In the Darkness Read online

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  About the Author

  Also by Karin Fossum

  Dedication

  Title Page

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Copyright

  About the Book

  Eva is walking by the river one afternoon when a body floats to the surface of the icy water. She tells her daughter to wait patiently while she calls the police, but when she reaches the phone box Eva dials another number altogether.

  The dead man, Egil, has been missing for months, and it doesn’t take long for Inspector Sejer and his team to establish that he was the victim of a very violent killer. But the trail has gone cold. It’s as puzzling as another unsolved case on Sejer’s desk: the murder of a prostitute who was found dead just before Egil went missing.

  While Sejer is trying to piece together the fragments of a seemingly impossible case, Eva gets a phone call late one night. A stranger speaks and then swiftly hangs up. Eva looks out into the darkness and listens. All is quiet.

  Gripping and thought-provoking, In the Darkness is Karin Fossum’s first novel featuring the iconic Inspector Sejer. The prizewinning series has been published around the world to great acclaim.

  About the Author

  Karin Fossum began her writing career in 1974. She has won numerous awards, including the Glass Key Award for the best Nordic crime novel, an honour shared with Henning Mankell and Jo Nesbo, and the Los Angeles Times Book Prize. Her highly acclaimed Inspector Sejer series has been published in more than thirty countries

  Also by Karin Fossum

  Don’t Look Back

  He Who Fears the Wolf

  When the Devil Holds the Candle

  Calling Out For You

  Black Seconds

  Broken

  The Water’s Edge

  Bad Intentions

  The Caller

  To my father

  It was a Wendy house.

  A tiny house with red sills and lace curtains in the windows. He halted a short distance from it, listened, but heard nothing except the dog panting by his side and a gentle rustle from the old apple trees. He stood there a moment longer, feeling the dampness of the grass seep through his shoes, and listening to his heart, which had changed its pace after the chase through the garden. The dog looked up at him and waited. Condensation poured from its great jaws, it sniffed the darkness tentatively, its ears quivered, perhaps it could hear sounds from within that he couldn’t detect. He turned and looked back at the detached house behind them, its lit windows, its warmth and cosiness. No one had heard them, not even when the dog barked. His car was down on the road with two wheels on the kerb and the door open.

  She’s frightened of the dog, he thought with surprise. Bending down, he grabbed him by the collar and approached the door with slow steps. There certainly wouldn’t be a rear exit in a little house like this, or even a lock on the door. It must be plaguing her now, if it hadn’t the moment she’d shut herself in, the thought that she’d fallen straight into a trap. No way out. She hadn’t got a chance.

  Chapter 1

  THE COURTHOUSE WAS a gently curving, grey concrete building of seven storeys, and an effective windbreak for the town’s main street, taking the sting out of the driving snow from the river. The Portakabins at the rear were sheltered, a blessing in the winter, in summer they stewed in the stagnant air. The facade above the entrance was adorned with an ultra-modern Themis and her scales, which at a distance, from down by the Statoil depot for example, looked more like a witch on a broomstick. The police service and the county jail occupied the top three floors, as well as the Portakabins.

  The door swung open with an ill-tempered groan. Mrs Brenningen started and placed a finger on her book, after the phrase ‘the balance of probability’. Inspector Sejer came into reception with a woman. She looked as if she’d been in the wars, her chin was grazed, her coat and skirt were torn, her mouth was bleeding. Mrs Brenningen didn’t normally stare. She’d been the receptionist at the courthouse for seventeen years, she’d seen all sorts come and go, but now she gawped. She snapped the book shut, her place marked with an old bus timetable. Sejer laid a hand on the woman’s arm and led her to the lift. She walked with her head down. Then the doors closed.

  Sejer’s face was impassive, it was impossible to tell what he was thinking. It made him look severe, though in reality he was merely reserved, and behind the stern features dwelt a soul that was kindly enough. But he wasn’t given to warm smiles, employing them only as ice-breakers when he wanted to gain access to people, and his praise was reserved for a select few. He closed the door and nodded towards the only chair, pulled a handful of tissue out of the dispenser above the wash-basin, moistened it with hot water and offered it to her. She wiped her mouth and looked around. The office was rather bare, but she studied the child’s drawings on the wall and a small plasticine figure on his desk, which bore witness to the fact that he did indeed have a life outside these spartan surroundings. The figure was supposed to represent a rather prolapsed policeman in a violet-blue uniform, with his stomach on his knees and wearing oversized boots. It didn’t much resemble the original, who was now sitting looking at her with grey, earnest eyes. There was a tape recorder on the desk and a Compaq computer. The woman peered furtively at them and hid her face in the wet tissue paper. He left her in peace. He got an audio cassette from the drawer and wrote on the white label: Eva Marie Magnus.

  ‘Are you frightened of dogs?’ he asked kindly.

  She glanced up. ‘In the past perhaps. But not any more.’ She crumpled the tissue into a ball. ‘I used to be frightened of everything. Now there’s nothing I’m frightened of at all.’

