by Karin Fossum
‘That’s good enough for me,’ Sejer said lightly.
Then he nodded to himself. It was rather odd, although it might just be coincidence. That Einarsson overslept on that of all days. The day after Maja Durban was murdered.
*
To get to the King’s Arms he had to cross the bridge. He drove slowly, admiring the sculptures on each parapet, a few metres apart. They depicted women at work, women balancing water vessels on their heads, with babies in their arms, or women dancing. A fantastic sight high above the dirty river water. Thereafter he turned right, past the old hotel and cruised slowly up the one-way street.
He parked and locked the car. It was dark inside the bar, the air was stale, the walls and furniture and all the other fittings were well saturated with tobacco smoke and sweat, it had impregnated the woodwork and given the pub the patina its regulars wanted. And the King’s Arms really did hang on the burlap-covered walls in the guise of old swords, revolvers and rifles, and even a fine old crossbow. He halted at the counter, letting his eyes accustom themselves to the gloom. At the end of the room he saw a double swing-door. Just then it opened, and a short man in a white cook’s jacket and checked trousers hove into view.
‘Are you the manager?’
Sejer looked enquiringly at him. He liked the old-fashioned cook’s costume, the way he liked traditions generally.
‘That’s me. But I don’t buy on the premises.’
‘Police,’ he replied.
‘That’s different. Just let me shut up the freezer.’
He darted back in again. Sejer looked about him. The pub had twelve tables arranged in horseshoe fashion, and each table had room for six. At that moment there wasn’t a soul there, the ashtrays were empty and there were no candles in the candlesticks.
The cook, who was also the manager, came through the swing-doors and nodded obligingly. In place of a cook’s hat he had grease or gel or some other stuff in his hair, it lay black and shiny across his scalp like the carapace of a dung beetle. It would take a hurricane to lift a hair off that and blow it into the soup. Practical, Sejer thought.
‘Are you here every evening?’
‘That’s me, every single evening. Apart from Mondays, when we’re closed.’
‘Pretty unsociable hours I’d imagine? Up until two every morning?’
‘Most definitely, if you’ve got a wife and kids and a dog and a boat and a cabin in the mountains. I haven’t got any of them.’ He grinned. ‘This suits me just fine. And anyway I like it, and the boys who come here. You know, one big family!’
He embraced a cubic metre of air with his arms and gave a little hop to land on the bar stool.
‘Good.’ Sejer had to smile at this little man in his checked trousers. He was somewhere in his forties, his white jacket was scrupulously clean, just like his nails.
‘You know the gang from the brewery, don’t you, who come in here?’
‘Came in here. It’s pretty well fallen apart now. I don’t quite know why. But Primus has gone of course, that’s part of the reason.’
‘Primus?’
‘Egil Einarsson. The Primus Motor of the gang. He kept the whole thing together, really. Isn’t that why you’ve come?’
‘Did they really call him that?’
The manager smiled, picked a couple of peanuts from a dish and pushed them over towards Sejer. They reminded him of small, fat maggots, and he left them alone.
‘But were there many of them?’
‘Ten or twelve altogether – the hard core comprised four or five blokes who were in here almost every day. I could really count on those boys, that they’d be in. No idea what happened, apart from Primus getting stabbed by someone. I don’t know why the others kept away. A sad business. They really were a source of income those boys. Enjoyed themselves, too. Decent people.’
‘Tell me what they did when they were here. What they talked about.’
He ran his hand back across his hair, a totally unnecessary adjustment. ‘Played a lot of darts.’ He indicated a large dartboard at the back of the premises. ‘Played tournaments and suchlike. Talked and laughed and argued. Drank and laughed and messed about. Basically, they behaved like most lads. They could relax here, never brought their wives along. This is a man’s bar.’
‘What did they talk about?’
‘Cars, women, football. And work, if something special had happened. And women, or have I already said that?’
‘Did they argue sometimes?’
‘Oh yes, but nothing serious. I mean, they always parted friends.’
‘Did you know them by name?’
