Eva's Eye

21

Killed in her own bed.

Eva saw the headline on the stand outside Omar’s before she’d even got out of the car. In just a few nighttime hours the case had begun spreading across the town, across the country. She ran in and put the money on the counter, opened the paper in the car, and rested it against the steering wheel. Her hands shook.

Eva turned the pages of the newspaper. There wasn’t much more, except some large photos. A picture of the block with Maja’s window marked with a cross. It must have been an old picture as there was a lot of foliage on the trees in front of the building. A picture of the man who found her, fuzzy and taken from behind so that nobody could recognize him. And the picture of a policeman. The one who was in charge of the case. A serious man with graying hair in a light-blue shirt. Inspector Konrad Sejer, some name, she thought. Anyone who was in the area on Thursday evening was asked to get in touch with the police.

She folded the newspaper. If the police did discover that she’d been with Maja, they’d turn up quite soon, maybe even during the course of the day. If a week passed she could begin to feel safe. But their first move would certainly be to review the past few days to see what Maja had been doing and whom she’d been with. Eva started the car and drove slowly back to her house. She went in and decided to do a bit of work, wash and tidy up and think about what she’d say. There were great piles of dirty clothes in the utility room, she began to feed them into the washing machine, then suddenly remembered that her bag and the money was in there, and pulled it out. Then she filled the machine with clothes. Maja and I were childhood friends, she said to herself, but we lost contact with each other in ’69. Because my family had to move. We were both fifteen at the time.

She poured powder into the washing machine and pressed the button.

So we hadn’t seen one another for nearly twenty-five years. I met her at Glassmagasinet, I’d been to the paint shop and exchanged a canister of fixative. We went to the café on the first floor and had coffee.

She went into the kitchen and filled the sink with water.

And we talked about the old days, the way girls do. Did I know she was a prostitute? Well, she did tell me that, as a matter of fact. She wasn’t ashamed of it either. She treated me to dinner, we went to Hannah’s Kitchen.

Eva squirted washing-up liquid in the sink and put glasses and cutlery into the hot water. The washing machine was slowly filling in the utility room.

After the meal I went back to her home. Yes, that’s right, we took a taxi. But I wasn’t there all that long. Oh yes, she talked about her clients, but she didn’t mention any names or anything. The painting?

Eva picked up a glass with a stem, held it up to the light, and began to wash it.

Yes, it’s my painting. Or rather, Maja bought it from me. For ten thousand kroner. But only because she felt sorry for me, I don’t think she really liked it. But then she hadn’t got much idea about art anyway. So the following evening I went round to deliver it, I took a taxi. I had a cup of coffee and left quite soon. She was expecting a client. Did I see him? No, no, I didn’t see anyone, I went before he arrived. I didn’t want to be there then.

She rinsed the glass under the tap and took another. It was frightening how many wine glasses had accumulated. The washing machine began to slosh. It was really fairly simple, she thought, as she’d obviously never be suspected of the murder itself. A woman doesn’t murder a friend, another woman. So they had no reason to suspect her at all. No one could prove what she’d seen.

But the money, which she’d taken...

She inhaled and tried to calm herself. Suddenly the full force of it shook her: she’d taken Maja’s money. Why on earth had she done that? Simply because she needed it? She was just picking up another glass when the doorbell rang. The ring was firm and authoritative.

No! It couldn’t be! Eva started so violently that she crushed the glass. Her hand began to bleed, the water turned red. She bent toward the window to peer out, but she couldn’t see who it was, only that someone was standing there. For goodness’ sake, who could possibly...

She raised her hand and wrapped a dishcloth around it so that blood wouldn’t drip on the floor. She went out into the hall, regretting that she’d chosen frosted glass for the narrow window next to the door, as it was impossible to see through it. Then she opened the door. A man was standing outside, very tall, slim and gray-haired, he seemed rather familiar. He resembled the man in the paper, the one who was leading the investigation, but surely it was too soon for that, it was only Friday morning after all, and there were limits to what they could discover in a single night, even though they’d certainly...

“Konrad Sejer,” he said. “Police.”

Her heart sank and landed in the region of her stomach. Her throat tightened with a little cluck, not a sound emerged. He stood motionless, staring inquiringly at her, and when she didn’t say anything, nodded at the dishcloth: “Has something happened?”

“No, I was just washing up.” She found it impossible to move her legs.

“Eva Marie Magnus?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

He gazed at her intensely. “May I come in?”

How has he managed to find me? In only a few hours, how the hell...

“Yes, of course, I was just a bit preoccupied with my hand, I’ll get a plaster. It was only a cheap glass, so it doesn’t matter, but I’m bleeding like a stuck pig and it’s so annoying when you get blood on the furniture and carpets. Impossible to get it off... police?”