  Chapter 2

  THE RIVER CASCADED through the countryside splitting the cold town into two shivering grey floes. It was April and still wintry. Just as it reached the middle of the town, somewhere about the District Hospital, it began to roar and grumble, as if the nagging traffic and noisy industry along its banks had disturbed it. It coiled and wreathed in ever stronger currents as it advanced through the town. Past the old theatre and the Labour Party headquarters, by the railway tracks and on past the square to the old Exchange, which was now a McDonald’s, down to the brewery – a pretty shade of pink and also the oldest in the country – to the Cash & Carry, the motorway bridge, a huge industrial estate with several car firms and finally the old roadside inn. There, the river could heave a final sigh and tumble into the sea.

  It was late afternoon, the sun was setting, and in a short while the brewery would be transformed from a dreary colossus into a fairy-tale castle with a thousand lights that were reflected in the river. The town was only beautiful after dark.

  Eva watched the little girl as she ran along the river-bank. The distance between them was ten metres, she was ca
reful not to let it increase. It was a grey day and few people were about on the footpaths, a bitter breeze blew off the swiftly flowing river. Eva kept an eye out for dog-owners, and in that eventuality whether the dog was loose, for she couldn’t breathe easily until they’d passed. She saw none. Her skirt flapped around her legs and the wind cut right through her knitted sweater, forcing her to hug herself with both arms as she walked. Emma skipped along contentedly, if not gracefully, for she was well overweight. A fat kid with a large mouth and an angular face. Her red hair whipped the back of her neck, the moisture in the air giving it an unwashed look. Certainly not a cute little girl, but as she was unaware of the fact she pranced blithely along in her artlessness, and with an appetite for life which only a child possesses. Emma was seven, five months until she began school, Eva thought. One day she’d catch herself reflected in the critical faces of the playground, see her own unlovely person for the first time. But if she were a strong child, if she were like her father, the man who’d packed up and gone to live with someone else, she wouldn’t give it another thought. This was what occupied Eva Magnus as she walked. This, and the overcoat that she’d left in the hall at home.

  Eva knew every inch of the footpath, they’d walked it countless times. Emma was the one who went on about it, who wouldn’t relinquish the old habit of strolling by the river; Eva could have done without it. At regular intervals the child ran down to the water’s edge because she’d seen something that had to be inspected more closely. Eva watched her like a hawk. If she fell in there was no one else to save her. The river was fast-flowing, the water icy and the girl heavy. She shuddered.

  This time she’d found a flat stone right down by the bank, she waved, shouting to her mother to come. Eva followed. There was just enough room for both of them to sit.

  ‘We can’t sit here, it’s wet. We’ll get cystitis.’

  ‘Is that dangerous?’

  ‘No, but it’s painful. It stings, and you’ve got to wee all the time.’

  They sat down anyway, following the eddies with their eyes and marvelled at the movements of the water.

  ‘Why are there currents in the water?’ Emma asked.

  Eva had to think for a moment. ‘Well, goodness, I don’t know. Perhaps it’s got something to do with the riverbed; there’s lots of things I don’t know. When you go to school, you’ll learn about all that.’

  ‘That’s what you always say when you don’t know the answer.’

  ‘But it’s true. In any case you can ask your teacher. Teachers know a lot more than me.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  An empty plastic container came sailing rapidly towards them.

  ‘I want it! You got to get it for me!’

  ‘Yuk no, leave it alone, it’s only rubbish. I’m cold, Emma, can’t we go home soon?’

  ‘In a little while.’ Emma pushed her hair behind her ears and rested her chin on her knees, but the hair was coarse and unruly, it sprang forward again. ‘Is it very deep?’ She nodded towards the middle of the river.

  ‘No, not particularly,’ said Eva quietly, ‘eight or nine metres I should think.’

  ‘That’s really, really deep.’

  ‘No, it’s not. The deepest place in the world is in the Pacific Ocean,’ she said musingly. ‘Some sort of hollow. It’s eleven thousand metres deep. That’s what I call really, really deep.’

  ‘I wouldn’t like to go swimming there. You know everything, Mum, I don’t think teachers know all that. I’d like a pink school bag,’ she went on.

  Eva shivered. ‘Mmm,’ she said. ‘They are pretty. But they get dirty awfully quickly. I think those brown ones are nice, those brown leather ones, have you seen them? Like the bigger children have?’

  ‘I’m not big. I’m only just starting school.’

  ‘Yes, but you’ll get bigger, and you can’t have a new bag every year.’

  ‘But we’ve got more money now, haven’t we?’

  Eva didn’t reply. The question made her shoot a quick glance over her shoulder, a habit she’d formed. Emma found a stick and poked it into the water.

  ‘Why is there froth in the water?’ she continued. ‘Nasty, yellow froth.’ She whipped it a bit with her stick. ‘Shall I ask at school?’

  Eva still didn’t answer. She, too, had her chin on her knees, her thoughts had wandered away again, and Emma had receded into the corner of her eye. The river brought back memories. Now she could see a face shimmering under the dark water. A round face with narrowed eyes and black brows.

