Calling Out For You aka The Indian Bride

Chapter 15

Linda had called Karen repeatedly, but her mum kept saying that she was out. It was several days since they had last spoken. People stared at her when she went to the café or cycled down the road. They seemed hostile. She stood by the window staring into the dark garden. Rumours flew around, mercilessly, about whom the police had been to see and especially where they had been more than once. Her mum didn't seem particularly excited one way or the other that Linda had called the police. As far as she knew, there was no prospect of meeting Jacob again. She didn't know what she could do to make him come to the house. She had searched her memory over and over through confused snapshots, as they seemed, for further details. The two people in the meadow, the strange game. When she thought of it, it still seemed like a game. But Jacob had said that you saw what you wanted to see. No-one wanted to see a murder. A man running after a woman, like they do all the time. That's why she'd drawn that conclusion. Gøran had given her such an evil stare that day in the café when she had been looking at his car. Now he had probably made the connection. Not that she was scared of Gøran, but she didn't want to get him into trouble. She had just wanted to tell them about the car. Lots of people owned Golfs. They could be from anywhere. But it was too late. They had talked to both Gøran and Ulla. Then she thought about Gøran's face, about the scratches on his face. Other people must have noticed them. They would have mentioned them in any case. She wasn't going to say anything else, not a single word. But she had to see Jacob again! She lingered by the window, thinking hard. Her mum had gone to Holland to bring back a load of tulips. The house was quiet, it was past 11 p.m. Suddenly she rushed out into the hall and locked the door. The sharp click of the lock frightened her. She sat at the kitchen table. When the telephone rang she leapt up and gasped. Perhaps it was Karen ringing back at last. She lifted the handset and called out her name. But no-one answered. She could hear someone breathe. Confused, she remained where she was, holding the handset.

"Hello?"

No reply. Just the dialling tone. She put down the handset, her hands trembling. Now they had started to scare her, too. She sat on the sofa, biting her nails. Outside the wind rustled in the trees. No-one would hear her if she screamed. Fear threatened to overpower her. She switched the TV on, then switched it off again. If someone came to the door she wouldn't be able to hear them with all that noise. She decided to go to bed. Quickly she brushed her teeth and ran up the stairs. Closed the curtain. Pulled off her clothes, crept under the duvet. Lay there listening. She had a strong feeling that someone was outside. It was silly. There had never been anyone outside the house apart from the deer that came to eat the fallen apples no-one could be bothered to pick up. She turned off the lamp and hid under the duvet. The man who had done that terrible thing would never come to her house. He was probably in hiding. Three hundred people had called the hotline. Imagine, she was just one of three hundred.

Suddenly she heard a sound. It was quite distinct and not something she had imagined. A thump against the outside wall. She jerked upright in her bed. Sat listening breathlessly. Then a kind of dragging sound. Linda felt sick. She bent over in the bed, hugging herself. Someone was outside! Someone was in the garden. She put her feet on the floor, ready to jump. Any minute now someone would start fiddling with the lock downstairs. There was a rushing noise in her ears, she couldn't think. Then everything went silent. The room was in total darkness. She went to the window and stuck two fingers behind the curtain. Stared out through the narrow gap. At first all she could see was the darkness. But then her night vision took over and she glimpsed the trees outside and the faint light from the kitchen which fell softly on the lawn. Then she saw a man. He was staring right up at her window. She backed into a corner and stayed there gasping. This is the punishment, she thought. He would take his revenge now because she had phoned. In a blind panic she dashed out and ran down the stairs. Grabbed the telephone and dialled Jacob's number, the private number in Nedre Storgate, which she knew by heart. She panted down the receiver when he answered.

"Someone's here," she whispered desperately. "He's standing outside in the garden staring up at my window."

"Sorry," she heard, "who's this, please?"

"Linda," she shouted. "I'm home alone. There's a man in the garden!"

"Linda?" Skarre said. "What are you talking about?"

His voice was a great relief. She started to cry.

"A man. He tried to hide behind some trees, but I saw him."

Skarre finally understood what this was about and adopted a professional and reassuring tone of voice. "You're home alone and you thought you saw someone?"

"I did see someone! Quite clearly. I heard him too. He was pressing up against the wall."

Jacob Skarre had never in all his life experienced anything like this. He sat for a while, thinking. Decided to talk to her and calm her down, she was probably overwrought.

"How did you get my home number?" he asked.

"From the directory."

"Yes, of course. Of course you did. But I'm not on duty now, you know."

"No. But what if he tries to get in?"

"Have you locked the door?"

"Yes."

"Linda," he said. "Go to the window. See if he's still out there."

"No!"

"Do as I say."

"I daren't!"

"I'll wait. I won't hang up."

Linda sneaked over to the window and peeked out into the garden. It was deserted. For a time she stood there, staring in confusion, then she came back to the kitchen.

