Karin Fossum - The Murder of Harriet Krohn

Sejer nods. “You were mooching around for sixty minutes. You looked at shop windows, but you weren’t paying much attention. And your feet were cold. So why did you keep walking for an hour?”

“I had nothing else to do. Surely a man can walk around the town without it signifying anything untoward?”

“Where did you park the Honda?”

He shrugs helplessly. “At the railway station,” he says quickly. It just pops out. He knows nothing about Kongsberg. He’s only been there a couple of times. He realizes that he’ll have to conjure up an entire city out of lies. Lie about streets he doesn’t know, thoughts he hasn’t thought, people he hasn’t seen.

“And you went from the railway station and into town on foot?”

“That’s right.”

“Were there many people around?”

“No. The weather was too bad.”

“Did you go in anywhere? To a café?”

“No.”

“Why did you want to go to Kongsberg?”

“It was just a whim. As I said, I was quite down at that point. I drove around to kill time; you’ve got so much spare time when you’re unemployed. I can’t sit watching television all day, and I enjoy driving. Being on the move. My God, things were hard sometimes.”

He speaks tensely, clenching his teeth. Disease is waiting out there in the shadows, threatening him. He moves his feet beneath the desk and tries to collect himself.

“Did you walk over the whole town, or just in the streets of the town center?”

“I stayed mainly in the town center.”

“Kongsberg’s a small place. Didn’t you walk around the same streets several times?”

“Quite possibly, I can’t remember.”

“So, it’s somewhat hazy in your memory, this hour spent in Kongsberg?”

“Yes, I suppose it is.”

“It’s hazy because you weren’t feeling good?”

“Presumably.”

“Did you buy any fuel on the way?”

“No, I had a full tank.”

“Did you speak to anyone at all that evening?”

“No, I didn’t meet anyone I knew. I hardly ever do. I mostly keep to myself.”

“So, that entire evening, from the time you left Blomsgate at six o’clock, until the time you returned at eleven, you didn’t speak to anyone. Apart from the young man who collided with you?”

“That’s right.”

Sejer looks down at his papers again.

“Do you think you’re temperamental by nature?”

“I thought you wanted to chart the traffic?”

“Yes. And you were a part of that traffic. Let me repeat the question. Are you an excitable man, Mr. Torp?”

“Not at all. I’m actually quite placid. Ask Julie.”

“But you weren’t that evening. You say it’s rare for you. So why did you lose control on the seventh of November at half past ten?”

“I’ve explained all that.”

“I want to hear it again.”

“I was out of sorts, as I said. For many reasons.”

“Tell me what they were again.”

Charlo props his head on his hands.

“I told you that I had debts. That people were after me. I wasn’t sleeping at night and I couldn’t make ends meet.”

“But now the debts are paid?”

Charlo bites his lip.

“Yes.”

“How did you manage that, Mr. Torp?”

“As I said before, I won some money.”

Sejer nods slowly.

“What sort of gambling?”

Charlo’s brain tries to work rapidly.

“On the lottery,” he blurts out. And regrets it immediately. He can’t think fast enough. Reduced neurotransmission is affecting me already, he suddenly realizes, and it’ll get worse.

“So, you got lucky?”

“I do actually get lucky sometimes. But it isn’t the norm. God knows, I’ve had my fair share of misery.”

“And you rushed off and paid your debts, got a job at the riding center, and were reconciled with your daughter?”

“Yes, things are much better now.”

He moistens his lips and tries to parry Sejer’s words, get a bit of perspective. He’s uncertain about where all this is leading.

“How much did you win, Mr. Torp?”

“It was a tidy sum.”

“Is the amount a secret?”

A chill runs through Charlo. He tries to cling on, but realizes that he’s sliding into confusion.

“I just can’t see the point of all these questions. Surely what I win on the lottery is my own business.”

“That’s all right, Mr. Torp,” Sejer says brusquely. “We can get that information ourselves; it’s the least of our worries.”

His heart sinks.

“It was a syndicate,” he interjects. “Which divided up a large win.”

Sejer leans back comfortably. “And I suppose you can’t remember the name of the person who bought the ticket?”

“No, I bet through a friend, on an impulse.”

“Well that’s all right, then. I’m sure you know the name of your friend?”

“I don’t go around shopping my friends. You people will only start plaguing him with questions.”

“But it’s entirely innocent, Mr. Torp. A lottery win. A name, a date, and an amount are all we require. I’m sure he’ll help us if we ask him nicely.”

“No. Let’s get to the point now. What’s all this about? My daughter Julie is waiting for me. We’re going out.”

“It’s about the seventh of November, as I’ve already explained. It concerns a murder, and I need a murderer.”

“Yes, you said that the last time I was here. But that’s got nothing to do with me.”

“You were in Fredboesgate at a very interesting moment.”

“No, I wasn’t. I was just driving through. It only took a few seconds.”

“You have to leave the main road to drive through Hamsund. Why did you want to go to Hamsund?”

“No special reason. I’ve explained why. I like driving.”

“Even when the road conditions are appalling?”

“The road conditions don’t matter.”

“Were you dressed for that sort of weather?”

“I was as a matter of fact.”

“What were you wearing?”

“I can’t remember. I’ve got several jackets.”

“Could it have been a green parka?”

“It could have been. Don’t ask me questions when you already know the answers.”

“So you have got one?”

“I had one.”

“You’ve got rid of it? Why, Mr. Torp?”

“Because it was old and worn out.”

“What did you do with it?”

“I chucked it in a dumpster. The seams were coming apart. The pockets had worn through and several buttons were missing.”

Sejer begins making notes again. Charlo tries to read them but can’t. He’s not seeing too well either. His vision is blurred. He blinks in bewilderment. He looks at his watch and feels the despair growing as he thinks of Julie waiting. He’s not doing that well. Lying to Julie is easy. This feels impossible. He rubs his face with tired hands. Sits there with his eyes hidden behind his palms. Surely they aren’t allowed to send sick people to prison, he thinks. Automatically he reaches for his back pocket, where he keeps his tobacco.

“May I smoke here?”

Sejer nods. “Of course. I’ll get you an ashtray. Are you thirsty, Mr. Torp?”

“Yes.”

He gets out a bottle of Farris mineral water. Charlo attempts to roll a cigarette, and his fingers are trembling slightly.

“Are you feeling threatened, Mr. Torp?”

“Threatened? By you? No. But I don’t like the way this conversation is going.”

“Then let’s go another way. There’s a lot to choose from — an entire evening, several hours. Let’s stay here in town.”

He pours out some water and sits down again.

“Before you left for Kongsberg, you walked around the town here. For about two hours. According to your first account. Tell me about those two hours.”