  ‘Lie down on the bed, Eva.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Just do as I say, lie down on the bed.’

  ‘Can we go to McDonald’s?’ Emma asked suddenly.

  ‘What? Yes, why not. We’ll go to McDonald’s, at least it’s warm there.’

  She rose, slightly distractedly, and took the child by the arm. Shook her head and stared down into the river. The face had vanished now, there was nothing there, but she knew it would return, perhaps to haunt her for the rest of her days. They climbed up to the path and set off slowly back towards the town. They didn’t meet a soul.

  Eva felt her thoughts running wild, pursuing their own course and arriving in places she’d rather forget. The roar of the river conjured up a host of images. She had waited for them to fade, to find peace at last. And time had passed. One day at a time had turned into six months.

  ‘Can I have a Happy Meal with a present? It’s thirty-seven kroner and I haven’t got Aladdin.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What’ll you have, Mum? Chicken?’

  ‘Not sure yet.’ She stared at the black water again, the thought of food was nauseating. She didn’t bother with food much. Now she noticed how the surface rose and fell, under the dirty yellow scum.

  ‘Now we’ve got more money, we can eat whatever we want, can’t we, Mum?’

  Eva kept quiet. All at once she stopped and strained her eyes. Something pale had floated up just beneath the surface of the water. It rocked sluggishly as it was pushed towards the bank by the powerful eddy. Her eyes were so taken up with watching that she’d forgotten the girl, who had also halted and who could see far better than her mother.

  ‘It’s a man!’ Emma gasped. She clamped herself hard on to Eva’s arm, her eyes popping out of her head. For a few moments they stood transfixed, staring at the sodden, decomposed body as it floated, head first, in amongst the stones. He was lying face down. The hair on the back of his head was thin and they could make out a bald patch. Eva was oblivious to the nails digging in through her sweater, she looked at the waxen-coloured corpse with its matted blond hair and couldn’t remember seeing him before. But his trainers – those blue and white striped high-top trainers.

  ‘It’s a man,’ Emma repeated, more quietly now.

  Eva wanted to cry out. The cry came forcing its way up her throat but never emerged. ‘He’s drowned. Poor man, he’s drowned, Emma!’

  ‘Why does he look so horrible? Almost like jelly!’

  ‘Because,’ she stammered, ‘because it happened some time ago.’ She bit her lip so hard she pierced it. The taste of blood made her sway.

  ‘Have we got to lift him up?’

  ‘No, don’t be silly! The police do that.’

  ‘Are you going to phone them?’

  Eva put her arm round the girl’s chubby shoulders and stumbled along the path. She looked back again quickly, as if waiting for some attack, yet uncertain from which direction it would come. There was a phone box on the approach to the bridge, so she hauled the child after her and searched in her skirt pockets for change. She found a five-kroner piece. The sight of the partially decomposed man flashed before her like an ill omen, an omen of all that was to come. She had managed to calm down at last, time had settled upon everything like dust and made the nightmare pale. Now her heart was hammering beneath her sweater, completely out of control. Emma was silent. She followed her mother with frightened grey eyes and halted.

  ‘Wa
it here. I’ll ring and tell them to come and fetch him. Don’t move!’

  ‘We’ll wait for them, won’t we?’

  ‘No, we certainly won’t!’

  She pushed into the box trying to control her panic. An avalanche of thoughts and ideas rushed through her head, but she dismissed each of them in turn. Then she made a quick decision. Her hands were clammy, she inserted the five-kroner piece into the slot and dialled a number with swift fingers. Her father answered, groggy, as if he’d been asleep.

  ‘It’s only me, Eva,’ she whispered. ‘Did I wake you?’

  ‘Yes, but it was high time. Soon I’ll be sleeping all round the clock. Is something the matter?’ he growled. ‘You’re het up. I can hear that you’re het up, I know you.’

  His voice was dry and hoarse, but there was still a keenness to it, a keenness which she’d always loved. A sharpness that rooted her fast to reality.

  ‘No, nothing’s wrong. Emma and I were going out to eat and we found this phone box.’

  ‘Well, put her on then!’

  ‘Er, well, she’s down by the water.’

  She watched the numbers on the display counting down, threw a quick glance at Emma who was pressed against the glass of the door. Her nose was squashed flat like a lump of marzipan. Could she hear what they were saying?

  ‘I haven’t got a lot of change. We’ll come and visit you one day soon. If you’d like.’

  ‘Why are you whispering like that?’ he demanded suspiciously.

  ‘Am I?’ she said a little louder.

  ‘Give my girl a hug. I’ve got something for her when she comes.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘A school bag. She needs a school bag for the autumn, eh? I thought I’d save you the expense, things aren’t all that easy for you.’

  If only he’d known. She said: ‘That was kind of you, Dad, but she’s pretty sure about what she wants. Can we change it?’

  ‘Yes of course, but I bought the bag they said I should. A pink leather one.’