The Murder of Harriet Krohn

by Karin Fossum

“It’s been a long time since we saw each other,” he says to her back.

  She continues her aimless tidying, moving things and keeping her hands busy. He feels a bit desperate and crosses to her bed and sits down. He’s on her home ground now; he has to tread warily. But he feels strong, too. He’s come with good intentions. He’s come to make it up to her, for his betrayal.

  She goes to the desk and takes a seat, watching him. Then she covers her face with her hands. It’s deathly still in the room. Charlo can’t say anything. She is the one who’s initiated the silence and how long it should last. He sits and lets himself be tortured as he awaits the signal, a word, a look. So that he can move on. But there is no signal. He realizes that he’s an adult. He gathers up his courage and speaks.

  “You haven’t wanted to see me. And I’ve respected that. I’ve had nothing to offer you, only a miserable life.”

  She remains silent.

  “But now it’s all different,” he says, looking at her intently. “I’ve got a new life. I’ve stopped gambling at last.”

  She takes her hands away from her face and looks at him.

  “You said that before.”

  Her voice is flat. But then, suddenly: “What have you done to your chin?”

  He places a finger on the scratch and gives a shrug of embarrassment.

  “Oh,” he says lightly, “that was just an accident. It’s only a cut.”

  She rises and takes a few steps, coming closer. Her gaze is so direct that it burns.

  “What do you want here?”

  He attempts a smile; he’s eager and wants to explain.

  “Have you been drinking?” she asks. “Is that how you got the graze?”

  He shakes his head emphatically.

  “Don’t worry about me,” he says, looking at her. He feels his heart swell, for she’s beautiful standing there, with her green eyes.

  “I don’t go out drinking. I’ve finished with that sort of thing.”

  She doesn’t believe him. She gives him a sidelong glance, her eyes still narrow.

  “Julie,” he says, “tell me how things are going. Are you getting on well at school?”

  She stares out of the window at the town’s roofs. Her jaw is jutting out, which he’s seen it do so many times before. So much wells up inside him. Her mouth, which she’s inherited from Inga Lill, is wide and generous. Her narrow shoulders, her long neck. That she is his, that they should be together.

  “Have you come here after all that’s happened to ask that? About how things are going at school?”

  He tenses up inside. He doesn’t like the tone of her voice.

  “You must forgive my clumsiness,” he says, “I’m not a clever man. But I have actually come about something. I haven’t arrived empty-handed.”

  Involuntarily her eyes move to his hands.

  “Yes, everything’s fine. I’m thinking of going to veterinary college.”

  Her voice is at once defiant and proud. Charlo’s cheeks get all hot. My daughter, the vet, he thinks. I’m blessed with this beautiful, sensible girl, who’ll maybe take me back. She must take me back!

  “But,” he says, feeling his secret aching come out, “what do you do in your spare time? Have you got time for anything besides homework?”

  She pouts at him and stands picking at her nails, which are short and unpainted.

  “Yes,” she says at last, grudgingly. “I read a bit. Go to the cinema now and again with friends, a whole load of us.”

  He leans forward, wanting to catch her, wanting to see her pupils dilate and turn black when he tells everything.

  “You’ve got some spare time then?”

  She doesn’t understand what he’s driving at. She sizes him up and turns defensive.

  “Yes,” she says tentatively, “I suppose so.”

  The voice is less unwilling now, but it isn’t soft like it used to be when she was happy and completely relaxed with him.

  “What about stamina?” he asks. “Have you got plenty of that, too?”

  She can’t follow his drift, but she is listening now, with her mouth half open.

  “You’ve become so thin,” he says. “There was much more of you before.”

  She looks down at herself.

  “That’s because I don’t ride anymore,” she replies.

  “But those muscles will come back quickly enough if you start again, won’t they?” He rummages in his jacket pocket, quivering with excitement. Feels the photograph between his fingers. “Because this chap’s strong,” he says, holding out the picture.

  For a moment, she stands there transfixed, staring. Then she moves right up to him. She takes the picture, examines it, and shakes her head. Unable to understand what he means or what he’s telling her.

