Karin Fossum - The Murder of Harriet Krohn

“Hotel? Don’t know.”

“The Fredly. It’s disused. You don’t know it?”

“I don’t know Hamsund. I’ve already said.”

Sejer pushes his documents away.

“OK. We’ll call it a day,” he says. “Just one last, small thing. Do you read the papers?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Which ones?”

“Well, it varies a bit. Dagbladet and VG. Sometimes Aftenposten, sometimes the local paper.”

“Every day?”

“Yes.”

“But you didn’t see our press release?”

“Which press release?” Charlo queries, trying desperately to remember.

“We advertised in all the papers, and on radio and television, for the person involved in the traffic accident at Hamsund.”

“You did?”

“You never came forward.”

“It must have passed me by. You can’t take in everything.”

Sejer nods.

“What about the case itself?” he asks. “Did you read about that?”

“The case?”

“The murder at Hamsund, which I’m investigating. The murder of Harriet Krohn.”

“Oh yes, of course. I’ve read about that. Yes, that was terrible.”

He raises his eyes and looks at Sejer, trying to keep them steady. Sejer turns to the dog. “Come along, Frank. We’ve got to drive the man back.” Frank comes padding up. Charlo rises from his chair, dazed.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t more help.”

Sejer gives him a penetrating look.

“I dare say you’ll get another opportunity,” he says. “We’ve only just begun.”

Julie is sitting by the door of the box, munching a carrot. She gets up, dusts wood shavings from her backside, and sends him a challenging look.

“Where on Earth have you been?”

Charlo shrugs in resignation. He glances at his watch.

“Ugh,” he says with an irritated gesture, “it was just a load of nonsense. That chap was a policeman. It was all about the collision I told you about, long ago, that I was involved in. At Hamsund. Some problem with the insurance.”

Julie looks at him doubtfully. “A problem with the insurance?” She doesn’t understand and isn’t happy with his answer. She continues to pin him with her gaze.

Charlo sighs heavily. “Oh, it’s too complicated to explain.” He waves it away with his hand. “But it’s been sorted out now. You know, bureaucracy,” he says, rolling his eyes. “There’s no end to the amount of trouble they can cause poor sods like me. Evidently there were some bits that hadn’t been filled in, so I just had to answer some questions about how it happened.”

“But, the police?” she repeats uncertainly. “Surely they don’t have anything to do with insurance?”

“They seem to have. I don’t understand such things.”

Julie turns and goes into Crazy’s box, and pats his neck. An iota of suspicion lingers in her eyes. Charlo tries to smooth things over.

“Let’s go and get a pizza, Julie,” he suggests. “It’s easy to heat up. We can do it in the microwave. Are you as hungry as I am?”

She nods, closes the box door, picks up her bag, and walks resolutely down the passage. He can’t tell if she believes him. He can’t read her now, because she has withdrawn into herself and is thinking her own thoughts. He follows. The door bangs shut heavily behind them, the timber giving a long drawn-out creak.

“But,” she says when they’re sitting in the car, “that collision took place ages ago. Why are they going on about it now?”

Charlo turns onto the main road, accelerates, and shifts gears.

“The wheels turn so slowly,” he explains. “It doesn’t matter to me, of course. I’ve already had the money. It was just formalities. God knows what they were going on about. But there’s no point in arguing with them, so I gave them what they wanted.”

She nods and falls silent again. He asks if she wants pizza with pepperoni, and she does. She sits in the car while he shops. He’s troubled. He rushes down the aisles feeling irritable. Julie is suspicious, always on her guard. She doesn’t trust him, not absolutely and completely, as he wants her to. Because now he can be trusted; now he’s turned over a new leaf. If they just leave him alone. What’s the point of digging up the past? He can’t bring Harriet back to life again. He puts a pizza and a couple of Cokes on the checkout conveyor belt, pays, and goes out again. The car is ticking over in neutral. Julie has pulled her red hair over her shoulder, and braids it with nimble fingers before slipping a scrunchie around it.

“I could eat a horse,” Charlo says.

She gives him a mock hurt look, and they both laugh. At last they’re laughing. He relaxes and thinks, it went well. I did all right. They know nothing. It was just a shot in the dark. Things must be proved beyond all reasonable doubt, and there’s a lot of damn doubt there. Even so, it’s quieter than usual between them while he’s driving. He thinks that maybe she’s tired. It’s hard work dealing with a horse, and she’s got her homework as well. No, it’s more than that. The silence is palpable. He has the feeling that she’s mulling something over, but doesn’t dare ask the question. Well, it’ll come out sooner or later. If she has questions, he’ll answer them.

Later on, they’re having their meal in Charlo’s kitchen. Julie is seated on the green chest, chewing. Charlo lifts his glass of Coke and proposes a toast.

“To the new record,” he says. “One meter thirty. Congratulations, Julie. You’re a real star.”

She raises her glass, too, and they look into each other’s eyes as they drink. Julie takes a new slice of pizza, bites into it, and chews. She seems distracted, Charlo thinks. Our conversation isn’t flowing like it usually does. What’s coming between us? Why do I feel on edge? Julie’s green eyes seem so dark, so anxious. It’s as if she’s keeping something back. Charlo puts his piece of pizza down on his plate, leans forward, and looks straight at her. Attack is the best form of defense, he thinks.

“So,” he says, and smiles. “You’re very thoughtful today. Tell Dad all about it.”

She swallows. Gives her head a slight shake.

“You’re so quiet,” he goes on. “Have you got a lot on your mind?”

She nods and pushes her plate away. Leans back against the wall. Her shoulders are tense. Her white neck is so thin, he can see the veins, the fine blue lines.

“Come on, tell Dad,” he repeats. She peers up at him and purses her mouth.

“I’m thinking about Grandma,” she says at last.

She lowers her gaze immediately and tosses her head. Charlo’s heart misses a beat.

“About Grandma?”

He looks at her in surprise and tries to understand. Licks his mouth because his lips are so dry.

“I went to visit Grandma yesterday.”

She shoots little glances in his direction the whole time, as if gauging his reaction.

“She must have been pleased to see you,” he says hastily, helping himself in his confusion to another piece of pizza that he definitely doesn’t want. “I mean, even though she’s very muddled, she’d have been glad of your visit.”

Julie puts her elbows on the table. She looks at him hard.

“Grandma’s only muddled sometimes,” she says. “In between, she’s quite lucid. Then she can remember everything.”

“Really?” Charlo says. He takes a bite of his pizza and chews for a long time.

“I asked about those bits of old jewelry,” Julie says. “But she’s never given you any pieces of jewelry. She’s never had a cameo. Or any silver.”

Charlo manages a smile. He shakes his head with forbearance.

“I’m sorry to have to say it, but I’m afraid she’s lost her grip on reality, Julie.” He leans forward, not knowing where he gets the strength from. “Something’s troubling you. Tell me what it is now.”