Calling Out For You aka The Indian Bride

Chapter 7

The press descended like flies, behaving as though they owned the whole village. They were on the prowl, their mouths their weapons. Every one of them had their own point of view and an original headline which no-one else had thought of. They took dramatic photographs, which showed nothing at all because they had not been allowed close to the scene of the crime. Nonetheless, they had crawled on their stomachs and focused in on it through the rushes and the grass with their camera lenses. So that man's incomprehensible inhumanity to man could be portrayed in the form of white tarpaulin with a few withered flowers in the foreground. They had a huge talent for empathetic facial expressions and they perfectly understood people's need for their fifteen minutes of fame.

The young certainly appreciated the excitement. At last we've got something to look at, said Karen. Linda preferred the ones in uniform, reporters are so scruffy, she complained. They had stopped giggling. Both had acquired an expression of mature horror. They discussed the awful murder in subdued voices and were emphatic in their conviction that it could not have been committed by anyone from the village. They had lived there all their lives, after all, and knew everyone.

"Where were you around nine o'clock last night?" one of the journalists asked them. He watched their young faces as they retraced the hours.

"I was with her," Linda said, pointing at Karen.

Karen nodded. "You left at a quarter to nine. Why nine o'clock?" she said.

"The murder is supposed to have happened around nine o'clock," the reporter told them. "A shopkeeper who lives near the crime scene has said that he heard faint cries and the revving of an engine. Halfway through the evening news."

Linda was saying nothing. You could tell that she was trawling through a myriad of thoughts. Then it came to her, what they had been giggling so foolishly about just now. When she had ridden home from Karen's, she had passed the meadow at Hvitemoen. She was back there now in her mind. Zooming along noiselessly on her bike. She had spotted a car parked on the roadside and had to swerve. Then she had glanced at the meadow and seen two people there. They were running after each other like in some giddy game, it was a man and a woman. He had caught her and pushed her over. She had seen arms and legs flail about violently and was suddenly really shaken because she had known at once what she was seeing. Two people who clearly wanted to have sex. Quite explicitly, in the open while she was going by on her bike and could see everything. She was both embarrassed and aroused at the sight, while feeling cross at the same time because she was still a virgin. A fear that she might die an old maid had nagged her for a long time. That was why she made sure she always behaved as if she was up for it. But those two people! Linda thought it through. The journalists were waiting. A disturbing idea came to her. What if they had not been playing at all? What if he was trying to catch her, if what she had seen was not a game, but the actual murder? It didn't look like a murder, though. The man ran after the woman. The woman fell. Arms and legs. Suddenly she felt nauseous and gulped down her soft drink.

"You passed Hvitemoen on your bike?" the journalist said. "About nine o'clock?"

"Yes," Linda said. Karen noticed the change in her and recognised the seriousness of it because she knew Linda well.

"It's an awful thought. Perhaps it happened just afterwards."

"But you didn't see anything? Along the road or in the vicinity?"

Linda thought about the red car. She shook her head decisively.

"Not a living soul," she said.

"If you did think of something, you should call the police," the journalist said.

She shrugged and became uncooperative. The two men got up and eased the straps of the camera equipment over their shoulders. Glanced sideways towards Einar at the counter. Karen leaned forward across the table.

"Imagine if that was them!" Her voice was trembling.

"But the people I saw were doing something else!" Linda objected.

"Yes, but perhaps they had sex first and then he killed her afterwards. That's quite common, isn't it?"

Linda now had something momentous to think about.

"I think you should call," Karen said.

"I hardly saw anything!"

"But if you think about it? Perhaps you'll remember more after a while?"

"There was a car on the road."

"There you are!" Karen exclaimed. "They're interested in cars. Any type of car which was in the vicinity. They're mapping all movements in the area. What make of car was it?"

"A red one."

"You don't remember anything else?"

"I was busy swerving to avoid it," Linda said.

"But what did you see then? What did they look like?"

"I don't remember. A man and a woman."

"But pale or dark, fat or thin. Things like that?"

"Dunno," Linda said. They were silent for a moment. Einar was at work behind the bar.

"But how about the car? If you think about it. Old or new. Big or small?"

"Not very big. Paintwork was quite nice. Red anyway."

"Is that all you can remember?"

"Yes. But if I saw one like it, I'd recognise it. I think."

"I think you should call," Karen said again. "Talk to your mum, she'll help you."

Linda pulled a face at the idea. "Couldn't we ring together? What if I say something stupid? Do I have to give them my name?"

"Dunno. You won't say something stupid. They'll just note down what you say and compare it with other stuff they know. If more people have seen a red car, they'll start looking for a red car. Something like that."

Linda was still stricken by doubt. Caught between the desire actually to have seen something and the fear of deluding herself. All the same, it was tempting. "The police have a key witness in the Hvitemoen case. The witness spotted a car and we now have a partial description of two people seen in the area."