  “Who’s that girl?” she asks, looking at Møller’s daughter.

  “That’s the previous owner,” he says, “but now the horse has been sold. It was sold yesterday, in fact. After a thorough veterinary examination.” He gets ready to drop his bombshell. “And the new owner is someone I know, too. Her name is Julie Torp.”

  She stares at the photo again, unable to take it in. Her face is still deadpan.

  “You’re kidding me,” she says weakly. But he notices her eyes begin to shine. Even so, she holds back. She knows him too well.

  “I’m not kidding you,” Charlo says, turning his palms up to show that they’re clean. Then he remembers that they definitely aren’t clean and lets them fall again. “But I quite understand that you need some proof,” he says, and reaches into his inside pocket. He takes out the contract of purchase and holds it out. She takes the document and reads it, wide-eyed. Reads it several times and looks at the picture again. Stands there with these two things. Her voice is needle-thin.

  “Call Me Crazy? You’ve really bought him?”

  Charlo laughs: “Yes, I’ve really bought him. The money’s been handed over. He’s stabled at Møller’s Riding Center. A Holstein,” he says. “Six hundred kilos. You’ll have quite a job on your hands, I promise you.”

  She drops onto the chair by the desk and leans across its top. She caresses the photo between her fingers and shakes her head once more. She remains like this for a long time. Even now she won’t show her pleasure. She doesn’t dare; she has doubts.

  “But how did you manage it?” she asks, staring at him in disbelief.

  Charlo sits up and prepares, and then delivers the carefully constructed and highly plausible account he’s concocted.

  “The thing is that your grandmother had a lot of family silver,” he says. “She gave it to me as an advance on her estate. You know how old people begin tidying things up at the end of their lives. And, of course, she wasn’t getting any pleasure from it in the nursing home. Oh, I know I should have saved it for you and for future generations. But your life is now, and I wanted so much to make amends. So I got a good price for it. I’ve paid off my debts, and I’ve put all that nonsense behind me now. I’ve got work, too, a little job at the stables.”

  “Family silver?”

  “Valuable old cutlery,” he tells her, “a pattern that’s gone out of production, quite sought after. But, Julie, don’t mention it to Grandma when you’re there. She’s so muddled, and I don’t want to run the risk of her regretting it all and demanding to have the silver back again.”

  She nods and glances at the photo again.

  “But you owed two hundred thousand. Was the silver worth that much?”

  “Yes. There was a gold watch as well. Candlesticks and that sort of thing. So it was just enough.”

  “Call Me Crazy?”

  “He’s as gentle as a lamb. Don’t let the name frighten you.”

  She clutches the picture. She’s still dumbfounded and keeps glancing at him, wanting to check that he’s being truthful.

  “Julie,” he begins, “you’ve no idea how lovely he is. You can’t see his color properly in the photo. I took it in the ring, you know, and there wasn’t enough ligh
t.”

  At this something subsides in her, some of the suspicion and doubt.

  “Have you ridden him?” she asks suddenly.

  “Just briefly.” He smiles at the memory.

  “Did you give him a canter?”

  “Yes, I rode in a volte,” he answers. “But I didn’t dare try a jump.”

  “Cowardly custard,” she teases. She gets off her chair and goes over to him. She sits down beside him on the edge of the bed. And they sit there close together. Charlo can smell the scent of shampoo on her hair. He’d like to give her a big hug, but he doesn’t.

  “When can we go and look at him?” she asks.

  “As soon as you’ve finished your homework,” he jokes.

  She leaps up and starts emptying her dresser.

  “D’you read my letters?”

  “Yes.”

  He sits on her bed with his hands clasped in his lap. She’s suddenly in a great hurry, and he recognizes that old enthusiasm, which he hasn’t seen for so long. She’s looking for some riding breeches. “You know, the checkered ones,” she says. “D’you remember them?” It’s a delight to sit here like this watching her, with all sorts of things come flying out of the dresser. Sweaters, blouses, underwear, and at last the breeches. She goes into the bathroom to change into the breeches. “They’re a bit big perhaps, but I haven’t got any others.”