"Was he there?"

"No."

"Perhaps it's something you've imagined? Because you're scared?"

"You think I've lost it. But I haven't!"

"I don't think that. But what you're scared of won't happen, Linda."

"Everyone knows what I've said," she sniffled. "Everyone in the area."

"Are they unkind to you?"

"Yes!"

She gripped the handset as tightly as she could. He mustn't hang up. She wanted to talk to Jacob till dawn.

"Listen to me, Linda," Skarre said urgently. "Many people are too cowardly to call. They see all sorts of things, but don't want to get involved at any cost. You've been brave, you've told us what you knew. And provided us with the possible make of the car, nothing else. No-one can accuse you of anything."

"No, but I'm thinking of Gøran," she said. "I bet he's mad."

"He has no reason to be," Skarre said. "D'you know what? I suggest you go to sleep now as quickly as possible. Tomorrow you'll see things in a more positive light."

"Aren't you coming over to investigate?"

"There's probably no need. However, I can call the station and ask them to send over an officer if you really want me to."

"I'd rather you came," she said, meekly.

Skarre sighed. "I'm off duty," he said. "Try to relax, Linda. People do go out for walks, you know. Perhaps it was a night wanderer taking a short cut through your garden."

"Yes. I'm sorry." She pressed the handset so hard against her ear that it felt like Jacob was inside her head. "Well, I'm not going to say anything any more," she said obstinately.

"But surely you've told us everything you know by now?"

"Yes," she said.

"Then that's that. Go to bed. I understand that you're afraid. It was a terrible thing that happened," Skarre said.

Don't hang up! a voice was screaming in her head. Jacob! Don't!

"Goodnight then, Linda."

"Goodnight."

Gunder's cheeks were sunken. He was unshaven and his shirt had a dark rim round the collar. Just as well Marie can't see me, he thought. He stared down at Poona's belongings, which were spread out on the table. The clothes were dry, but stained from the dirty water. You could still see how beautiful they were. These are my wife's clothes, he thought. The nightgown and the hairbrush. When he closed his eyes he could recall how she used to lift her hair forward across her shoulder to brush it.

"We'll bring them home to you as soon as possible," Sejer said.

Gunder nodded. "It'll be good to have something," he said bravely.

"There's one more thing," Sejer said. "We've received a letter from the police in New Delhi. You can see it if you wish."

He nodded and took the sheet of paper. Struggled a bit with the English wording.

"Mr Shiraz Bai, living in New Delhi, confirms one sister, Poona, born on June 1st, 1962. Left for Norway on August 19th. Mr Bai will come to Oslo on September 10th to take his sister home."

Gunder gasped. "Back? To India? But she's my wife! I've got the marriage certificate here. Surely I'm her closest relative? Can he do this?" Gunder was so upset that he stood on the floor shaking. The blue eyes shone with fear and the letter trembled in his hands.

Sejer tried to calm him down. "We'll help you with this. I'm sure we'll find a solution."

"I must have some rights. A marriage is a marriage."

"It is," Sejer said. He opened a drawer in his desk. "However, at least I can let you take this home." He handed Gunder a slim envelope. "Her brooch."

Gunder had to wipe away a tear when he saw the beautiful piece of jewellery.

"She'll be buried with this," he said firmly.

Carefully he put the brooch in his inside pocket and hugged his jacket tightly around himself.

"We're chipping away at this case," Sejer said. "It will be solved."

Gunder looked down at the floor.

"I know that you've other things on your mind," Sejer said. "You're a widower now."

This made Gunder raise his head. Sejer had called him a widower. It felt like restitution. He drove home and called his brother-in-law to tell him about Marie. He always did that when he returned from the hospital. Though there wasn't much to tell.

"It's odd that someone can lie as still as that," he said to Karsten. "And not even blink. Imagine if she loses her voice."

"It'll just be a bit hoarse," Karsten said. "They can probably rehabilitate it."

"Everything will need rehabilitating," Gunder said sadly. "Her muscles are wasting away. They say that her body is turning soft. They say…"

"All right, all right. We'll just have to be patient. I don't want to hear any more. I don't understand a word of it anyway."

Fear crept into his voice. Karsten had not mentioned Poona at all, though by now it had leaked out who she actually was. Gunder was deeply hurt. He stood there fiddling with the curly telephone cable. Karsten didn't come to the hospital. Gunder personally was happy to sit by his sister's bedside. He spoke quietly and sombrely to her about everything that had happened. They've found her suitcase now, Marie. With her clothes. And her brother's coming. I'm so worried. I took his sister from him. True, Poona said they weren't especially close, but all the same. He advised her against going. And he was right.

He sat there, talking in this way. Thus he coped with his thoughts, one by one.

