In the Darkness (4 page)

‘I’ve got some coffee in the pot,’ she said hesitantly.

He said yes. It would be good to have something to hold on to, even if it was only the handle of a cup. The boy trotted into the kitchen after his mother, but peeped at him stealthily from behind the door. He was thin, with a few freckles on his nose and hair that was too long and fell into his eyes all the time. In a few years he’d resemble the man in the wedding photo.

‘I’ve forgotten your name,’ Sejer said, smiling encouragingly.

The boy withheld his name for a moment, twisting the sole of his trainer into the lino and smiling shyly.

‘Jan Henry.’

Sejer nodded. ‘Ah, Jan Henry, of course. Can I ask you something, Jan Henry – do you collect pins?’

He nodded. ‘I’ve got twenty-four. On my cowboy hat.’

‘Bring it here,’ Sejer smiled, ‘and I’ll give you another one. One you certainly won’t have.’

The boy shot round the corner and made for his bedroom. He returned with the hat on his head, it was much too large. He removed it with respect.

‘They prick so much inside,’ he explained, ‘so I can’t wear it.’

‘Look here,’ said Sejer, ‘a police pin. I got this from Mrs Brenningen at the station. Not bad, eh?’

The boy nodded. He searched the hat for a place of honour for the small golden pin, resolutely demoted an older one, and stuck the police pin in the middle at the front. His mother entered and gave a smile.

‘Go to your room,’ she said briskly, ‘me and the man have got to talk.’

He put the hat on his head again and vanished.

Sejer drank his coffee and watched Mrs Einarsson who dropped two lumps of sugar in her own cup, from just above the coffee, so that it wouldn’t splash. Her wedding ring had gone. Her blonde hair was dark at the parting and she was wearing too much make-up round the eyes, which made her look a bit fierce. In fact she was rather sweet, a neat, fair little person. Presumably she didn’t know it. She was probably dissatisfied with her own appearance, like most women. Apart from Elise, he thought.

‘We’re still looking for this purchaser, Mrs Einarsson, just as we were before. For some reason your husband suddenly wanted to sell the car, even though he’d never discussed it with you. He went off to show it to someone and never returned. Perhaps someone had expressed an interest in it, stopped him in the street or whatever. Perhaps someone wanted that precise model, and got in touch. Or maybe someone was out to get him, just him, not the car, but they used it to lure him out of the house. Tempted him to sell. Do you know if he was in financial straits?’

She shook her head and crunched one of the dissolving lumps of sugar.

‘You asked me that before. No, not financial straits. I mean, not that bad. But everyone needs money, don’t they, we weren’t well off. And now it’s even worse. And I can’t even get a playschool place. And I get migraines,’ she massaged her temples lightly as if to demonstrate that he had to treat her gently, or it might strike like lightning at any moment, ‘and it isn’t so easy to work with a handicap like that, alone with a kid and all.’

He nodded sympathetically. ‘But you’re not aware that he used money to gamble, or that he had a loan, perhaps a private loan, which he was having difficulty managing?’

‘He didn’t have one. He wasn’t a genius, but he wasn’t a fool either. We managed. He had a job and everything. And he only spent money on the car, and an occasional beer at the pub. He could mouth off sometimes, but he wasn’t tough enough to get involved in anything, I mean, anything illegal. At least I don’t think so. And we were married for eight years, so I think I know him fairly well. Knew him, I mean. And I can’t just sit here saying things about Egil either, even if he is dead.’ She drew breath at last.

‘You can’t remember if any of his mates ever expressed a wish to own the car?’

‘Well, yes, I’m sure they did. But he wouldn’t sell. Didn’t even like lending it.’

‘And you don’t remember phone calls in the days before he disappeared that might have been about the car?’

‘No.’

‘What was he like that evening when he left?’

‘I’ve told you already. Just like normal. He got home from work at three-thirty. He was on early shift. Then he
had
a pizza Mexicana, and coffee, and lay in the garage all evening.’

‘Lay?’

‘Under the car. And tinkered. He was fixated with that car. Afterwards he washed it. I was busy in the house and didn’t give it a thought until he came in right in the middle of
Casino
and said he was off out to show the car to someone.’

‘No name?’

‘No.’

‘Nothing about where they were going to meet?’

‘No.’