  “You’ll soon grow into them again,” he says. “Just you wait. I’ve bought you a monster. I hope you realize that?”

  She laughs at him and dives into the closet for her riding boots.

  “The leather’s scuffed and dry; they need some polish. I’ll do it later.”

  She pulls them on. Stands in the middle of the room in her checkered breeches with their leather-reinforced seat, and stares down at the long boots.

  “It’s been so long since I’ve worn this stuff,” she comments, looking at him.

  Charlo is dumb with admiration. Now he recognizes his own Julie again. He’s no longer alone. He’s got a family like other people. She stands before him, ready. They walk into the street together.

  “Dad,” she says, “you’ve dented the car.”

  Charlo lowers his eyes to the asphalt for a moment, thinking of all the things he must be careful about.

  “Yes,” he says, “it was some numbskull who didn’t know when to give way.”

  “You’ve been trying to repair it,” she declares. “That’s the worst repair I’ve ever seen. Why didn’t you take it to a garage? If it was someone else’s fault, didn’t he have to pay?”

  Charlo gets into the front seat, mulling it over.

  “I got the damage assessed and the money paid out,” he lies, “but I used it for something else. Something more important.”

  She gets in, accepting his explanation. She finds a scrunchie in her pocket and gathers her hair at the nape of her neck. He can see her hot breath inside the dark car. I’ve got her, he thinks. Now it’s a case of not losing her; I mustn’t make mistakes.

  “Dad,” Julie says suddenly. “You know what I’d like to do? Before we go to the stables?”

  He changes gear and drives down the street while he waits for her wish, which he will naturally fulfill. That’s what he’ll do from now on. It’ll be his mission for the remainder of his life.

  “I’d like to visit Mom.”

  He nods in complete agreement.

  “We’ll do that,” he says emphatically. “We’ll go at once. Is it long since you were there last?”

  “I don’t find it all that easy,” she says quietly.

  No, Charlo ponders, visiting the dead doesn’t provide much sense of peace. He always has a feeling of helplessness when he stands by the headstone, a feeling of being superfluous. But now there are the two of them. He turns in by the church. They walk between the graves silently. A shyness has interposed itself between them. Then they arrive and stand hushed with bowed heads. They each read her name: “Inga Lill Torp.” The grave doesn’t need much tending in early December. Charlo notices that the erica is frozen; its reddish-mauve has turned to brown.

  “Anyway, the gravestone’s nice,” Julie says, and he nods, thinking that he made the right choice.

  “Next time we’ll bring a candle,” he says.

  They stand awhile, thinking their own thoughts. Then they shake off the solemnity and return to the car.

  “Are you excited?”

  She nods and blows on her hands. Then for a joke, she pinches her own arm. Again Charlo has to laugh. It’s heartfelt laughter from deep within him as if he’s slightly drunk. He turns the car and joins the main road. They are still slightly shy in each other’s company, but, Charlo thinks, that doesn’t matter. That’ll pass. We need time.

  “We should have brought a bag of carrots,” she says.

  He nods. “There’s a shop not far from the stables; we can stop there. Of course we must have carrots.”

  They buy carrots and a couple of Cokes. Out of habit, Charlo looks at the newspaper headlines while he’s at the checkout, but Harriet Krohn has been forgotten. He imagines her file buried in a drawer, because there are so many other killings. So much else to spend time on than an old woman from Hamsund. But he knows it isn’t true. The investigation will be plodding along, and they’re presumably working behind the scenes. He pushes these thoughts away, as they drive the last bit to the stables. They park the car and emerge into the cold air. Julie has gone quiet.

  “Well,” Charlo says, “here we are. Let’s get into the warmth.”

  He plucks up courage and puts an arm around her shoulder. He opens the heavy door. Just then, a black cat darts out, and Charlo jumps. The cat brings back memories. For one mad second, he imagines it’s the same cat and that it’s following him. He shakes off the eerie thought and points down the passage.

  “The last box on the left.”

