Карин Фоссум - The Whisperer

‘I lost my nerve. Didn’t dare.’

‘What did you think would happen if you did show yourself like that?’

She looked over at Frank, asleep on his blanket. Oh, how she envied the dog, such a simple life. She wanted to lie like that, curled up on a blanket while her master took responsibility for everything.

‘Nothing would have happened,’ she said. ‘It would have been a pointless act. No one would have noticed.’

‘But you think he would have known if you were out and about?’

‘It’s possible,’ she whispered. ‘We’d bump into each other sooner or later. It’s not a big town.’

Her replies to his questions were simple and believable. It did not occur to her to lie. Or not to answer. Or to get angry. She had never had so much attention, had never felt seen in this way. Not since Walther took that portrait of her when she was sixteen. And Sejer showed no sign of impatience, judgement, criticism or scorn. Nor did she think that this calm was just one of many sides, which he used whenever he was questioning someone, to get the desired result. He had no other impulsive or unpredictable sides that only those closest to him saw, when he was happy or angry. He was a silent force.

‘Frank,’ she whispered with feeling, looking at the dog. ‘Do you want to stay with me tonight?’

The dog heard her and opened his eyes. Despite her lack of volume, he recognised the intensity, that she was begging for something. He got up and padded over the floor, put his head on her lap, heavy and devoted. Slavered on her green nylon shop coat again.

‘He’s like you,’ she whispered to the inspector.

‘Should I take that as a compliment?’

‘Yes, you can if you want to. You say the same thing. When you’re not speaking, if you see what I mean. Your phone,’ she said. ‘It’s flashing. On two lines. They’re trying to get hold of you.’

‘They’re always trying. But I’m busy right now.’

‘Do they call at night as well?’

‘Sometimes. In special cases, when there’s no time to lose.’

‘Was I a special case?’

He pushed the telephone further away, as if to demonstrate that she was more important at the moment.

‘Would you like to be a special case?’

She did not answer, just blushed deeply with embarrassment.

‘We were called out in the morning,’ he reminded her. ‘I was already up and at work. Here, in the office with Frank. The phone started flashing, all the lines were flashing, and the call-out was on all the screens in the station, and sent to all the units close to Kirkelina. In other words, everyone knew about it. Even if it wasn’t you who called.’

Ragna turned away from Frank. He went back to his blanket and lay down again, curled up and went to sleep. Some of what had happened, and the reason why she was sitting here, played through her mind like film images. The memory silenced her. She had felt so safe in Sejer’s office, secure behind the closed door, with his deep voice. Not that she had suppressed what had happened, she had simply concentrated on answering his questions. Telling the truth as best she could.

‘Let’s talk about something else,’ Sejer said. ‘One fine day, or perhaps it was a terrible day, when you were sixteen, you had to walk through the door and tell your parents you were pregnant. Was that difficult for you?’

‘No,’ she said with a smile. ‘I had nothing to be afraid of. It was a very simple message, I only needed a few words. I put my hands on my stomach and said that I was expecting a baby. In a few months’ time. Can we stay here with you? I asked. Because the father lives in Stockholm, and he doesn’t have space for us. My father’s eyes were bigger and shinier than I’d ever seen them before. Mummy just patted me on the cheek and said, oh, Ragna, Ragna. You have your secrets, don’t you? As we all do. Then we laughed a little, I think, because having a baby is something to celebrate.’

‘I’m sure they had some thoughts about Walther Eriksson,’ Sejer said. ‘I mean, after all, he was well over forty and already had a family.’

‘I didn’t tell them about Walther,’ she replied.

‘But surely they asked? They were going to be grandparents.’

‘My parents were very unassuming people,’ she whispered. ‘Modest and extremely sensitive. Generous. Never critical, never demanding. Mummy asked if I was happy, and I was. That was all the reassurance she needed. They were always so busy with each other, because my father was often unwell, and now finally I was going to have something of my own. She did give me a questioning look, but I just closed my eyes and shook my head in response. She immediately understood the situation. The father, Walther, was not going to play any part and so was not important. It would be just the four of us in the house at Kirkelina, no one else. So there was no need to say any more about it. There’s so much talk in this world,’ she added. ‘About anything and everything. I had my baby. He was healthy and they were happy about it. Maybe they realised he was the only grandchild they would have. I think they felt blessed.’

‘Yes, indeed,’ Sejer said. ‘There’s so much talk, especially here at the station. But I had the impression, certainly up until now, that you wanted to explain yourself. How else could we give you a fair trial? Or do you take that for granted?’

‘Oh! No.’

She looked at him horrified.

He made a quick note and then put down the pen.

‘How did they react when he went to Berlin and then broke all contact with you?’

‘We’re still in contact!’ she insisted. ‘Just not very often. Rikard Josef has ambitions for his life, and thought it would be easier to do that somewhere else. People emigrate, some go much further than he has. And lots of them never come home again. He’s a free spirit. A true free spirit!’

And there it was, he thought, the first sign of irritation. He had hit a nerve.

‘I assume you have some photographs of him,’ he said. ‘From when he was a boy. And perhaps also as a teenager, before he went abroad. Is he like Walther?’

‘Yes, just like Walther. He has nothing from me. Not a line, not a hair.’

‘He’s an adult now,’ Sejer said. ‘And not very communicative, only sends cards with printed messages. So I’m guessing you don’t have any recent photographs of him?’

‘No,’ she had to admit. ‘I use my imagination.’

‘A long time has passed. Maybe he’s more like you than you realise. Would you like that to be the case?’

‘Let him be free of that,’ she said. ‘He is like Walther, full stop.’

‘You mean, be free of you?’

Ragna stared down into her lap, at her hands that were lying there. She did not want to talk about this. It was clear that she found the fact that her son had left her hard to bear, but she had accepted it. However, Sejer also felt that she knew the explanation. And she did not want to share it with him. Or, perhaps she believed it had nothing to do with the matter at hand, and that was why she was able to put a lid on that part of her life. But everything is connected to what’s happened in some way or other, he thought. Not many people would be capable of the crime she had committed. So every little detail was important.

‘Shall we change the subject?’ he asked.

‘Yes, please.’

He pushed the water jug across the table. He had noticed that she tended to forget to drink, and when her mouth was dry, it was harder to understand her. She took a long drink, then dried her lips. He saw that she had tiny freckles on the back of her hand, and thin fingers with no rings.

‘What if I were to ask you who your favourite person was, in all the world?’ he said in a friendly voice.