‘Well, yes, if you call Primus and Peddik and Graffen names – I hadn’t a clue what they were really called. Apart from Arvesen, the youngest of them. Nico Arvesen.’
‘Who was Graffen?’
‘A graphic artist. Worked on posters and advertising material for the brewery, very good stuff, too. I don’t know his name.’
‘Could any of them have knifed Einarsson?’
‘No, no way. Must be someone else. They were friends.’
‘Did they know Maja Durban?’
‘Everyone did. Didn’t you?’
He ignored the question. ‘The evening Durban was killed you had a disturbance here, didn’t you?’
‘That’s right. And the only reason I remember it is because of the flashing blue lights. That sort of thing isn’t normally a problem. But no one gets off scot-free.’
‘Did the trouble start before or after you saw the emergency vehicles?’
‘Oh God, I’ll have to think.’ He munched peanuts and licked his lips. ‘Before, I think.’
‘Do you know what caused the disturbance?’
‘Drink, of course. Peddik had too much. I had to ring for the Black Maria, even though I hate doing it. I pride myself on dealing with things myself, but that evening it didn’t work. He went completely off the rails in here, I’m no doctor, but I think it was something akin to the DTs.’
‘But was he usually boisterous?’
‘A bit excitable, no doubt about it. But several of them were. They were pretty loud the whole lot of them. Primus was one of the quieter ones in fact, occasionally he would rumble a bit, like one of those small earthquakes in San Francisco, the ones that make glasses in cocktail cabinets tinkle. It was rare that anything came of it. He came in his car too, drank Coke or Seven Up. Always did the paperwork when they were playing tournaments.’
‘So our people took this Peddik in?’
‘Yup. But afterwards I found out they changed their minds.’
‘Einarsson pleaded his case.’
‘Hey, can you really do that?’
‘Well, even we are open to reason. There’s nothing better than social networks, you know. We’ve got too few of them. You didn’t catch anything? During the trouble?’
‘Oh yes, I couldn’t help it. “Fucking women”, and that sort of thing.’
‘Problems with women?’
‘Doubt it. Just a lot of alcohol, and then they go for the most obvious thing. His marriage probably wasn’t of the best, well, that’s why they come here after all, isn’t it?’ He pulled a toothpick from a little barrel on the bar and scraped his pristine nails. ‘Do you think there’s a connection between the two killings?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ Sejer said. ‘But I can’t help wondering, because as I sit here looking down the street, I can almost see the block of flats Maja lived in. Almost.’
‘I know what you mean. A gorgeous woman she was. Just how girls should look.’
‘Did she come here often?’
‘Nope. She was too refined for that. She popped in occasionally, just to down a quick cognac in record time and rush out again. I doubt she had much leisure. Hard-working girl. Kept going all the time.’
‘The men who come here must have talked about it a bit?’
‘Maja’s murder was like a fresh cowpat in here and they buzzed around it for weeks. People always indulge themselves.�
��
Sejer slipped down off the barstool. ‘And now they don’t come any more?’
‘Oh yes, they drop in, but there’s no system now. They don’t come together. They just have a couple of halves and leave again. I’m sorry,’ he said suddenly, ‘I really should have offered you a drink.’
‘I’ll save it till later. Perhaps I’ll pop in sometime for a beer. Are you a good cook?’
‘Come along one evening and try our Schnitzel Cordon Bleu.’
Sejer went through the door and was brought up short by the bright daylight. The cook was at his heels.
‘There was a copper here before, after Durban was killed. A sort of English dandy with a handlebar moustache.’
‘Karlsen,’ said Sejer smiling. ‘He’s from Hokksund.’
‘Oh well, I shan’t hold that against him.’
‘Did you notice if any of them disappeared during the evening and came back again?’
‘I knew you’d ask that,’ he grinned. ‘But I can’t remember the details now. They were always shooting in and out, and it was six months ago. Sometimes they’d nip out to the seven o’clock film showing and come back again, sometimes they’d eat at the Peking, but have most of their drinks here. Occasionally Einarsson would go out and get some coffee, which I don’t sell. But that precise evening, I’ve no idea. I trust you’ll understand.’