‘And you didn’t ask why he wanted to sell it?’

She touched her hair and shook her head. ‘I didn’t get involved with the car. I haven’t even got a driving licence. It didn’t matter to me what car we had, so long as we had one. And he didn’t say he was going to sell it, either, just that he was going to show it to someone. And that wasn’t necessarily the murderer. He could have met someone, or given someone a lift, or whatever, I don’t know. This town is full of loonies, it’s because of all this heroin, I don’t know why you lot can’t put a stop to it. Think of Jan Henry who’ll have to grow up here, he’s not exactly got a strong character, he’s like his dad for that.’

‘A strong character,’ said Sejer smiling, ‘is something one develops over time. Perhaps we should allow him a few more years yet. But we advertised for that prospective purchaser in the newspapers and on television,’ he reminded her, ‘and no one came forward. No one dared. Either your husband lied when he left home that evening, perhaps he was off to do something quite different – or that purchaser was the actual killer.’

‘Lied?’ She gave him an offended stare. ‘If you think
he
had dirty secrets, you’re wrong. He wasn’t that sort. And there was no one after him either, women didn’t find him that attractive, if you must know. If he said he was going to show the car to someone, that’s the truth.’

She said this in a forthright manner that convinced him. He thought a bit, saw the boy come sneaking in and seat himself gingerly on the floor behind his mother. He gave him a surreptitious wink.

‘If you think further back, was there anything that was out of the ordinary in any way? Let’s say from six months before he disappeared up to the time his car was found on the dump – can you recall an episode or a period when he wasn’t quite himself, or he was worried or something like that? I mean, anything at all? Telephone calls? Letters? Maybe days he got home later than normal from work, or didn’t sleep well?’

Jorun Einarsson munched the other sugar lump, and he saw how her thoughts were travelling back. She cocked her head slightly over some memory or other, discarded it and mused on. Einarsson junior breathed noiselessly, like most little pitchers he had big ears.

‘There was some trouble at the pub one evening. I suppose there is most of the time, and anyway it wasn’t anything serious, but someone had got completely legless, so the landlord rang the police to have him taken away. It was one of Egil’s mates, from the brewery. Egil followed them and pleaded with them to let him out. He promised to drive him home and get him to bed. And obviously that’s what they did. That night he didn’t get home till half past three in the morning and I remember that he overslept the following day.’

‘Yes? Did you learn what had happened?’

‘No. Only that he’d been completely pissed. Not Egil,
but
the other man. Egil had the car, he was on the early shift. Anyway, I didn’t ask, that sort of thing doesn’t interest me.’

‘Was he a man who cared about other people, d’you think? It was rather good of him. He could have turned his back and left him to it.’

‘He wasn’t especially caring,’ she said, ‘since you ask. He didn’t notice his surroundings much normally. So I admit I was a bit surprised that he really had taken that trouble. Saved a bloke from a drunk and disorderly charge. Yes, I was a bit taken aback perhaps, but they were mates, after all. Quite honestly, I hadn’t thought about it much. Not before now, I mean, when you asked about it.’

‘When roughly did this happen?’

‘Oh God, I can’t remember. Shortly before he went missing.’

‘Weeks? Months?’

‘No, a few days perhaps.’

‘A few days? Did you mention that episode when we spoke to you last autumn?’

‘Don’t think so.’

‘And his drunken mate, Mrs Einarsson, do you know who he was?’

She shook her head, stole a quick glance over her shoulder and caught sight of the child.

‘Jan Henry! I thought I told you to go to your room!’

He got up and slunk out of the room like an unwelcome dog. She poured more coffee.

‘The name, Mrs Einarsson,’ he said quietly.

‘No, I can’t remember,’ she said. ‘There’s so many of them, a whole gang who hang out at that pub.’

‘But he overslept the next day, didn’t you say?’

‘Yes.’

‘And they’ve got a time-clock at the brewery, haven’t they?’

‘Mmm.’

He considered. ‘And when you got the car back from our technical people, you sold it?’

‘Yes, I needed the money. Besides I can’t afford to drive anyway, so I sold the car to my brother, along with some tools that were in the back. A socket set and a jack. And some clutter which I hadn’t got a clue what it was. Besides, there was something missing, something that wasn’t there.’

‘What?’