She backed away, trying to remember what to say, it had all gone right out of her head now, but obviously he had to ask something before she could answer, the best thing was to say as little as possible, just answer the questions, not go cackling on like a hen about this and that, or he’d simply think she was nervous, which she was, but he mustn’t find that out.

They were in the living room.

“You deal with that hand first,” he said briskly. “I’ll wait here till you’re ready.” He studied her carefully, noted the split lip, which had swollen up.

She went to the bathroom, didn’t dare look at herself in the mirror in case she got a shock. She took a roll of plaster out of the medicine cabinet and cut off a bit, slapped it over the cut and inhaled deeply three times. Maja and I were childhood friends, she whispered. Then she returned.

He was still standing, so she nodded for him to sit. In the second he opened his mouth it struck her like a bolt of lightning that there was something she’d forgotten to work out, something critically important. She wanted to hurry and solve the problem, but it was too late, he’d already begun to speak now and she could no longer think.

“Do you know Maja Durban?”

She steadied herself on the chair back. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

“Has it been long since you saw her last?”

“No. It was — yesterday. Yesterday evening.”

He nodded slowly. “At what time yesterday?”

“Er, between six and seven I should think.”

“Did you know that she was found dead at her apartment at ten P.M. last night?”

Eva sat down, moistened her lips, and gulped. Did I know? she thought, have I heard already, this early in the morning... Suddenly she was staring right at the newspaper, front page up. “Yes. I saw it in the paper.”

He picked it up, turned it, and looked at the back. “Ah? You’re not on the mailing list, I see. No address label. So you go out and buy the paper early in the morning?”

There was something tenacious about him, he was the type who could get a stone to talk. She had no chance. “Well, not every single day. But quite often.”

“How did you know it was Ms. Durban who was killed?”

“What do you mean?”

“Her name,” he said quietly, “isn’t mentioned in the article.”

Eva felt she was about to faint. “Well, I recognized the building in the picture. And her window was marked. I mean I knew from the content of the article that it was Maja. She was a bit unusual. It says” — she leaned forward and pointed with her finger — “‘known to the police’ and ‘prostitution.’ And she was thirty-nine. So I knew it was her, I knew at once.”

“Uh-huh? And what did you think then? Once you realized she’d been murdered?”

Eva struggled manically to find the right words. “That she should have listened to me. I tried to warn her.”

He was silent. She thought he was going to continue, but he didn’t, he looked around the living room, studied her large paintings, not without a certain interest, and gazed at her again for a while, still without speaking. Eva felt herself sweating and her hand began to ache.

“You’d have got in touch with us, I assume, if I hadn’t come along here first?”

“How d’you mean?”

“You visit a friend, and next day you read in the paper that she’s been murdered. I assume you’d have made contact, to make a statement, to help us?”

“Oh yes, of course. I just hadn’t got around to it.”

“The washing-up was more important?”

Eva was slowly disintegrating in front of his eyes. “Maja and I were childhood friends,” she said lamely.

“Go on.”

Despair was almost getting the better of her, she tried to pull herself together, but could no longer remember the story as she’d rehearsed it.

“We bumped into each other at Glassmagasinet, we hadn’t seen each other for twenty-five years, so we went and had a coffee together. She told me about her occupation.”

“Yes. She’d been going for a while.”

He was silent once more, but she couldn’t stick to her intention of only answering questions.

“We had dinner together, on Wednesday evening. And had coffee at her home afterwards.”

“So you’ve been to her apartment?”

“Yes, only a quick visit. I took a taxi home that night, and Maja wanted me to bring her a painting. Which she wanted to buy. Because I’m a painter, and she thought that was pretty hopeless, particularly as I hardly sell any paintings, and when I said they’d cut off the phone, she wanted to help me by buying a painting. She had a lot of money.” She thought of the money at the cabin, but didn’t mention it.

“What did she pay for the picture?”

“Ten thousand. Just what I owed in unpaid bills.”

“That was a good buy,” he said suddenly.

She was so amazed that her eyes widened.

“So she wanted you to go back, and you did?”

“Yes. But only to deliver the painting,” she said quickly. “I took a taxi. I’d wrapped it up in a blanket...”

“We know that. You were picked up by cab number F16. I’d imagine that was a bit of a ride,” he said smiling. “How long were you there?”

Eva battled not to let the mask slip. “An hour maybe. I had a sandwich and then we chatted a bit.” She got up to find a cigarette, opened her bag which she’d placed on the dining table, and found herself staring down at wads of notes. She closed it again with a snap.

“D’you smoke?” he asked, proffering a packet of Prince.

“Thanks.”

She pulled a cigarette from the packet and reached for the Zippo lighter he’d slid across the table.