‘Thanks for the chat. It was pleasant anyway.’
On his way home he pulled up at the Fina service station. He went into the shop and took a Dagbladet out of the rack. A pretty girl with fair, curly hair was behind the counter. A plumpish face, with cheeks that were round and golden, like freshly baked buns. But as she wasn’t more than seventeen, he held all but his paternal feelings in check.
‘That nice suit you’re wearing,’ he said, pointing, ‘is just like the one I’ve got at home in my garage.’
‘Oh?’
‘Have you any idea if they come in children’s sizes?’
‘Er, no, I haven’t got a clue.’
‘Is there anyone you could ask?’
‘Yes, but I’ll have to make a phone call.’
He nodded and opened his newspaper while she dialled a number. He liked the smell in the Fina shop, a mixture of oil and chocolate, tobacco and petrol.
‘The smallest size is for ten-year-olds. They cost 225 kroner.’
‘Could you order me one? Smallest size? It’ll be a bit large perhaps, but he’ll grow into it.’
She nodded, he placed his card on the counter and thanked her, paid for his paper and left. When he got home he took a packet of ready-made soup out of the freezer. He wasn’t very good at cooking, Elise was always the one who’d done that. It was as if he couldn’t be bothered any more. In the old days, hunger had been a stimulating pang in his stomach, which sometimes grew into a wild anticipation of what Elise might have waiting in her saucepans. Now it was more of a growling dog which he threw a biscuit to, when it got really noisy. But he was good at washing up. Every day without fail throughout more than twenty years of married life, he’d washed up. He sank down at the kitchen table and ate the soup slowly with a glass of fruit juice. His thoughts wandered and ended up at Eva Magnus. He searched for something he could use as an excuse for visiting her again, but found nothing. Her daughter was about the same age as Jan Henry. Her husband had left her, and had certainly never met Maja Durban. But there was nothing wrong with having a talk to him anyway, because he would undoubtedly have heard of her. Sejer knew that the daughter spent every other weekend with her father, so he probably lived locally. He tried to recollect his name, but couldn’t. However, he could find that out. Just to be on the safe side; you could never tell. A new name on the list. And he had plenty of time.
He finished his meal, rinsed his soup bowl under the tap and went to the phone. He rang the club and booked a jump that Saturday, unless it was too windy, he stipulated, because he couldn’t abide wind. After that, he looked up the name Magnus in the phone book, allowing his finger to run slowly down the list of names. Just as he’d known it would, the name jumped out at him as soon as he saw it: Jostein Magnus. Civil engineer. Address: Lille Frydenlund. He went back to the kitchen, filtered a large cup of coffee and made for his chair in the living room. Immediately Kollberg came and laid his head on Sejer’s feet. He opened the newspaper, and halfway through a glowing report on the EU, he fell asleep.
Chapter 9
EMMA WAS BACK home again. It was a relief. Eva had no more thoughts to think, she’d merely gone over the same ones again and again, so it was better to have the girl around, with all the hurry and fretting that entailed. Now it was just a case of waiting. She took her daughter’s hand, her plump, soft hand and led her out to the car. She hadn’t said a word about the pink school bag that was waiting at her father’s; it was to be a surprise. She wouldn’t rob him of those shrieks of delight, his life had few enough of those already. Emma got into the back of the car and did up the seat belt herself, she was wearing a brown trouser suit which suited her quite well, and Eva had helped her with her hair. Her father lived some distance off, well over half an hour’s journey in the car, but after only five minutes Emma began to whine. Eva became irritated. Her nerves were at full stretch, she couldn’t take much more.
‘Can I have an ice cream?’
‘We’ve just got into the car. Can’t we drive to Grandad’s just once without buying anything?’
‘Just an ice lolly?’
You’re too fat, Eva thought, you shouldn’t eat anything for a long time.
She’d never told Emma she was fat. She had the idea that Emma didn’t realise it herself, and that were she to say it out loud, her obesity would become a real problem for the first time. Become visible to Emma herself.