He was still on sick leave and did not want to return to work. The days came and went, sometimes Bjørnsson called to chat. He seemed perky. He had finally got the chance to show them what he was made of, now that their senior sales person was away. But Svarstad had asked for Jomann. And according to Bjørnsson had stood there gawping in the doorway when he heard the lengthy story. He had never believed that Jomann had the courage to go abroad and find himself a wife.

"In an earlier interview with one of our officers, Jacob Skarre, you stated that you were with your girlfriend Ulla on the evening of August 20th."

Sejer looked at Gøran Seter, who smiled back at him. The scratches on his face were now reduced to faint lines.

"That's correct."

"However, the interview with the young lady revealed the following: she's no longer your girlfriend and she didn't spend the evening with you. You worked out together at Adonis Studio from 6 p.m. to around 8 p.m. Thereafter she ended the relationship. At which point you drove off in anger, alone in the car. And subsequently passed Hvitemoen sometime between 8.30 p.m. and 9 p.m."

Gøran Seter's eyes widened. He was a heavily built man with blond hair with bright red stripes. His hair stood up. His eyes shone intensely. Sejer was reminded of pearls of mercury.

"So Ulla's ended it again?" He let out a bemused laugh. "She tends to do that. It happens all the time, I've stopped taking it seriously."

"I'm less interested in whether you're still in a relationship or not. You have previously stated that you were with her later that evening, at her sister's, and that's not correct."

"It is. But excuse me, why do I have to answer this?"

"We're investigating a murder. A great many people have to answer a great many questions. You are, in other words, just one of many. If that makes you feel better."

"I don't need to feel better."

Gøran was strong and convincing. The smile never left his face.

"Ulla likes to stir," he explained.

"Not according to my officer."

"Well, he spoke to her for a few minutes. I've known her for over a year."

"So you still maintain that you spent the evening with her?"

"Yes. We were babysitting."

"Why would Ulla lie about this? To a police officer?"

"If he was attractive that would probably be reason enough. She goes for everyone. Wanted to appear available, I guess."

"That's a bit cheap, in my opinion."

"You can't have any idea what lengths girls will go to to make themselves look interesting. They'll stop at nothing. Ulla is no exception."

"Have you been to her sister's house before?"

"Yes." His smile broadened. "So I can describe to you the living room and the kitchen and the bathroom. What a shame, eh?"

"How were you dressed when you left Adonis?"

"Tennis shirt. White probably. Black Levis. That's what I wear."

"You showered after the work-out?"

"Of course."

"Nevertheless you took another shower later on?"

Brief pause.

"How do you know that?"

"I've been speaking to your mother. You were home by 11 p.m. Went straight to the shower."

"If you say so."

Still he smiled. No fear or anxiety. The heavy body rested in the chair, carefully sculpted.

"Why?"

"Felt like it."

"Your mother also said that when you came home that night you were wearing a blue T-shirt and grey jogging pants. Did you change again after your work-out?"

"My mum's memory is not all that great, in my opinion."

"So you're the only one in the village who can think straight, is that it, Gøran?"

"No. But honestly, she doesn't notice stuff like that. However, I do work out in a blue T-shirt and grey jogging pants."

"So after you left Adonis wearing a clean white shirt and before you came home, did you change back into your sweaty work-out clothes?"

"No, I'm telling you. It's Mum who's getting it mixed up."

"What did you wear on your feet?"

"Trainers. These ones."

He stretched out his legs and showed him.

"They look new."

"Not at all. They've been worn."

"Can I see the soles?"

He lifted his feet. The soles of the trainers were white as chalk.

"Who did you call?"

"Call? When?"

"You made a call in your car. Ulla saw you."

For the first time Gøran looked serious.

"I called someone I know. Simple as that."

Sejer considered this. "This is your situation as of today. You passed the crime scene in your car at the crucial time. You drive a red Golf. A similar car was seen at the scene, parked on the roadside. A witness saw a man wearing a white shirt out in the meadow. He was with a woman. You're lying about where you spent the evening. Several witnesses have remarked that your face was scratched when you turned up at Einar's Café on the 21st, the day after the murder. Your face is still scratched. I'm sure you can appreciate that I need an explanation for this."

"I had a fight with my dog. And I don't go around assaulting women. I don't need to. I have Ulla."

"That's not what she says, Gøran."

"Ulla says a lot of things." He was no longer smiling.

"I don't think so. I'll be back."

"No. I won't have you bothering me. Sod you."

"My only concern is for the dead woman, no-one else," Sejer said.

"Your lot are never concerned about anyone."

Sejer went out into the yard. He had a strong feeling that Gøran Seter was hiding something. But everyone is, he thought, and it doesn't have to be a murder. That's what made this job so difficult, there was a touch of guilt in everyone, which put them in a bad light, sometimes quite undeservedly. The ruthlessness of it, digging into other people's lives, was the part of the job he most disliked. So he closed his eyes and summoned up the image of Poona's battered head.