I Can See in the Dark by Karin Fossum

on the steps staring down at him. The police so soon, I’d hardly got back on an even keel. And what with Arnfinn buried behind the house, it was insupportable. But there he was, and I was finding it difficult to breathe. My pulse was racing, I was gasping for air, my hands were cold and shrivelled. I hadn’t expected things to move so fast. It was only ten days since the murder, the fatal event that was to propel my life in a new and miserable direction. I’d been naive, that was the problem, I’d imagined that the wheels would turn more slowly. Of course they’d eventually come to the door, they’d eventually trace Arnfinn all the way from the park to my small, red house at Jordahl. People had seen us, damn them, there are eyes and ears everywhere, I thought.
    ‘Randers,’ he said. ‘Police.’
    I stammered out a few polite phrases. He gave me a quick nod. Just then a shudder ran through my body, all the way from my head to my feet. I stood gawping in the doorway, unable to utter a word, my thoughts in disarray. Randers nudged gravel into a little heap with his toe. He was dressed in jeans and a leather jacket, his appearance was impeccably masculine. He was about my age, but much better-looking of course. All men are better-looking than me, it’s not difficult, I’m the dregs in every conceivable sense. And he’d already managed, by some means I didn’t comprehend, to find his way to my house.
    But even though Arnfinn’s grave was only a few metres away, I managed to raise my head and look him in the eye. No one can lie like I can, no one can mislead with such consummate plausibility. These were the talents I fell back on as I stood on the doorstep gazing down on the law.
    ‘May I come in?’
    I hesitated for a moment or two. If he wanted to enter the house, it must mean that his questions wouldn’t simply be trivial or routine. Something more, something that took time, some evidence, or chance witness statements, perhaps from people who frequented the park. Or from people who’d seen Arnfinn near my house. But if I refused, it would look suspicious, so I retreated obligingly into the hallway, and motioned him in. Randers mounted the steps. He was tall, perhaps one metre ninety, clean-shaven and neat, and a masculine scent of aftershave hung in the air after him.
    I felt not a shadow of doubt. He was in a class of his own.
    ‘Randers,’ I remarked courteously. ‘Like the town in Denmark?’
    He smiled, but only fleetingly. He moved on into the living room, glanced around it, walking in a way that was so confoundedly self-assured that it made me nervous. Just keep calm, I said to myself, everything has to be proved, with no room for doubt. Internally, I sent furious commands to my heart to slow down, but it wouldn’t be appeased. It was pounding so hard that I was certain it must be audible as a distant thunder, saying ‘guilty, guilty’, and that this admission, coursing through my head, was making me blush. Such were my thoughts, as Randers drank in the room. My old, grey corner sofa, where Arnfinn had sat, the computer on the desk, the Advent Star in the window.
    ‘You live alone?’ Randers asked.
    His voice had power. The voice of a man with weight and authority, I mused, and nodded.
    ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘alone. I’ve always lived here by myself.’
    He sat down on the sofa, unbidden. He sat in exactly the same place as Arnfinn, right in the corner. He arranged his long legs and leant forward slightly.
    ‘Nice house,’ he declared. ‘Secluded. Pleasant view.’
    I agreed and took a chair. And so we sat for several long seconds looking at each other. I disliked the silence, it was oppressive. I felt as if I were an open book, and Randers’ brow was furrowed.
    ‘I come into contact with lots of people,’ he went on. ‘And I see how they live. It’s interesting. I mean, the way we want to appear to others. Riktor,’ he added. ‘An authoritative name. Your father’s choice?’
    ‘My