‘Can we at least get out of town first?’ she said shortly. ‘Anyway, Grandad’s waiting. Perhaps he’s made dinner, and we mustn’t ruin our appetites.’
‘You can’t ruin an appetite,’ came Emma’s uncomprehending retort. She wasn’t acquainted with the phenomenon, she always had an appetite.
Eva made no answer. She was thinking that school would begin soon, and then Emma would have to see the school doctor. Hopefully, there’d be several pupils with the same problem; it was a possibility as there were twenty-six in the class. It was strange, here she sat thinking about the future, a future she might not even have a share in. Perhaps it would be Jostein who’d take her to school. Manage her unruly hair, hold her chubby hand.
The traffic flowed evenly, and she stuck rigidly to the speed limit. It had become a sort of mania with her not to give anyone the excuse to stop her for anything, not to attract any attention. As soon as they were out of the town centre they passed a twenty-four-hour Esso service station on the left.
‘It’s easy to stop, Mum, if we want to get an ice cream!’
‘That’s enough now, Emma!’ Her voice was sharp. She relented and added in a milder tone: ‘Perhaps on the way back.’
There was silence. Eva saw the girl’s face in the mirror, with her round cheeks and the wide jaw she’d got from her father. It was a serious face, which had no inkling of the future, and all the things she might have to endure, if …
‘I can see right down to the road,’ Emma said suddenly. She leant forward in her seat and stared down at the floor of the car.
‘I know, it’s rust. We’re going to buy a new car, I just haven’t got round to it.’
‘But we can afford it, can’t we? Can we afford it, Mum?’
She checked the mirror. No cars following. ‘Yes,’ she said tersely.
The rest of the journey passed in silence.
Her father had been to the door and unlocked it. He’d seen her old Ascona from a long way off, so they gave a quick ring and walked straight in. His legs were bad and he was slow on his feet. Eva put her arms around him and embraced him hard as she always did, he smelt of Player’s cigarettes and aftershave. Emma had to wait her turn.
‘The women in my life!’ h
e cried joyously. And then: ‘You mustn’t get any thinner, Eva. You look like a black beanpole in that costume.’
‘Thanks for the compliment,’ she said, ‘but you’re hardly roly-poly yourself. So you see where I get it from.’
‘Well, well. It’s good there’s someone who knows how to look after herself,’ he said, and grasped Emma round the waist with a skinny arm. ‘Go out to my workroom, and you might find a present there.’
Emma tore herself loose and dashed off. Shortly after they heard her ecstatic glee all through the house.
‘Pink!’ she screamed, and came tramping out. It clashed horribly with her red hair, Eva thought sadly, brown would have been better. She tried to stifle the sombre thoughts that assailed her from every direction.
Her father had ordered chicken from the shop and Eva helped him with the food.
‘You’ll stay, won’t you,’ he cajoled, ‘then we can have a bit of red wine. Like in the old days. Soon I’ll forget how to behave in civilised society, you’re the only one who comes.’
‘Doesn’t Jostein ever come?’
‘Yes, yes occasionally. There’s nothing wrong with Jostein,’ he said quickly. ‘He phones as well, and sends cards. I like Jostein a lot, he really was a terrific son-in-law. Your mother always said so, too.’
Emma drank ginger ale and ate her chicken with reverence. Eva’s father needed some help cutting up his food. When alone he lived mainly on porridge, but he didn’t advertise the fact. Eva dealt with the meat for him, got rid of the bones and poured the wine. It was a Canepa, which was the only thing his stomach could take, but by way of compensation he drank a lot of it. Now and then she loaded her food on to Emma’s plate. It was terrible, but all the time Emma was eating there was little chance that she’d remember the corpse in the river.
‘Have you got anyone to share your bed with at the moment, young Eva?’ he asked suddenly.
Eva’s eyes opened wide. ‘Well, what do you know, I haven’t.’
‘Ah well,’ he said. ‘Someone will turn up.’