What had they in fact looked like? She remembered something blue, dark blue perhaps, and something white. The man wore a white shirt. The woman was dressed in something dark. She wanted to go home and watch the news.

"I have to think about it," she said.

Karen nodded. "Before you call you need to write everything down so you know what you want to say. They'll probably ask you a lot of questions. Where you were coming from, where you were going, and what you saw. What time it was."

"OK," Linda said. "I'll write it all down."

They emptied their glasses and shouted "See ya" to Einar. His expression told them he was miles away.

Gunder had let go of Marie's hand. He was sleeping soundly now, his chin resting on his chest. He was dreaming of Poona. Of her smile and the large white teeth. He dreamt of Marie as a little girl, considerably chubbier then. While he was sleeping, the door opened and two nurses rolled in a bed. Gunder woke up and blinked in confusion.

"I think you should lie down," Ragnhild said, smiling. "Look. Some sandwiches for you. And there's coffee, if you'd like some."

He jerked upright in the chair. Looked at the bed and the food. The dark-haired, sullen nurse did not look at him. They checked the drip-counter and cleaned the tube. Lie down? He ran his hand over his forehead and felt the tiredness like a lead weight on his head. What if Karsten turned up while he was sleeping? He had a tendency to snore sometimes. He imagined his brother-in-law, pale with worry after the long journey from Hamburg. He imagined himself snoring on the bed or with his mouth full of sandwich. He looked away from the food. There was pate and ham with cucumber and a glass of milk. But some coffee, perhaps?

"I think you should lie down," Ragnhild said again.

"No," said Gunder appalled. "I'll have to stay awake. In case anything happens."

"It'll be a while before your brother-in-law gets here. We can wake you in an hour if you want us to. But you need some food at least."

He stared at the newly made-up bed.

"You won't help your sister by wearing yourself out," she said gently. The dark-haired nurse said nothing. She opened a window and closed the catch with a bang. Her movements were hard and determined. He considered the option of sleeping in the bed and being woken by this dark-haired witch.

"You do what you like," Ragnhild said. "But we're here to help."

"Yes," Gunder said.

They left. He looked at the food. It was wholemeal bread. He fetched the tray and balanced it on his lap. Ate quietly. The food became him and it surprised him. Afterwards he felt sleepy. He drank two cups of coffee at high speed and felt it scald his throat. It was good coffee. The respirator was working. Marie's hands were yellowish against the white sheet. He put the tray on a table by the window. Sat on the edge of the bed for a moment. Perhaps Poona had arrived. Perhaps she was at home at Blindveien waiting for him. He remembered that the door was unlocked. To leave the house without locking the door was so unlike him. He rubbed his eyes hard. Pushed off his shoes. Turned and saw the white duvet with the sharp folds. Just a short nap, he thought. His body was stiff and aching after the long time spent in the chair. He leaned back and closed his eyes. He was asleep in seconds.

He awoke with a start. Karsten was standing watching him. Gunder leapt up from the bed so quickly that he felt dizzy and collapsed back on the bed.

"I didn't mean to alarm you." His brother-in-law looked tired. "I've been sitting here a while. They told me everything. You must be worn out."

Gunder got up for the second time, this time gingerly.

"No. I was at home last night. But I slept in a chair. I must have dozed off," he said, taken aback.

"You've been asleep a long time." Karsten fumbled with his hands helplessly. "You can go home now, Gunder. I'll sit here. I'll stay tonight."

They looked at one another. Karsten seemed older than usual as he sat on the chair by the bed. "I can't imagine how this is going to end," he mumbled. "What if her brain's been damaged? What's going to become of us?"

"They don't know anything about that yet," Gunder said.

"But what if she stays like this forever?" He buried his face in his hands.

"They think she'll wake up," Gunder said.

"They said so?"

"Yes."

Karsten watched his wife's brother, but he did not say anything. His suitcase and a briefcase were against a wall.

"We were out sailing," he said. "I didn't take my mobile."

"I understand," Gunder said. "Don't give yourself a hard time." Gunder felt better because his brother-in-law had arrived and because he had had a rest. The thought of Poona also returned along with the alertness. And the dead woman at Hvitemoen.

"So you've been to India?" Karsten said. "Found yourself a wife and everything. She's here now, I suppose?" He sounded embarrassed.

"Haven't you heard the news?" Gunder said, tense.

His brother-in-law shook his head.

"There's been a murder at Hvitemoen. A foreign woman. They don't know who she is."

Karsten was bemused by Gunder's strange changing of the subject. And at that moment Gunder collapsed and buried his head in his hands.

"Karsten. There's something I have to tell you."

"Yes?" Karsten said.

Just then the door opened and the sullen, dark-haired nurse swept into the room.

