In the Darkness (29 page)

She was inside the tunnel now. She glanced quickly at her own unmade-up face in the mirror, but saw it only in short, orange-tinged glimpses, as the lights of the tunnel roof were reflected in her eyes. She hardly knew herself,
as
she gripped the steering wheel and felt a smouldering beneath her black overcoat. It was something she hadn’t felt since those childhood days with Maja, that passion had died along the way, in her difficult marriage, in the piles of unpaid bills and the worries over Emma’s weight, in the frustration of not breaking through as an artist. It began somewhere in her chest, but gradually worked its way down to end up in her genitals. The feeling made her come alive, she had the feeling she could stroll into her studio and create a picture of primeval force, stronger than anything she’d ever done before, driven by righteous anger. It excited her. Her pulse rose, and the flaming orange light from the roof of the tunnel kept the fire alight until she was back in the centre of town. There she moved into the right-hand lane and drove to Rosenkrantzgate.

The area round the colourful houses was deserted, it was early in the day. She drove a little past the green house and parked behind a cycle shed on the outskirts of the estate. She walked briskly between the houses, trying to look purposeful and satisfied, as if she carried a joyful message in the large bag slung over her shoulder; she noted the details, like the cycle racks, the small area with its swing and sandbox, the washing lines and the hedge littered with the remnants of yellow flowers. The odd faded plastic toy lay discarded on the tiny patches of garden. She turned towards the green house and went up to the first entrance. She’d recognise the blonde woman again if she saw her, that slender creature with her frivolous body language. Eva looked at the doorbell, she chose the upper button which was labelled Helland, but stood there a moment gathering her courage. She peered at the door with its wired safety glass which she couldn’t see through. She couldn’t hear anything either, so it gave
her
quite a start when the door suddenly opened and a man was looking directly at her. It wasn’t Elmer. Only two families shared each entrance, so she nodded quickly and stepped aside to let him past. He was looking suspicious. Quickly, she looked at the bells.

‘Helland?’ she enquired rapidly.

‘Yes, that’s me.’

‘Oh, then it’s Einarsson I need!’

He turned to look at her before disappearing in the direction of the garage, and she sneaked in through the door like a thief.

It was a porcelain nameplate, crudely painted to depict a mother, a father and a child, with names under each, Jorun, Egil and Jan Henry. She nodded slowly to herself and stole out again. Egil Einarsson, Rosenkrantzgate 16, she thought – I know who you are and what you’ve done. And soon you’ll know that I know.

She was back at home again, and in deep concentration.

All other tasks had been laid aside, all scruples burst like tiny bubbles as they reached the surface of her consciousness, all fear had turned in her and become energy. In her mind she could see the unfortunate bus driver, a bit overweight perhaps, rather bald, that was how she imagined him, sitting now in some interview room drinking instant coffee and smoking all the cigarettes he wanted, and that would be quite a lot. The enjoyment had probably gone out of them, but at least it was something for his hands to do, what else could he do with them when he was surrounded on all sides by uniformed officers studying those very hands, and wondering whether he could have killed Maja with them. Naturally they’d do a DNA test, but that would take
time
, perhaps weeks, and in the meantime he’d have to wait, and even if he hadn’t had sex with Maja that evening, he could have killed her all the same, they’d think. Of course they’d be humane, even though it was a case of murder, the worst and most brutal of all crimes. Nevertheless she had no difficulty imagining some nasty man with ferrety eyes hacking away any security and sense of worth he might possess. Perhaps even Sejer, with all his quiet patience, could be transformed into such a nightmare. It wasn’t impossible. And perhaps somewhere in the background there was a wife fretting, mad with fear. When you get down to it, she thought, none of us can be sure of one another.

She searched through her wardrobe for clothes she didn’t normally wear. An old pair of army surplus trousers, with pockets on the thighs. They were thick and stiff and uncomfortable and weren’t at all like her, so they were just right now. She had to get outside herself, then it would be easier. A black polo-necked jumper and short white rubber boots also fitted the bill. Then she sat down at the dining table with a notepad and pencil. She chewed and chewed, enjoying the taste of porous wood and soft graphite, just as she enjoyed gently licking her brushes after she’d rinsed them in turpentine. She’d never told anyone about this, it was a secret vice. After three attempts, the text was ready. It was short and simple, without any refinements, it could easily have been written by a man, she thought, as she wallowed in her own vigour. It was something new, a new force that drove her on. She hadn’t experienced such a thing for a long time but had dragged herself forward, her feet following unwilling after her, nothing pushing, nothing motivating her. Now she had some real momentum. Maja would have approved of it.