“The taxi picked you up at six, so you’d have been at Ms Durban’s by about six-twenty, I should imagine?”

“Yes, that’s probably about right. But I wasn’t actually checking the time.”

She took a deep drag on the cigarette and exhaled, trying to ease the tension that was building up inside her. It didn’t help.

“And you were there for an hour, so you would have left about seven-twenty?”

“As I said, I wasn’t watching the clock. But she was expecting a client and I didn’t want to be there then, so I left a good while before he was due.”

“When was he due?”

“At eight. She told me that right away, that she had a client coming at eight. They rang twice. It was an arranged signal.”

Sejer nodded. “And do you know who he was?”

“No. I didn’t want to know, I thought what she was doing was awful, disgusting, I can’t understand how she, or anyone, can do that.”

“You may have been the last person to see her alive. The man who came at eight may well have been her murderer.”

“Oh?” She gasped as if shuddering at the thought.

“Did you meet anyone in the street?”

“No.”

“Which way did you go?”

Tell the truth, she thought, for as long as you can. “To the left. Past the Esso station and Gjensidige. Along the river and over the bridge.”

“That’s a bit of a detour.”

“I didn’t want to walk past the pub.”

“Why not?”

“There are so many drunks outside it in the evenings.”

This was certainly true. She hated walking past large groups of inebriated men.

“I see.” He looked at her bandaged hand. “Did she see you out?”

“No.”

“Did she lock the door after you?”

“I don’t think so. But I didn’t pay much attention to that.”

“And you didn’t meet anyone on the stairs or on the pavement?”

“No. No one.”

“Did you notice if there were any cars parked in the street?”

“I can’t remember any.”

“I see. Then you walked across the bridge — then what?”

“What d’you mean?”

“Where did you go then?”

“I walked home.”

“You walked home? From Tordenskioldsgate to Engelstad?”

“Yes.”

“That’s quite a long way, isn’t it?”

“I suppose so, but I wanted to walk. I had such a lot to think about.”

“And what did you have to think about that required such a long walk?”

“Well, Maja and all that,” she mumbled. “That she’d turned out like that. We’d known each other so well in the past, I couldn’t understand it. I thought I knew her,” she said pensively and almost to herself. She crushed out her cigarette and pushed her hair back over her shoulder.

“So you met Maja Durban on Wednesday morning, and that was the first time in twenty-five years?”

“Yes.”

“And popped in for a short while yesterday evening between six and seven?”

“Yes.”

“And that’s all?”

“Yes. That’s it, that’s all.”

“You haven’t forgotten anything?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

He rose from the sofa and nodded again, picked up his Zippo lighter, which now had Eva’s fingerprints all over it, and slipped it into his breast pocket.

“Did she strike you as anxious about anything?”

“No, definitely not. Maja was just as upbeat as always. She was in complete control.”

“And during the conversation there was no hint that someone was after her? Or that she was in dispute with anyone?”

“No, there wasn’t, not in any way.”

“Did she receive any phone calls while you were there?”

“No.”

“Well, I shan’t detain you any longer. Please give us a ring if something turns up that you think might be important. Anything at all.”

“Yes!”

“I’ll get your phone reconnected immediately.”

“What?”

“I tried to phone you. The phone people told me you hadn’t paid.”

“Oh yes. Thanks a lot.”

“In case we need to talk to you again.”

Eva bit her lip, bemused. “Er,” she asked tentatively, “how did you know I was there?”

He reached into his inside pocket and drew out a little red leather book. “Ms. Durban’s pocket diary. Entry for the thirtieth of September reads: ‘Met Eva at Glassmagasinet. Dinner at Hannah’s.’ At the back she’d entered your name and address.”

So simple, she thought.

“Don’t get up,” he went on, “I’ll find my own way out.” She plunked down again. She felt totally drained, twined her fingers in her lap until the cut began to bleed again. Sejer walked across the room and stopped suddenly by one of her pictures. He cocked his head and turned to her again. “What does it represent?”

Eva squirmed. “I don’t usually try to explain my pictures.”

“No, I can understand that well enough. But this” — he pointed to a spire rising up from the blackness — “reminds me of a church. And this small gray thing in the background, could be something like a headstone. Slightly arched at the top. A long way from the church, but you can still see they’re linked. A churchyard,” he said simply. “With just one headstone. Who’s buried there?”

Eva stared at him in amazement. “Me, I suppose.”

He walked on into the hall. “It’s the most powerful image I’ve ever seen,” he said.

Just as the front door slammed, it occurred to her that maybe she should have shed a few tears, but it was too late now. She sat with her hand in her lap listening to the washing machine, it had begun its spinning cycle, turning faster and faster until it became an ominous whine.