Eva's Eye

32

Sejer rose and walked to the window.

It was late at night. He searched for stars, but could see none, the sky was too light. At this time of year he often felt that they’d disappeared for good, that they’d left and gone to shine over another planet. The thought saddened him. Without the stars he didn’t have the same feeling of security, it was as if the earth no longer had a roof over it. And the sky simply went on and on forever.

He shook his head at his own thoughts.

Eva took the last cigarette out of the packet, she looked collected, almost relieved. “When did you know it was me?”

He shook his head again. “I didn’t know. I thought possibly there might be two of you, and that you’d been paid to keep your mouth shut. I really didn’t know what you wanted with Einarsson.” He went on staring out of the window. “But now I see,” he muttered.

Her face was calm and open, he’d never seen her like this before. Despite the swollen lip and the cuts to her chin, she was beautiful.

“You didn’t think I looked like a murderer?”

“No one looks like a murderer.” He sat down again.

“I didn’t plan to kill him. I took the knife with me because I was scared. No one will believe that.”

“Well, you must give us the chance.”

“It was in self-defense,” she said. “He would have killed me. You know that.”

He made no answer. Suddenly the words sounded so strangely familiar to her ears. “This man who pulled you down the cellar steps, what did he look like?”

“Dark, foreign. Rather slight, almost thin, but he spoke Norwegian.”

“It sounds like Cordoba.”

Eva started. “What did you say?”

“His name’s Cordoba, Ms. Durban’s husband. Jean Lucas Cordoba. Quite a name, isn’t it?”

Eva began to laugh, with her face hidden in her hands. “Yes,” she spluttered, “almost worth marrying just for the name, isn’t it?” She wiped away some tears and drew on her cigarette. “Maja got all sorts. Policemen, too, did you know that?”

Sejer couldn’t stop himself, a reluctant smile spread across his face. “Well yes, we’re no different from other people. No better and no worse. I don’t want to hear any names.”

“Can they see me through the cell door?” she asked all at once.

“Yes, they can.”

She sniffled and looked at her hands. She began using one fingernail to scrape the polish off the others.

She had nothing more to say. She was waiting for him now, for him to do what he had to. Then she could rest and relax and just do what she was told. That was really the way she wanted it.

Markus Larsgård floundered beneath the blanket on the sofa. If it was someone he knew, it would ring for a long time. Someone who knew he was old and slow, that he kept the phone in his workroom, and would have to cross the full width of the living room on his swollen legs. If it was a stranger, he’d never get to it in time.

Not many strangers phoned Markus Larsgård now. The occasional telesales person, the odd wrong number. Apart from that it was Eva. Finally he got himself into a sitting position; it was still ringing, so it was someone he knew. With a grunt he heaved himself up using the tabletop and got hold of his stick. He stumped across the floor, thanking his lucky stars that someone could still be bothered to ring up and disturb him during his midday siesta. He limped along, struggled to get his stick to stand against the desk, but had to give up. It crashed to the floor. To his surprise he heard an unknown voice at the other end. A solicitor. Acting for Eva Marie, he said. Could he come to the station. She was in custody.

Larsgård fumbled with the chair, he had to sit down. Perhaps it was all nonsense, one of these practical jokers phoning to annoy him, he’d read about them in the paper. But he didn’t sound like one, he was educated, almost affable in his manner. He listened and strained, asked him to repeat, trying unsuccessfully to understand what the man meant. It was obviously a misunderstanding, and they’d soon realize it. But even so, it was an awful experience for poor Eva, a terrible thing. Custody? He’d have to go immediately. Phone for a taxi.

“No, we’ll send a car for you, Mr. Larsgård, just sit and relax until it arrives.”

Larsgård sat. He forgot to replace the phone. He ought to put on some clothes before the car arrived, but then he thought it didn’t really matter. Whether he was cold or not. They had got hold of Eva and locked her up. Maybe he ought to try to find something for her instead, perhaps it was cold in there. For a time he tried to get his bearings in the room, to recall where his things were. It was his home help who did the tidying. Perhaps he should take a bottle of red wine along? But maybe that wasn’t allowed. What about money? He had plenty of money in his jam jar, it seemed to be never-ending, as if it were breeding. He rejected that too, thought it unlikely there was a kiosk at the courthouse, he’d been there once, the autumn his moped had been stolen, and he couldn’t remember seeing one there. Besides, they said she was in custody, and that meant she wouldn’t be allowed out anywhere. He wanted to get up and go into the living room again, but his legs felt so feeble and strange. He had his good moments and his bad moments, he was used to that, but now he’d had a shock. He would have to sit for a while. Perhaps he ought to phone Jostein. He made another attempt, but fell back, suddenly feeling faint. He often felt faint, it was caused by the hardening of the arteries at the back of his neck, which prevented enough blood reaching his head, and this was because of his age, a perfectly normal situation, really, given the circumstances. But it was annoying, especially now because it wasn’t subsiding. The ceiling began to get lower. The walls, too, began to close in, from each side, it all felt so cramped, and gradually it got darker. Eva had been arrested for murder, and she’d confessed. He took a firm grip of himself and pushed hard with his legs. The last thing he felt was his sharp knees striking his brow with great force.