‘WILL OFFER GOOD PRICE IF YOU’RE THINKING OF SELLING THE CAR
.’

Nothing more. And a signature. She hesitated a little over this, she mustn’t use her own name, but she couldn’t make anything up. Whatever she chose looked silly. In the end it sorted itself out. A real name that he didn’t know and a real phone number which wasn’t hers. ‘After 7 p.m.’ There, it was done. She discarded her handbag and coat and instead found an old down jacket. She put the note in one of its pockets. On a whim she found a band and caught up her hair at the nape of her neck. When she stopped in front of the hall mirror to check her appearance, she saw a stranger with protruding ears. She looked like an overgrown child. It didn’t matter, the effect wasn’t too silly. The most important thing was that she shouldn’t resemble Eva. Finally, she went down to the cellar, rooted around under the workbench and found one of Jostein’s old fishing bags. In the bottom lay a knife. Long and narrow, it fitted neatly into the thigh pocket of her trousers. Just a little security for a lone woman. To engender fear and respect, should Egil Einarsson do something stupid.

She parked a good way off by the corner of the swimming baths. The Securitas guard was nowhere to be seen; for goodness’ sake, he had other areas to patrol as well, she thought. Perhaps he was lurking near the staff lockers or the toilets, perhaps he was keeping an eye on the stocks of beer and mineral water. Presumably there were thieves here as in all other workplaces. She crossed the road and squeezed past the barrier. Again she was amazed by the number of white cars, but she automatically looked for his in the same place as last time, and it wasn’t there. A disturbing thought, that perhaps he wasn’t at work that day, that he’d finally broken down and run away, crept into her mind and
threatened
her equilibrium. Or perhaps he was on the evening shift, but she continued along the rows of cars. Maybe he already knew about the bus driver and was feeling safer than ever. A Renault, how stupid could you get! Now and again she glanced quickly over her shoulder, but there was no one in view. Quick as a spider she scurried round the car park and at length found the Opel right on the perimeter. Today he’d parked askew in the marked parking place, as if he’d been in a hurry. Things will get worse for you, she mumbled to herself. She fished out the note from her pocket, unfolded it and placed it beneath a wiper blade. She stood for a moment or two admiring the car, in case anyone was looking at her from a window. Then she went back again and drove up the town’s main street. It was like beginning a marathon without having trained for it, the task overwhelmed her, but she felt rested and ready, determined to finish. She would always remember that day. It was lightly overcast with a strong breeze, Sunday 4 October.

She looked at the clock practically every quarter of an hour.

When it was approaching 6 p.m. she got into her car and drove the twenty-five kilometres out to her father’s. He’d seen the car a long way off and was standing on the steps as she arrived, wearing a frown. What odd clothes the girl had on, as if she was going on a forest hike, or worse. He shook his head.

‘Are you going to rob a bank?’

‘That’s the idea. Perhaps you could drive the getaway car?’

‘You forgot your wallet,’ he said.

‘I know, that’s why I’ve come.’

She patted his cheek and went inside, throwing a quick glance at the door of his workroom, where he kept the phone. It stood ajar. The phone almost never rang. She
darted
a glance at the time again, thought that he might not phone at all, or perhaps not until late in the evening. But men and their cars was a subject she understood. Boasting about them, discussing road-holding and construction, horsepower, braking effect and German thoroughness, as they drooled like small boys and nodded knowingly, this was a man’s greatest weakness. The vague impression she had should prove to be correct. This car was important to him. His wife and child took second place. It wasn’t certain he would sell, but then she didn’t intend to buy. When he realised she was a woman, he’d be even more intrigued. He, a man who went to prostitutes, a deceiver who used his wages to buy pleasure from other women when he was married and had a child. A heel. A shady customer. Perhaps a bit of a drinker and obviously psychologically unstable. A real turd, a …

‘Why are you so red in the face?’

She started and pulled herself together. ‘I’ve got things to think about.’

‘Well, you don’t say. Have you heard anything from Emma?’

‘She’ll be coming soon. D’you think I’m a bad mother?’

He spluttered a bit. ‘You’re not so bad. You do the best you can. No one is good enough really, not for Emma at least.’ He hobbled after her, heading towards the kitchen.