"It can wait." Gunder got up abruptly and buttoned his jacket.

"Go home now and get some rest," Karsten said.

He pulled up outside his driveway. Sat at the wheel and stared through the window. Then, without being clear of his reasons for doing so, he drove on towards Hvitemoen. He wanted to drive slowly past, to have a look at this place everyone was talking about. He knew it well. Opposite the meadow a cart track led down to a lake. They called the lake Norevann. When he was a boy he used to go swimming there with Marie. Or rather she had swum. He had splashed about in the shallow water. He had never learned to swim. Poona doesn't know that, he thought, feeling embarrassed all of a sudden. As he approached, he started looking left, so that he would not miss it. Coming around the bend he noticed two police cars. He stopped the car and sat there watching them. Two policemen were at the edge of the wood. He saw red and white striped tape everywhere and was so flustered that he reversed rapidly so that the car was hidden by the trees. He did not know that the red Volvo had already been spotted. He sat very still and tried to get a sense of what he was feeling. If what had happened out on the meadow involved Poona in any way then he would have felt it, wouldn't he? He put his hand in his inside pocket and got out the marriage certificate, which he carried close to his heart. Read the few lines and the names on the paper over and over. Miss Poona Bai, born on June 1st, 1962, and Mr Gunder Jomann, born on October 10th, 1949. It was a pretty piece of paper. Champagne coloured with a border. The seal of the courthouse at the top. Actual proof. Now he didn't think anyone would believe him. He sighed deeply and crumpled a little. He was startled by a sudden loud noise and he jerked to one side. A policeman was tapping on his window. He folded the document.

"Police," the officer said.

Well, obviously, Gunder thought in a flash of irritation. The man was wearing a uniform, after all.

"Everything all right?"

Gunder gave him a mystified look. Nothing was all right. However, it occurred to him that it was no wonder he was being asked the question. His face felt grimy. His clothes were creased after the many hours spent in the bed at the hospital. He was worn out and needed a shave. He had pulled over on the roadside and was sitting there like some lost soul.

"I just needed a rest. I live close by," he said hurriedly.

"May I see your driving licence and vehicle registration documents?" the officer said.

Gunder looked at him tentatively. Why? Perhaps he thought he had been driving while intoxicated? That's probably how it appeared. He could safely breathe into the device, he had not had a drink since he was in Mumbai. He found the vehicle registration documents in the glove compartment and pulled out his wallet. The officer kept watching him. Suddenly he was interrupted by the crackling of his walkie-talkie. He sniffed and muttered something which Gunder did not hear. Then he made some notes, put the walkie-talkie back on his belt and studied Gunder's driving licence.

"Gunder Jomann, born 1949?"

"Yes," Gunder said.

"You live close by?"

"Towards the village. A kilometre from here."

"Where are you heading?"

"I'm on my way home."

"Then you're going the wrong way," the officer said, scrutinising him.

"I know," Gunder stuttered. "I was curious, that's all… about what has happened."

"What do you mean?" the officer said. Gunder felt like giving up. Why was he feigning ignorance?

"The foreign woman. I heard the news."

"The area has been cordoned off," the officer told him.

"So I see. I'm going home now."

He got his documents back and was about to drive off. The officer stuck his head inside the car as if he wanted to snoop around. Gunder froze.

"I know I look tired," he said quickly. "But the thing is that my sister's in hospital. She's in a coma. I've been watching over her. It was a car accident."

"I see," the policeman said. "You'd better get home and have a rest."

Gunder stayed for a while until the man had disappeared. Then he drove another ten metres, turned the Volvo on the dirt track and headed home. The officer was all the time watching him. Speaking into his walkie-talkie.

Behaved rather strangely. Seemed as if he was scared of something. I wrote down his details just in case.

No suitcase in the hall, no Poona in the living room. The house was empty. The rooms were dark, it had been daylight when he left and he had not left any lights on. He sat in his armchair for a long time, staring stiffly into space. The incident at Hvitemoen disturbed him. He had a feeling of having done something stupid. The policeman had behaved strangely. Surely it was no-one's business if he went driving and no-one's business where he stopped. Gunder felt dizzy. This business with Poona, everything that had happened in India, perhaps it was all a dream. Something he had made up sitting in Tandel's Tandoori. Who goes abroad and practically picks a wife, like others pick fruit in harvest time? It must be this book, People of All Nations, which had put ideas into my head. He could see the red spine on the shelf. Forced himself to switch on the light. Turn on the TV. There would be news in half an hour. At the same time he was petrified, he didn't want to know any more. But he had to know! They might come out with something which absolutely eliminated Poona. The victim might turn out to be from China. Or from North Africa. The victim, who is in her early twenties, the victim, who has yet to be identified, has a very unusual tattoo which covers her back. His imagination ran riot. Outside, all was quiet.