Karin Fossum - The Murder of Harriet Krohn

It’s as if Charlo suddenly wakes up. He’s up to his waist in the freezing torrent.

“But why do you keep on about this collision?” he asks, looking at Sejer.

The inspector returns his gaze.

“We don’t need to go into our motives for asking the questions we ask,” he says. “What’s interesting from our point of view is that you were in Hamsund at a time that’s critical to my investigation.”

“And what kind of investigation is that?” Charlo asks, and holds his breath waiting for the reply.

“A murder case,” Sejer says calmly. He looks into Charlo’s eyes.

“So I may have seen something? Is that what you think?”

“Yes.”

Charlo takes courage. Looks straight at Sejer.

“In that case, I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you. I wasn’t particularly observant that evening, and I can’t remember anything about cars or people. I only recall the crash and the young man. Afterward I drove home. I tried to beat out the damned thing with a hammer. I mean, the dent. Repainted it a bit. That sort of thing.”

Sejer holds his gaze. “I’m sorry, but there’s something I don’t understand. It was the Toyota driver’s fault. You could have had the dent repaired in a body shop at his expense. But you wouldn’t fill in the claim form. Why not, Mr. Torp?”

Charlo isn’t getting sufficient oxygen; his cheeks are hollow.

“But I’ve already tried to explain that I wasn’t myself that evening,” he says, and he can hear from the tone of his voice that his temper is rising.

“Let’s go into this a bit,” Sejer coaxes. “You weren’t yourself. In what way?”

Charlo takes a drink of Farris. Tries to gather his thoughts.

“I had a lot to contend with,” he confesses, because now he can see the situation for what it is. He must provide a proper and compelling explanation for why he fled the scene of the accident. “I’ve already mentioned that I was unemployed. There were also debts I couldn’t pay. I had a gambling addiction that ruined my whole life. My daughter didn’t want to see me. I’d been forced into a corner. And the collision at that junction was too much for me. I just lost it, and that’s only human, really.”

“Absolutely,” Sejer agrees. “So, you had debts?”

“I’d borrowed money from friends and the like. Gambled at Bjerke and Øvrevoll. And slot machines. I’ve always been keen on horses. It all mounted up to quite a large debt. It worried me sick. People were after me. Nothing was secure.”

“I see. You had gambling debts, you say. But not anymore? Have they been paid off?”

Charlo is unsure of what to say. “Yes, I won some money,” he blurts out.

“Ah, your luck was in?”

“People wouldn’t get addicted to gambling if they never won,” Charlo retorts.

“Of course not,” Sejer says, smiling. He rises from his chair and walks to the window. The wrinkled dog gets up and pads after him, stationing himself next to his master. Sejer stands gazing out for a while.

Charlo gets a break. He shifts a little in his chair. He looks nervously at the time, thinking about Julie. Can’t understand why Sejer is just staring out of the window like this.

“I’ve got a little question,” Sejer says. “What took you to Fredboesgate?”

Charlo shakes his head vehemently.

“Nothing at all. I only drove through it.”

“Where had you come from?”

Sejer has turned and he’s leaning against the wall.

Charlo thinks frantically. “Well, I came from Kongsberg.”

“I see. You came from Kongsberg. And what were you doing in Kongsberg?”

Charlo becomes confused. He realizes that he hasn’t prepared any of this, hasn’t spent time reshaping the evening. I’m a damn amateur, he thinks miserably.

“I just drove around,” he says at last. “It was one of those evenings when I was very down. I drove around at random. Went to various places.”

“You left your house in Blomsgate at what time?”

“Er, about six P.M. But really...”

“And when did you get back home?”

Charlo remembers that his neighbor, Erlandson, saw him from his window. They may have interviewed him. He’s filled with uncertainty. Tells the truth anyway.

“It was probably eleven o’clock or thereabouts.”

“So,” says Sejer, coming across to the desk. “You drove around without any plan from six in the evening until eleven o’clock?”

“I must have.”

“That’s a long time. That’s a lot of fuel. Could you afford it?”

“Yes.”

He crumples a little in his chair, realizing the ludicrousness of his explanation.

“I walked around the town for a while,” he adds.

“In that awful weather?” Sejer smiles. His smile is wide and always arrives unexpectedly.

“It was a bad day,” Charlo declares. And it’s true, too. The worst day of his life.

“Do you know Hamsund?” Sejer inquires.

“Not at all.”

“They’ve got a lovely church there. You ought to go and take a look at it sometime.”

Charlo blinks in terror.

“Yes, I’ve seen it in the distance,” he says. “I’ve driven past.” Then he recalls the woman he met in the churchyard. Have they been keeping him under surveillance the whole time, following his every move? The gray Volvo shadowing him through the streets without his knowledge? He clasps his hands in his lap. Glances surreptitiously at his wristwatch again. Sejer folds his arms, looking indefatigable. Charlo retreats into himself. How has he done? He’s managed well. He hasn’t admitted anything, apart from his own wretchedness.

“Let’s try to plot your movements that evening,” Sejer suggests, planting his elbows on the desktop.

“There’s no point. I don’t even remember it that well. I drove around, as I’ve already explained. From my house to the middle of town. Then I walked around a bit looking in shop windows. At all the things I couldn’t afford,” he says bitterly. “After a while, I was pretty wet because of the sleet. Got in the car again and drove out to Kongsberg. I wandered around there for quite a while. Looked at people. That sort of thing.”

Sejer nods.

“OK. You drove from Blomsgate to the town center. Roughly how long did you walk around there?”

“Maybe an hour or two.”

“Could you be a bit more precise?”

“More like two hours.”

“That takes us to eight o’clock,” Sejer says. “Then you drove to Kongsberg. That would take about forty-five minutes. Say an hour because of the poor weather?”

“Yes.”

“That’s nine o’clock. How long did you stroll around Kongsberg?”

“Um, perhaps an hour,” says Charlo, doing feverish calculations in his head.

“So, that’s ten o’clock. Then you turned for home and arrived about eleven. That’s good. We’ve got that straight. But you made a detour through Hamsund. And spent some time berating that young man?”

“Yes.”

“And there were no witnesses to the accident?”

“No,” Charlo replies truthfully.

Once more Sejer takes a break. It lasts a long time. Charlo presses his lips together and prepares himself for an attack. He can’t seem to breathe properly. This calm, he thinks, is getting on my nerves. Sejer is like an iceberg; there is something imposing and cold about him.

“As you passed along Fredboesgate,” he says suddenly, “did you notice anything in particular?”

Charlo shakes his head.

“Did you meet any other cars?”

“Not that I remember.”

“What about pedestrians?”

“Don’t think so.”

“Did you see any cars parked at the curb, for instance?”

“No. It’s too narrow.”

“You passed the old hotel?”