Read Online In the Darkness by Karin Fossum - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Karin Fossum
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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.
‘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.
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