Karin Fossum - The Murder of Harriet Krohn

He returns from his daydream and looks around the room. He’s back on track now. He’s got himself some work, and he’ll really slog at it. He’ll put every ounce of effort into the years he’s got left. He will serve his time. In his own way. He stares out into the street. Some cars are parked along the pavement, and he studies them carefully. He’s got it into his head that the gray Volvo is after him. He can’t see the Volvo at the moment, and all the cars are empty. I’ll be forever looking over my shoulder, he thinks, unless the case is time-barred. That might not be for decades; perhaps I won’t even live that long. But it would be nice to experience that day. He supposes that time-barring is almost the same as forgiveness. OK, what you did that night at Hamsund was terrible, but we won’t bother you anymore. There are other important cases pending. That’s how he imagines it will be. He looks at his watch and wonders if Julie has gone to bed. Maybe she’s lying there with a book, turning the pages, unaware of all the things that are about to happen.

The next day he counts the hours and minutes and seconds.

It’s eleven o’clock, the long break, and Julie will be eating her packed lunch. She thinks it’s just an ordinary day with math and English and gym. She doesn’t know that I’ve finally done something for her, for us. She doesn’t know what I went through for her, and for our future. He paces from room to room, waiting, chain-smoking, nervous and jittery. Outside the sunshine is hazy, and when at last he goes to his car, he treads on frozen leaves. They crunch loudly in the silence. Everything is so bright and sharp and cold. He’s becoming reacquainted with himself. After feeling like a stranger in front of the mirror for so long, he feels more relaxed. It’s taken time, but time has come to his aid in the form of the rising hope that perhaps he’ll get away with it. Some people do escape.

He thinks about this as he drives to Julie’s. He feels like some lovesick teenager going to ask a girl out. She lives in a house in Oscarsgate, where a number of students have apartments. They share a kitchen and bathroom, and Julie has a scholarship so that she can pay her own way. He parks by the sidewalk and stays in the car for a moment. He gazes up at her window. Does he dare go in? Julie is so strong, so emphatic. So bitter about everything that’s happened. He gets out of the car and locks it. Counts the stairs going up. He hears the sound of music playing softly behind her door, but no voices. He stands there with his arms dangling, stands there with his sore heart, dressed in old corduroy pants and a thick checkered shirt. At last he gives his right hand the command to knock on the door. Immediately the music becomes fainter. There she is in the doorway. Her green eyes darken with surprise. Then they narrow, and she turns quickly away from him. She doesn’t shut the door, but stands there silently, her shoulders tense.

“Julie,” he asks, “can I come in? I’ve got something important to show you.”

How thin she is, he thinks as he says it. It’s good Inga Lill can’t see her.

There’s no sign of curiosity in her posture. He can’t see her face; he’s looking at the back of her red head.

“Something important,” he says again, and takes a step forward. Opens his arms clumsily. Simultaneously he’s overwhelmed. It’s been a long time since she was so close. He could reach out and touch her. He doesn’t, though. He stands there and waits.

“Well, then?” she says at last.

Her voice is curt. Charlo holds his breath. He knows that he’ll have to humble himself. He’s prepared for her to sling bitter recriminations in his face. She begins to walk across the room, so he follows her hesitantly. He catches sight of a bed, a desk, and a television set. Pictures on the wall: Snowball and Mephisto, and several of Johnny Depp. A floor lamp with a pink shade that casts a warm, romantic light. Various items of clothing litter the floor. She begins picking them up, almost mechanically, her expression hard. He stands in the middle of the room studying her, looking at her surly back. Her jaw is working angrily. Despite this, he feels the bond between them. It’s still there, and that’s why her cheek is twitching. He wants to ask if he can sit down, but doesn’t know where to begin. But he imagines how, when he’s explained his errand, her eyes will quickly light up as they used to, as he remembers them, green and twinkling.

“It’s been a long time since we saw each other,” he says to her back.

She continues her aimless tidying, moving things and keeping her hands busy. He feels a bit desperate and crosses to her bed and sits down. He’s on her home ground now; he has to tread warily. But he feels strong, too. He’s come with good intentions. He’s come to make it up to her, for his betrayal.

She goes to the desk and takes a seat, watching him. Then she covers her face with her hands. It’s deathly still in the room. Charlo can’t say anything. She is the one who’s initiated the silence and how long it should last. He sits and lets himself be tortured as he awaits the signal, a word, a look. So that he can move on. But there is no signal. He realizes that he’s an adult. He gathers up his courage and speaks.

“You haven’t wanted to see me. And I’ve respected that. I’ve had nothing to offer you, only a miserable life.”

She remains silent.

“But now it’s all different,” he says, looking at her intently. “I’ve got a new life. I’ve stopped gambling at last.”

She takes her hands away from her face and looks at him.

“You said that before.”

Her voice is flat. But then, suddenly: “What have you done to your chin?”

He places a finger on the scratch and gives a shrug of embarrassment.

“Oh,” he says lightly, “that was just an accident. It’s only a cut.”

She rises and takes a few steps, coming closer. Her gaze is so direct that it burns.

“What do you want here?”

He attempts a smile; he’s eager and wants to explain.

“Have you been drinking?” she asks. “Is that how you got the graze?”

He shakes his head emphatically.

“Don’t worry about me,” he says, looking at her. He feels his heart swell, for she’s beautiful standing there, with her green eyes.

“I don’t go out drinking. I’ve finished with that sort of thing.”

She doesn’t believe him. She gives him a sidelong glance, her eyes still narrow.

“Julie,” he says, “tell me how things are going. Are you getting on well at school?”

She stares out of the window at the town’s roofs. Her jaw is jutting out, which he’s seen it do so many times before. So much wells up inside him. Her mouth, which she’s inherited from Inga Lill, is wide and generous. Her narrow shoulders, her long neck. That she is his, that they should be together.

“Have you come here after all that’s happened to ask that? About how things are going at school?”

He tenses up inside. He doesn’t like the tone of her voice.

“You must forgive my clumsiness,” he says, “I’m not a clever man. But I have actually come about something. I haven’t arrived empty-handed.”

Involuntarily her eyes move to his hands.

“Yes, everything’s fine. I’m thinking of going to veterinary college.”

Her voice is at once defiant and proud. Charlo’s cheeks get all hot. My daughter, the vet, he thinks. I’m blessed with this beautiful, sensible girl, who’ll maybe take me back. She must take me back!

“But,” he says, feeling his secret aching come out, “what do you do in your spare time? Have you got time for anything besides homework?”

She pouts at him and stands picking at her nails, which are short and unpainted.