Карин Фоссум - The Whisperer

‘This note,’ she whispered, ‘was lying on my bedside table when I woke up today. Someone was in my house while I was asleep.’

The seconds passed again, good God, they went fast, ticked by as fast as the numbers on Irfan’s taximeter. The officer took his time, his eyes gave nothing away, and he did not touch the paper. First he had to establish who she was and why she was whispering. She valiantly straightened her back, wanted to show him that she was clear-headed and sober, that she was all there, in every way.

‘Is there any reason for you to whisper?’ he wondered.

She swallowed, pulled the collar of her blouse to one side and pointed at the red, jaggedy scar.

‘You’ve been assaulted?’ he said.

‘No, no. The doctor made a mistake,’ she whispered.

He stared at her white neck with curiosity.

‘Do you have any ID with you?’ he asked.

She nodded, taken aback, nodded and nodded again. Then she fumbled around in her bag to find her Visa card with the awful photograph. It certainly had not been taken by Walther Eriksson, but rather one of the photo booths in the post office. He studied it, turned it over, looked up at her to compare.

‘And who was in your house?’ he said.

‘Don’t know.’

‘Was the door forced?’

She shook her head.

‘He came in through the window. It was open all night.’

‘Open? In the middle of winter?’ His mouth fell open. ‘Do you know how cold it was last night? It was well below minus ten.’

‘The bathroom window,’ she stammered. ‘I forgot to close it before I went to bed.’

He had not even looked at the note. She could not understand why he would not read it. She heard a powerful, steady hum in the background and realised the lift was moving. She turned round and looked out through the glass. There were more people out there now. Several who wanted a passport, and others who were waiting to come in here, who wanted the officer’s attention, while she stood there, bewildered.

‘Has anything been taken from the house?’ he asked. ‘Any valuables?’

‘I haven’t checked properly,’ she had to confess. ‘But that’s not what he’s after.’

‘I see.’

‘He’s after me.’

He made no reply, just raised his eyebrows.

‘He’s been after me for a long time,’ she added. She tried to lean forward on the counter to make him understand how serious it was, but could barely reach with her elbows.

‘So we’re talking about someone you know?’

‘Not really,’ she said.

She felt herself shrinking. She could hear that she was making a hash of it, could see it in his eyes. And he was talking more loudly than he needed to; he automatically thought, like so many other people, that she must be hard of hearing as well. She tried to think of another way of saying it.

‘He leaves things in my mailbox as well,’ she whispered, ‘Threats and messages. He’s been doing it all autumn.’

The officer was silent for a long time. There was something disconcerting about the way in which he looked at her. Her heart started racing and her cheeks were hot even though it was cold.

‘And do you have these other messages with you?’

‘I’ve burnt them,’ she said. ‘I only have this one that I found this morning.’

She put her finger on the folded paper in front of him. Finally he picked it up and studied it carefully.

‘On the bedside table?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’

Were the corners of his mouth not twitching?

‘So, did someone stay the night with you? And maybe left before you woke up?’

Ragna was so stumped that she almost burst into tears. At the same time, she knew that she had to keep her composure, that she had to get this uniformed, arrogant oaf to understand how serious it was, and if she started to cry he would assume that she was anxious and depressed and advise her to see the doctor. Not that that was entirely untrue.

She leaned as far forward on the counter as she could and rapped the woodwork with her knuckles.

‘Read the note!’ she begged.

He read it.

‘I want to report it,’ she said with determination.

‘You want to report it? This?’ He waved the note.

‘Breaking and entering,’ she whispered. ‘Harassment.’

He hesitated, then shrugged. Turned round, picked up a form from the shelf and put it down on the counter in front of her. Then found her a pen.

Ragna studied the questions on the form, there were a lot of them. An endless list. The lift started to hum again. She glanced over her shoulder, some people were coming in, others going out. The reception area was full of people and there was a constant babble. But it was her turn now. She wrote as precisely as she could. She had worked herself up into a great fury and her hands were sweating, but she wrote. Filled in the form and pushed it back over the counter towards him.

‘Will you send someone out?’ she wanted to know.

He read through the form, carefully, from start to finish.

‘You say here that nothing is missing and the door had not been forced. Was the window broken?’

‘I told you, I left it open.’

He nodded.

‘And otherwise, there was nothing that was broken, no overturned furniture, or anything like that?’

‘No.’

‘That doesn’t give us much to go on,’ he told her. ‘Initially, at least.’

‘But he left that message!’ she whispered. ‘That’s proof! He was in my house last night, surely that’s a breakin?’

‘Who was in your house?’ he asked in a calm voice, looking straight at her.

‘I don’t know. That’s why I’m standing here now!’

He studied the handwritten message for a third time. Again, she saw a smile tug at the corners of his mouth.

‘I’ll attach it. It would be good if you could go home and make sure everything is there and intact. And contact us again if anything else happens. Then we’ll investigate more closely.’

‘More closely? He can’t get any closer. My bedroom!’

A sob escaped, which she quickly swallowed.

‘He was standing at the side of my bed,’ she added.

The officer said nothing more, just gave her a short nod to end the conversation, in the same way that she did. Ragna saw her report and the folded note disappear onto a shelf.

But she stayed where she was. She thought, I have to stay here until he asks me to leave the station. But then she collapsed, was drained of any strength. These people saw everything in the course of their work, rotting bodies, raped women, abused children, car accidents, charred people. And here is Ragna Riegel. No one has laid a hand on me, it’s just an evil game, and I’m too sensitive. She turned and snuck out like a guilty dog, slowly crossed the reception area towards the door. But then she straightened her back, and was pleased with herself after all. She had reported it. She had followed the rules and the officer had not chased her off. Her case had been given a place in the system.

She found Irfan’s taxi a bit further down the road. He was reading the newspaper and the car smelt of coffee. She settled in the back, and the car swept through the city, the river to the left of them now, with all its currents, eddies and waves. Irfan watched her in the mirror again.

‘I’ve got the heating on full blast,’ he said.

She nodded. Ran a hand through her hair. Had she even brushed it today? Goodness, what must she look like, what was she wearing, and why was he staring at her like that?

‘I didn’t phone the tax office,’ she whispered. ‘I don’t know anything about your accounts. But I liked the food. Now I have to go to the big supermarket in town.’

He did not reply, just continued to watch her. She looked at his hands. They were golden brown, the right index finger tapping impatiently on the wheel, whatever that meant.