Karin Fossum: The Murder of Harriet Krohn

“You’ve obviously got it all worked out. So, what did I do next?”

“You went to number four Fredboesgate. The green house. And rang Harriet Krohn’s bell.”

Now it’s been said. It’s out in the open. But there isn’t such a roaring in his ears as he’d anticipated. He says: “No. No, I didn’t go to her house. I don’t even know who she is.”

“I don’t believe that either. I think she was selected fairly randomly. But by being armed with a bouquet of flowers, it was easy to gain access.”

“I never bought any flowers!”

“Easy now, Mr. Torp. Listen to me. We ought to try to tidy things up here and not spend time on trivialities. We know that you had flowers.”

“I bought them for Julie.”

“So, they were for her? But back then, in November, when she wouldn’t see you? You’ve already explained about that.”

“I was trying to get her to forgive me.”

“But it didn’t work?”

“I knocked on the door of her room, but she wasn’t there.”

“So what did you do with the flowers?”

“I threw them away.”

“Where?”

“Just in a garbage can, somewhere in town. I was upset.”

“You had very little money. But you splurged on expensive flowers?”

“When it comes to Julie, nothing is too much.”

“So this visit to her digs is something you’ve only just remembered now?”

“Yes, I’d forgotten it. But it’s coming back slowly.”

“In other words, there could be other things you’ve forgotten?”

“I don’t think so. I’d probably suppressed the memory of the flowers. It was a setback.”

“You didn’t have other setbacks in the course of the evening?”

“Oh yes, the collision. You could call that a setback.”

“But that wasn’t your fault; you had the right of way.”

“Yes. But it was a miserable end to a miserable evening.”

Sejer nods and makes notes. “Is that the way you’d characterize the evening? Miserable?”

“Yes. I got home completely exhausted. I felt as if I’d been put through a mill.”

“That’s pretty strong. But is it your instability you’re talking about now? You were exhausted by it?”

“Yes. I remember sitting in a chair in my living room and finding my wits slowly returning. As if I’d been far away.”

“Had you been?”

“What?”

“Had you been far away? Out of yourself?”

“Yes, I think you could say that. As if my body and soul had lost contact with each other. Have you ever experienced that?”

“Yes, I have indeed. You feel like a robot.”

“Exactly,” replies Charlo.

“Did you feel like a robot?”

“You could put it that way.”

“What sort of injuries did you sustain in the collision?”

“Injuries? Oh, nothing at all. I got off with a bad shock. And I strained both wrists because I was clutching the wheel so hard.”

“So you escaped completely uninjured?”

“Yes, we both did. Or did he injure himself? He said nothing about it. But then he didn’t get the chance because I was so mad.”

“No, he hasn’t said anything about it. He was actually talking about you.”

“I suffered no injuries, as I’ve said.”

Sejer sits back in his chair and looks appraisingly at him.

“There was blood on the lower part of your parka. Where did it come from?”

“No, you’re on a wild-goose chase again. There was no blood anywhere.”

“On the right side of your parka. Obvious bloodstains.”

“I think I know what he was referring to. That parka did have some bad stains, and he possibly thought they were blood. I was changing the engine oil on one occasion, and I made a mess. That was why I threw it away, as I’ve already said.”

“You dumped it because it was worn out.”

“And because it was stained.”

“Once again, you’ve left out a detail. Let’s look at some others.”

“No, there’s no point. There’s nothing more to say.”

“You weren’t involved in a brawl with anyone in the locality?”

“Certainly not. I’m a peaceable man. And I certainly would have remembered that.”

“Yes, I believe you when you say you’re peaceable. But we have in fact established that you do occasionally lose control.”

“Only very rarely.”

“And the seventh of November was one of those rare occasions. I believe you’d had just about as much as you could take that evening. I believe that’s why you keep forgetting things. Let’s try again. You drove around to the back of the hotel and parked. A man walking a dog observed the car. This isn’t something I suspect or suggest — it’s something I know for a fact.”

Charlo closes his eyes. I’m ill, he thinks. Gradually I’ll get weaker and weaker. I mustn’t think about that now. He says: “All right. I must have forgotten that as well. I sat there and had a cigarette, then I drove out again.”

“Out again and where?”

“Past the railway station to this celebrated junction.”

“You drove straight from the hotel and had a collision?”

“That’s right.”

“So, you needed a cigarette?”

“Yes.”

“Did you have to drive to the back of a hotel to roll a cigarette?”

“No. Not really. I could have stopped along the road. There wasn’t any traffic.”

“So why this maneuver?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps I wanted to hide. I was feeling pretty desperate.”

“You say you were desperate. Tell me about that feeling of desperation. Did it come over you slowly? Or in a sudden rush?”

“I can’t remember that well. No, I think it came on slowly. I don’t know. I had so many emotions. I badly needed a way out. A way out of all my difficulties.”

“Was that what you were thinking when you drove out of town? That you needed a way out?”

“Yes, I was thinking about that a lot.”

“You’d given up the idea of robbing a bank. Did you have any other ideas?”

“The bank job was a joke. I never gave it serious consideration.”

“OK. Perhaps you thought of something else?”

“No, everything looked bleak.”

“But still you drove to Hamsund? Taking the E134 along the river and then onto the R35?”

“I was hoping something would turn up.”

“A miracle?”

“I don’t believe in miracles.”

“You had a more tangible plan?”

Charlo wrings his hands and reaches for his tobacco. Tears it out of the pouch and lays it on a cigarette paper.

“Only vague thoughts.”

“Can you let me in on them?”

“No. I’m not taking that chance. You could get the wrong idea.”

“What sort of wrong idea?”

“About what I’ve done and haven’t done.”

“So you’re worried about that? About what I think?”

“I know what you’re after; I’m not that stupid.”

“Tell me.”

“You don’t need me to do that.”

“I don’t. But I think it’s good to put things into words. It’s not as dangerous as you think.”

“I’ve got my own thoughts about that.”

“That’s your prerogative.”

A pause. Each falls silent. Sejer thinks his own thoughts. Charlo tries to rest a bit, restore himself. He curls his toes in his sneakers, no problem.

“So, you drove up Fredboesgate. You parked behind the old hotel, and then you left the car. Where did you go?”

“I didn’t go anywhere. I just sat in the car smoking.”

“You’ve forgotten something important again, Mr. Torp. The witness who spotted your car said it was empty. You weren’t in it. Where had you gone?”

“Maybe I took a stroll along the street. I can’t quite remember.”

“Can you remember Harriet’s house?”

“I’ve no idea where she lived.”