping much,’ Sejer said. ‘How did that affect you?’

‘I was irritable, obviously. I’ve never been quick-tempered, but I couldn’t deal with things in the same way. I needed comfort and security, at the same time that I pushed everyone away. Only Gunnhild stayed. She was the only person I had, and I knew that she was keeping an eye on me. She was waiting for something as well. For me to break down or collapse, so they had to carry me out.’

‘Is that what you wanted?’

‘Yes.’

‘But you’re sleeping well here?’

‘It’s like coming home. Like being a child again. I go to bed, but the adults are still up and look after me, I can hear them moving around. You, doors opening and closing, footsteps, muffled voices. Do you remember that feeling from when you were little?’

‘I do,’ Sejer replied. ‘I also remember another feeling I sometimes got, if I was awake after the adults had gone to bed. When I heard nothing, just my own breathing. I didn’t like that much.’

‘One evening on my way home from work,’ she continued, ‘I got off the bus in the centre of town. I had a rucksack with me as I was going to do some shopping, then take another bus back to Kirkelina. I walked slowly down the pedestrian street on the way to the supermarket, looking in all the shop windows. And then I came to a dress shop, and I stopped. It’s an expensive shop, and I never buy anything there, far too pricey, and I’m actually happiest in this old overall.’