“I promise this won’t take long.”
She gave in and retreated down the corridor. Sejer stood in the doorway to the living room and looked about. He always felt a certain dismay when it struck him just how similar people were; he saw it in their living rooms, how they filled them. They were the same everywhere, arranged in the same symmetry, with the television and video as a kind of focal point for the rest of the furniture. This was where the family huddled together to get warm. Mrs. Einarsson had a pink leather suite and a shaggy white carpet under the coffee table. It was a feminine room. She’d lived alone for six months, maybe she’d spent the time expunging any masculine influence, if there’d been any to begin with. Then, as now, he could see no trace of loss or love for the man they’d found in the black river water, gray and perforated like an old sponge. What anguish there had been was directed toward other things, practical things. What was she going to live on and how could she get out and find another man when she hadn’t got the money for a babysitter? Such thoughts depressed him. They caused him to examine the wedding photo above the sofa, a somewhat lavish portrait of the young Jorun with bleached hair. Standing next to her was Egil Einarsson, slender and smooth-cheeked like a confirmation candidate and sporting a thin mustache. They posed to the best of their ability before a mediocre photographer, very concerned with their appearance. Not with one another.
“I’ve got some coffee in the pot,” she said hesitantly.
He said yes. It would be good to have something to hold on to, even if it was only the handle of a cup. The boy trotted into the kitchen after his mother, but peeped at him stealthily from behind the door. He was thin, with a few freckles on his nose and hair that was too long and fell into his eyes all the time. In a few years he’d resemble the man in the wedding photo.
“I’ve forgotten your name,” Sejer said, smiling encouragingly.
The boy withheld his name for a moment, twisting the sole of his trainer into the lino and smiling shyly.
“Jan Henry.”
Sejer nodded. “Ah, Jan Henry, of course. Can I ask you something, Jan Henry — do you collect pins?”
He nodded. “I’ve got twenty-four. On my cowboy hat.”
“Bring it here,” Sejer smiled, “and I’ll give you another one. One you certainly won’t have.”
The boy shot around the corner and made for his bedroom. He returned with the hat on his head, it was much too large. He removed it with respect.
“They prick so much inside,” he explained, “so I can’t wear it.”
“Look here,” said Sejer, “a police pin. I got this from Mrs. Brenningen at the station. Not bad, eh?”
The boy nodded. He searched the hat for a place of honor for the small golden pin, resolutely demoted an older one, and stuck the police pin in the middle at the front. His mother entered and gave a smile.
“Go to your room,” she said briskly, “me and the man have got to talk.”
He put the hat on his head again and vanished.
Sejer drank his coffee and watched Mrs. Einarsson, who dropped two lumps of sugar in her own cup, from just above the coffee, so that it wouldn’t splash. Her wedding ring had gone. Her blond hair was dark at the parting and she was wearing too much makeup around the eyes, which made her look a bit fierce. In fact she was rather sweet, a neat, fair little person. Presumably she didn’t know it. She was probably dissatisfied with her own appearance, like most women. Apart from Elise, he thought.
“We’re still looking for this purchaser, Mrs. Einarsson, just as we were before. For some reason your husband suddenly wanted to sell the car, even though he’d never discussed it with you. He went off to show it to someone and never returned. Perhaps someone had expressed an interest in it, stopped him in the street or whatever. Perhaps someone wanted that precise model, and got in touch. Or maybe someone was out to get him, just him, not the car, but they used it to lure him out of the house. Tempted him to sell. Do you know if he was in financial straits?”
She shook her head and crunched one of the dissolving lumps of sugar.
“You asked me that before. No, not financial straits. I mean, not that bad. But everyone needs money, don’t they, we weren’t well off. And now it’s even worse. And I can’t even get a playschool place. And I get migraines,” she massaged her temples lightly as if to demonstrate that he had to treat her gently, or it might strike like lightning at any moment, “and it isn’t so easy to work with a handicap like that, alone with a kid and all.”
He nodded sympathetically. “But you’re not aware that he used money to gamble, or that he had a loan — perhaps a private loan — which he was having difficulty managing?”
“He didn’t have one. He wasn’t a genius, but he wasn’t a fool either. We managed. He had a job and everything. And he only spent money on the car, and an occasional beer at the pub. He could mouth off sometimes, but he wasn’t tough enough to get involved in anything, I mean, anything illegal. At least I don’t think so. And we were married for eight years, so I think I know him fairly well. Knew him, I mean. And I can’t just sit here saying things about Egil either, even if he is dead.” She drew breath at last.
“You can’t remember if any of his mates ever expressed a wish to own the car?”
“Well, yes, I’m sure they did. But he wouldn’t sell. Didn’t even like lending it.”
“And you don’t remember phone calls in the days before he disappeared that might have been about the car?”
“No.”
“What was he like that evening when he left?”
“I’ve told you already. Just like normal. He got home from work at three-thirty. He was on early shift. Then he had a pizza Mexicana, and coffee, and lay in the garage all evening.”
“Lay?”
“Under the car. And tinkered. He was fixated with that car. Afterwards he washed it. I was busy in the house and didn’t give it a thought until he came in right in the middle of Casino and said he was off out to show the car to someone.”
“No name?”
“No.”
“Nothing about where they were going to meet?”
“No.”
“And you didn’t ask why he wanted to sell it?”
She touched her hair and shook her head. “I didn’t get involved with the car. I haven’t even got a driving license. It didn’t matter to me what car we had, so long as we had one. And he didn’t say he was going to sell it, either, just that he was going to show it to someone. And that wasn’t necessarily the murderer. He could have met someone, or given someone a lift, or whatever, I don’t know. This town is full of loonies, it’s because of all this heroin, I don’t know why you lot can’t put a stop to it. Think of Jan Henry, who’ll have to grow up here, he’s not exactly got a strong character, he’s like his dad for that.”
“A strong character,” said Sejer, smiling, “is something one develops over time. Perhaps we should allow him a few more years yet. But we advertised for that prospective purchaser in the newspapers and on television,” he reminded her, “and no one came forward. No one dared. Either your husband lied when he left home that evening, perhaps he was off to do something quite different — or that purchaser was the actual killer.”
“Lied?” She gave him an offended stare. “If you think he had dirty secrets, you’re wrong. He wasn’t that sort. And there was no one after him either, women didn’t find him that attractive, if you must know. If he said he was going to show the car to someone, that’s the truth.”
She said this in a forthright manner that convinced him. He thought a bit, saw the boy come sneaking in and seat himself gingerly on the floor behind his mother. He gave him a surreptitious wink.