In the Darkness (7 page)

Remnants of sperm which had been found inside the
victim
had been DNA tested, but as they hadn’t yet got a database, he had nothing to check it against. The submission was with Parliament and would come up this spring. And after that, he thought, anyone who got into trouble would have to take great care with any bodily function. Every kind of human trace could be scraped up and DNA tested, with an error of one in seventeen billion. For a while they had toyed with the idea of getting government permission to summon and test every man in the county borough between the ages of eighteen and fifty, but this would have meant calling in thousands of men. The project would have cost several million kroner and taken as long as two years. The Minister of Justice considered the project, such as it was, in all seriousness, until she began to understand the details of the case and learn a little more about the victim. Maja Durban wasn’t considered worth all that money. He could understand that to some extent.

Occasionally he would fantasise about a future system in which all Norwegian nationals were automatically tested at birth and put on file. This thought conjured up a mind-boggling vista. For a while he sat reading through the interviews, there weren’t many of them regrettably, three colleagues, five neighbours from the block where she lived and two male acquaintances who claimed to know her only slightly. And finally, that childhood friend, with her hazy account. Maybe she’d got off too lightly, maybe she knew more than she was saying. A vaguely neurotic sort, but decent enough, at any event he’d never had reason to bring her in. And why would she have killed Durban? A woman doesn’t kill her friend, he thought. Besides, she’d made rather an impression on him, that leggy painter with the lovely hair, Eva Marie Magnus.

Chapter 8

NONE OF THE
crime-scene officers could recall a green boiler suit.

Neither had they seen a torch or a note with a name and telephone number. The glove compartment had been emptied and sifted, there were the usual things people keep in glove compartments, a driver’s licence, an instruction manual, a city map, a packet of cigarettes, a chocolate wrapper. Two empty disposable lighters. And, despite his wife’s hint at his lack of allure – a packet of condoms. It had all been diligently noted down.

Afterwards he phoned the brewery. He asked for the personnel department, and an obliging man with the remnants of a Finnmark brogue answered.

‘Einarsson? Certainly I remember him. It was a really dreadful story, and he had a family as well, I believe. But in fact he was one of our most punctual people. Almost no absences at all in seven years, as far as I can see. And that’s some going. But as regards September and October last, let’s see …’ Sejer could hear him leafing through papers. ‘This could take a little time, we’ve got 150 men here. Would you like me to call you back?’

‘I’d prefer to wait.’

‘All right then.’

His voice was replaced with a drinking song that reverberated down the line. Sejer thought it was rather amusing, at least it was better than muzak. It was a Danish recording with an accordion. Really lively.

‘Well, now.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Are you there? He clocked in fairly late here, I see, one day in October. The second of October. He didn’t arrive until nine-thirty. Presumably he’d overslept. They go to the pub sometimes, the lads here.’

Sejer drummed his fingers. ‘Well, I’m grateful for that. One small thing while I remember. Mrs Einarsson’s alone with a six-year-old boy, and she appears not to have received any payment from you yet, is that possible?’

‘Yes, hmm, that’s right.’

‘How so? Einarsson had a company insurance policy, didn’t he?’

‘Oh yes, yes, but we didn’t know for certain what had happened. And the rules are quite explicit. People do run off sometimes. For one reason or another, you just don’t know, people do such strange things nowadays.’

‘Well at least he went to the trouble of slaughtering a chicken or something,’ Sejer said dryly, ‘and spilling its blood over the car. I assume you’ve been given some details?’

‘Yes, that’s right. But I can promise we’ll expedite the matter, we’ve got all we need now.’ He sounded uneasy. The Finnmark accent had got steadily more pronounced.

‘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.