Eva's Eye

14

Eva stood with the phone in her hand.

He’d found the note. After six months he’d found the note.

The police had handwriting experts, they could find out who’d written it, but first they had to have something to compare it with, and then they could study each little loop, the joins and circles, dots and dashes, a unique pattern which revealed the writer, with every characteristic and neurotic tendency, perhaps even sex and age. They went to college and studied all this, it was a science.

It wouldn’t take Sejer many minutes to drive from her father’s place to her own house. She hadn’t much time. She dropped the receiver with a clatter and steadied herself a moment against the wall. Then as if in a daze she went to the hall and took her coat from the peg. She laid it on the dining table with her bag and a packet of cigarettes. She sprinted to the bathroom, packed her toothbrush and some toothpaste in a bag, threw in a hairbrush and the packet of paracetamol. She ran into the bedroom and grabbed some clothes out of the wardrobe, underwear, T-shirts, and socks. Every now and again she checked the time; she made her way into the kitchen and opened the freezer, found a packet marked “Bacon” and dropped it in her bag, ran back into the living room and switched off the lights, checked that the windows were properly fastened. It had only taken a few minutes, so she stood in the middle of the room and looked around one last time. She didn’t know where she’d go, only that she had to get away. Emma could live with Jostein. She liked it there, perhaps she’d really prefer to be there anyway. This realization almost paralyzed her completely. But she couldn’t give way to sobs now; she went into the hall, put on her coat, slung the bag on her shoulder, and opened the door. There was a man outside on the steps, staring at her. She’d never seen him before in her life.

Sejer drove out of the tunnel, his brow deeply furrowed.

“Kollberg,” he said, “this is really odd.”

He put on his sunglasses. “I wonder why we always come back to this woman. What on earth is she up to?”

He stared down at the town, which was dirty and gray after the winter. “The old chap certainly hasn’t got anything to do with it, he must be eighty if he’s a day, possibly more. But what the hell would an erudite artist like her want with a clod of a brewery worker? He certainly had no money. By the way, are you hungry?”

“Woof!”

“Yes, me too. But we must get to Engelstad first. Afterwards we’ll enjoy ourselves, stop at 7-Eleven on our way home. A pork chop for me and some dry biscuits for you.”

Kollberg whined.

“Only pulling your leg! Two pork chops and a beer for each of us.”

The dog lay down again, happy. He didn’t understand a word of the conversation, but he liked the sound of his master’s voice when he said the final bit.