  Julie walks up to the bars. Charlo stands next to her and watches. The hairs on the back of his neck rise.

  She had just been born.

  Lying trembling on Inga Lill’s stomach, naked and curled up like a pink frog. A velvety down covered her head. I’ll never forget this moment, Charlo thought. It etched itself into every cell of his body and suffused every part of him. It’s the same with this moment. Julie standing next to Crazy, cradling his great, heavy head and stroking him gently on the muzzle. The horse lets himself be stroked and closes his eyes now and again, looking sleepy. Then she must feel him all over, his ears, his mane. She runs her hand down his legs and looks at the powerful hooves. Rises again and looks the horse in the eyes. Her voice, when she speaks, is soft.

  “Want to go for a run, boy?”

  Charlo is taken back to that first time she sat on Snowball and couldn’t be dislodged. He reminds her about that now, and she gives him a broad smile. He helps her saddle up, and together they walk down to the ring. Charlo lays a rug over the horse’s hindquarters. She mounts, puts the horse into a walk, and disappears down the long side.

  “Bye, Dad,” she says. “See you in a couple of hours!”

  Charlo is so moved that he stands there staring, breathless. Joy leaps in his breast. This is his doing. He’s sacrificed himself for this. He shakes his head in astonishment and looks around for a chair. Finds one and begins rolling a cigarette. He lights it, inhaling greedily. He follows Julie with his eyes.

  His thoughts begin to wander again. It’s bad luck that they’re already searching for a red Honda. Maybe he needn’t be too concerned about it, but still, it’s worrying. He crosses his legs and shivers a little; it’s quite cold in the ring and he hasn’t got a lot on. That knee giving way under him is a bit suspicious. It’s not easy to relax, not easy to concentrate on what’s happening in front of his eyes. He should be happy and satisfied, now that he’s reached his goal. The horse is moving at a free walk with his head up and slack reins. I’d like to sit here for years and watch Julie and Crazy. I don’t ask any more of life. I just want to be left in peace. Don’t I deserve that?
I’ve gone so far and sacrificed so much. He feels chilly and shuffles his feet, but notices that Julie is riding toward him. She lifts the rug off the horse and hands it to him.

  “Here, you poor, frozen old man,” she says, laughing.

  She looks so buoyant. She’s shining like a beacon, and her hair is exactly the same color as the horse. They are a pair. Charlo packs the rug around himself, and Julie puts Crazy into a trot. There, he thinks, there goes my daughter. Riding her own horse. He’s large, certainly, but really he’s just the right size. Her main interest is dressage, and she’s quite good at it, too. I reckon she’ll improve a lot now that she’s got her own horse. But she jumps as well, one meter twenty. Pretty good for a sixteen-year-old. It’s a Holstein. I’ve always had a weakness for bays. I’m absolutely certain that those two will make their mark.

  Møller comes into the ring. He stops next to Charlo, thrusts his hands in his pockets, and tilts his head in acknowledgment.

  “Well,” he says, “they make a fine pair. Going well?”

  Charlo nods. “I think they’ve hit it off. It happened so quickly, too. The horse does what she asks; there’s no doubt about that. His traverses are lovely. So very precise, when you consider his size. And he’s got long legs, too. It all looks very promising.” He pauses. “Are you ready to put me to work?”

  “Yes, I am actually,” Møller says, and kicks laddishly at the sawdust. “Now that you’re available, I’ve lined up various things. I’ve bought some new mangers that have got to go up, and the windows in the stables need to be better insulated. The water has a tendency to freeze in winter; we’ve had to carry in buckets of water before now. In the summer, I might get some painting done, including the fence around the outside ring and the stables. Maybe the garages, too. They’re blistered, especially on the west side.”

  Charlo nods enthusiastically.

  “Let’s make a start,” Møller says, “then we’ll see how many hours it comes to. It’s difficult to say anything about your wages now, but I’m sure we’ll come to an agreement.” He stands there a bit longer, watching Julie. Now she’s reining back very elegantly, and the horse steps back correctly with straight legs and lowered head.