Karin Fossum - The Murder of Harriet Krohn

“Did you remember the carrots for Crazy?”

He smiles and says yes, he has remembered the carrots.

Charlo puts the car in gear and thinks, Here we are, my daughter and I, driving together. We’re friends. This is what I’ve always yearned for. I took drastic measures, but I got to where I wanted to be. Again he corrects himself. This is not where he wanted to be, he only wanted Julie. Have I got her now? he wonders. Will she remain with me forever?

“What are you thinking about?” Julie asks.

Charlo considers. He wants to be honest. Build up a good relationship without any deceit or illusion.

“I’m think about the things I’m frightened of,” he says. “What I’m most frightened of at the moment.”

“And that is?” she asks. Her smile is lurking just below the surface. There isn’t a cloud in her sky, so she doesn’t want to be serious.

He blurts out the answer. “My health.”

“Oh?” She looks at him in surprise. “But you’re always in good health.”

“Yes,” he says quickly, “but I’m a smoker. We don’t live as long as other people, you know.”

He gives way to a car on his right.

“Each and every cigarette harms me,” he announces dramatically.

She laughs her trilling laugh again and it fills the car. She gets out a scrunchie and gathers her hair at the nape of her neck. He looks at her slender throat and the graceful way she holds her head. The bridge of her nose is beautifully arched. This is his own flesh and blood, something he has a right to, hasn’t he? He was willing to kill for this. No, he wasn’t willing. It was just that there was no other way. What about the old woman in the churchyard? What’s she thinking now? What the hell’s wrong with my knees? No, he doesn’t want to start thinking about that. There are enough things troubling him, plaguing him. His thoughts run in circles while his hands rest on the steering wheel, while his heart pumps blood. He has turned his own destiny around, and his crime strikes him as daring and cowardly in equal measure. That he was prepared to go so far for another human being, that he could no longer stomach being a victim.

“Sometimes there’s a flickering in front of my eyes,” he confesses.

“Really?” She studies his profile and he meets her gaze.

“Can you see anything in them? Sometimes I think they look strange.”

He stops at a red traffic light and seeks her eyes. She looks hard.

“Strange how?”

“There’s something about the pupils. They look odd.”

She leans forward a little and examines him carefully. Then she begins to giggle.

“Go on! They’re completely normal.”

He blinks several times with relief.

“It’s good to be free,” he says, and puts the car in gear again.

She turns to look at him.

“What do you mean, free?”

“That I don’t owe money anymore, I don’t gamble. The other day I walked past a Twin Runner and didn’t even touch the money in my pocket.”

“Was it hard?” she asks teasingly.

“Yes,” he says seriously. “You don’t understand these things, but it was hard. It cost me a lot. But afterward it felt good. A victory over myself.”

“We’re on an even keel,” she announces, and looks at the road again, her green eyes shining. He nods. He needs a cigarette, but doesn’t want to subject her to the smoke and goes without.

“And you?” he asks, looking at her. “What are you most scared of?”

She shakes her head in resignation. “I think that’s a silly question, under the circumstances. I’m frightened of losing Crazy. I want to be where we are now, forever.”

Charlo nods in agreement.

“We can both drink to that,” he says contentedly.

He’s more relaxed now, because with Julie at his side he feels protected. He can’t imagine anything bad coming to ruin it because what they have together is great. After all, I’m a caring person, he thinks, and what’s growing between us is precious. But his crime is inconceivable. It was a false step.

“What will you do while I’m riding?” asks Julie.

“I’m going to put up some mangers,” he answers. “They’re blue. That really worries me.”

She laughs at him. “Why?”

“The stables are red and the box doors are brown. The mangers ought to be black. Or possibly green. It’s a matter of aesthetics. Møller can’t see it. He knows about horses but not about colors.”

“He’s obviously bought the ones he could afford,” Julie remarks matter-of-factly. “I bet the blue ones were the cheapest.”

Charlo gives a deep sigh. “Yes,” he says, “it’s the bottom line that counts. I know all about that.”

A silence falls between them, and Charlo can’t think of anything to fill it. He concentrates on his driving and listening to Julie breathing next to him. He catches the scent of the mild soap that fills the car’s interior. It’s enough just to sit next to her; it’s good to be two against the rest of the world. But he always has to think before he opens his mouth. Consider what’s safe. He attempts to recall the time when he could simply talk off the cuff, quickly, without thinking, and saying anything that came into his head. The time before he began to gamble, when everything was easy between him and Inga Lill. He tries to imagine an interrogation. He’s seen plenty on television. He believes he’d get through one. Simply because he’d have to, if he didn’t want to lose what he’s finally gained. That cost him blood. At the same time, he envisages the legal system as a mill, grinding incessantly, and that sooner or later he’ll be picked up. But that’s for later, he thinks. For now I’m sitting here with Julie. She’s quiet in the seat next to him, looking forward to the work. I’ve given her what she desired. That’s all I wanted.

“What was it like for you when things were at their worst?” he asks, throwing her a look. “I mean, as regards the gambling.”

She thinks about it and lowers her head.

“Well,” she says, “it was so embarrassing. You were always parked in front of those slot machines. And everyone could see you. A grown man standing there playing like that, completely hooked. I didn’t understand it. The people in my class saw you, too, standing there day after day, shoving in money. Mom often used to send me out to fetch you. Because you never came home from the shops. And when you finally did come, you hadn’t got what she’d asked for. You’d always gambled away most of the money.”

He’s silent, letting it sink in. He feels an ache of shame within him.

“But the worst time,” she continues, “was when we went to Øvrevoll. And the people you rubbed shoulders with there. And the money I’d saved. The way it suddenly disappeared.”

Charlo clears his throat. “Can I say something really stupid?” he pleads.

She makes no reply, just waits.

“My earnest desire was to double that money. I felt so lucky that day — it’s impossible to describe. A certainty that the winnings were there waiting for me. That’s how it is sometimes. I could hardly believe it when I lost. Julie,” he says intently. “It’s an illness.”

She nods again, not wanting to be serious. Looking at him, she smiles warily. “But what if you have a relapse?”

He shakes his head emphatically.

“It won’t happen. I’m certain of it.”

“But how can you be so sure?” she says, wanting more assurance, more security.

“I’m in a different place now,” he says. “And I’m not looking back.”

His great fear is that the horses will panic when he starts the drill. He looks at the huge animals doubtfully and thinks of all that bone and muscle and all the things that could happen. Those thin, delicate legs.