‘I can’t remember now. My brother asked about it, and we searched but couldn’t find it. I can’t remember what it was.’

‘Try. It could be important.’

‘No, I don’t think it was important, but I can’t remember what it was. We searched in the garage too.’

‘Ring the station if you remember. Could you ask your brother?’

‘He’s off travelling. But he’ll be back sometime.’

‘Thanks for the coffee, Mrs Einarsson,’ he said getting up.

She leapt up from her chair, slightly flustered and blushing because he was off so suddenly, and followed him to the door. He bowed and went to the car park. Just as he put the key in the door, he caught sight of the boy, he was standing with both feet in a flower bed, turning the soil with terrific energy. His trainers were filthy. Sejer waved.

‘Hi. Haven’t you got anyone to play with?’

‘No,’ he smiled bashfully. ‘Why haven’t you got a police car when you’re at work?’

‘Good question. But you see, I’m actually on my way
home
. I live a bit further along the road, and this way I don’t have to go back to the station to change cars.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Have you ever been in a police car?’

‘No.’

‘Next time I come to see your mum I’ll come in a police car. You can come for a drive with me, if you’d like.’

The boy smiled from ear to ear, but there was a shadow of doubt, perhaps it came from bitter experience.

‘It’s a promise,’ Sejer assured him. ‘And you won’t have to wait long!’ He slid in behind the steering wheel and rolled off slowly down the street. In the mirror he saw the thin arm waving.

He was still thinking about the boy as he passed the trotting course on the left and the Church of the Latter-day Saints on his right. ‘God forgive you, Konrad,’ he said to himself, ‘if you forget that police car next time.’

Chapter 5

EMMA WAS PLAYING
with a farm on the living room floor.

The animals were ranged in neat lines, pink pigs, brown and white dappled cows, hens and sheep. A Tyrannosaurus rex surveyed the scene, the head with its tiny brain just reached to the ridge of the barn.

At regular intervals she ran to the window watching eagerly for her father’s car. Every other weekend she stayed with her father and she looked forward to it each time with equal fervour. Eva was expectant too. She sat tensely on the sofa and waited, needing to get the child out of the house so she could have peace to think. She usually used such free weekends for working. Now she was totally paralysed. Everything was different. They’d found him.

Emma hadn’t brought up the subject of the dead man for several days. But that didn’t mean she’d forgotten him. She could tell by her mother’s face that he wasn’t to be mentioned, and although she didn’t know why, she respected it.

In the studio a canvas stood prepared on the easel. She had already primed it black, without a hint of light. She couldn’t be bothered to look at it. There was
so
much else now that needed to be done first. She sat on the sofa listening with the same intensity as Emma for the red Volvo which would turn into the courtyard at any moment. Complete order reigned on the farm, apart from the green monster that towered behind the barn. It looked strange.

‘That dinosaur doesn’t quite fit in, does it Emma?’

Emma pouted.

‘I know that. It’s only visiting.’

‘Ah, I see. I should have realised.’

She drew her legs up and pulled her long skirt over her knees. Tried to empty her head of thoughts. Emma sat down again, pushed the piglets one after the other under the sow’s belly.

‘There’s not enough teats. This one hasn’t got one.’ She raised a piglet between two fingers and looked enquiringly at her mother.

‘Mmm. That’s what happens. Those piglets starve to death. Or you have to feed them from a bottle and farmers usually haven’t got the time.’

Emma pondered this for a bit. ‘I can give it to Dino. He’s got to have food, too.’

‘But they only eat grass and leaves and that sort of thing, don’t they?’

‘Not this one, he’s a meat-eater,’ Emma explained, and pushed the piglet between the green monster’s sharp teeth.

Eva shook her head in disbelief at this practical solution. Children never ceased to amaze her. And just then there was the sound of revving in the courtyard. Emma vanished as fast as she was able, out through the hallway to greet her father.

Eva raised her head dully as he appeared in the doorway. This man had been the guiding beacon in
her
life. When Emma stood next to him she seemed smaller and trimmer than usual. They suited one another, both with red hair and carrying far too much weight. They loved each other, too, and she was pleased about that. She’d never been jealous, not even of the new woman in his life. Her great grief was that he’d left her, but now that he’d done it, she wished him the best of luck. It was that simple.