‘My God, you’re more concerned about that girl than you ever were about me.’

‘Naturally. Just wait till you’re a grandmother. It’s a sort of second chance, you see, to make a better job than you did the first time round.’

‘You were good enough for me.’

‘Even though we moved?’

She turned with the bag of coffee in her hand. ‘Oh yes.’

‘I thought you hadn’t forgiven me.’

‘Well, perhaps not. But everyone’s allowed a certain quota of mistakes, even you.’

‘Wasn’t it because of your best friend, you lost your best friend – that must have been hard. What was her name again?’ His voice was perfectly innocent.

‘Er … May Britt.’

‘May Britt? Was that her name?’

She shook coffee into the paper filter and held her breath. Fortunately he was an old man now, his memory wasn’t what it had been. But she felt a louse. Lies flew from lips like flies.

‘You’re missing Emma too, that’s why you’ve started coming over here all the time. If she stays at Jostein’s for too long you’ll have to make a contribution to her keep, did you know that?’

‘He’d never even dream of it. Don’t be unfair.’

‘I’m only saying you should be careful. This woman of his, how well do you really know her?’

‘Not at all. I’m not interested. But she’s blonde with big tits.’

‘Be careful, she might get up to something.’

‘Dad!’ Eva turned and groaned. ‘Don’t add to the worries I’ve already got!’

He stared ruefully at the floor. ‘Sorry. I’m only trying to find out what’s up with you.’

‘Thanks, but I’m in complete control, I really am. Sit down. You ought to keep your legs raised, you’re being careless. Are you using the electric blanket I gave you?’

‘I forget to plug it in. I’m an old man, I can’t remember every little thing. Anyway, I’m always frightened it’s going to short-circuit.’

‘We’ll have to organise a time switch or something.’

‘Have you come into money?’

It went deathly quiet. The first drops of boiling water dripped into the filter and the smell of coffee spread through the kitchen.

‘No,’ she said quietly. ‘But I’m not letting lack of money take all the pleasure out of my life any more.’

‘Ah, you’ve got yourself a printing press! I thought as much.’ He sat down contented. ‘I’d like a Tia Maria as well.’

‘I know.’

‘So you remembered? That today’s the fourth of October?’

‘Yes. I wouldn’t forget this date, I won’t ever forget it. You’ll have a Tia Maria for Mum just as she asked you to.’

‘You don’t need to make it too small, either.’

‘I never do, I know you.’

He got his liqueur, they had their coffee and sat looking out of the window. It wasn’t hard for the two of them to sit in silence, they’d done it so often. Now they gazed at his neighbour’s barn, at the maple tree, which was blood-red and yellow, and they noticed that the bark was loosening from one side of its trunk.

‘He’ll be taking that tree down soon,’ her father said softly. ‘Look. Hardly any branches left on one side.’

‘But it’s beautiful for all that. It’ll be very bare without that tree.’

‘It’s diseased, you know. The tree will die anyway.’

‘Should we cut down big trees just because they’re not perfect any more?’

‘No. But because they’re ill. He’s already planted a replacement, on the left there.’

‘That tiny sprig?’

‘That’s how they begin. They get bigger gradually, but it takes forty to fifty years.’

Eva slurped her coffee and glanced clandestinely at the time. He’d certainly be at home by now, he’d have read her note, perhaps he was talking to his wife about whether they ought to think about selling. No he wasn’t, he’d decide without asking her. But maybe he was phoning a mate for advice about what he could ask for a well-maintained Manta. She hoped he wouldn’t ask her to make an offer. She hadn’t a clue. She could say that she’d need to make some enquiries herself. Perhaps he was washing it at this very moment, and going over it with the vacuum cleaner. Or perhaps he’d read the note, snorted with contempt and thrown it away; possibly the wind had torn it from under the windscreen wiper and he’d never even read it at all. Maybe he was just sitting watching television, a beer at his side and his feet on the table, while his wife minced around telling the boy to be quiet, at least while Dad was watching the news. Or perhaps he’d gone into town with the lads for a bowling session. She thought about all of this and went on sipping her coffee, there were thousands of possible reasons why he might not phone. But there was also a reason why he might: money. She’d find out if he was as greedy as her, and she believed he was. It would be an opportunity to rid himself of something that could link him to the murder as well. Her cup was just on its way to her lips and her gaze was fixed on the dying tree outside, when suddenly the phone rang. Coffee sloshed down her chin as she jumped up.