I Can See in the Dark by Karin Fossum Page B

police arrived at my door, I would have asked straight away,’ he said. ‘Asked them why they were there.’
    ‘Well, yes, I’m on tenterhooks,’ I said, inwardly cursing my slowness, for not thinking of that, for not thinking to ask what he wanted.
    ‘We believe there’s the possibility of a suspicious death,’ he said gravely.
    I looked at him for a good, long while. Weighing every word.
    ‘A suspicious death. Believe? You’re not certain? Have you come just to check, to make sure a crime
hasn’t
been committed? In which case it’s rather a relief, I can relax a bit. Carry on, I’m all ears.’
    Once again he waited a long time. The silence was filled with noise from inside my own head, where my thoughts were in tumult.
    ‘We call it reasonable grounds for suspicion,’ he said. ‘Just now we’re seeing how the land lies. You’re an obvious candidate for questioning.’
    ‘Why?’
    Randers leant forward again.
    ‘There appears to be a clear connection between you and the victim. What people have seen, events and other details. We’ve got plenty of time. We’ve begun an investigation, and it will keep ticking over until everything’s cleared up.’
    ‘I live on my own,’ I put in. ‘Well, I only want to mention it, because it’s relevant. My connections to other people are extremely limited. So I find what you’re saying pretty incomprehensible.’
    Randers stretched his legs. He was wearing expensive shoes with leather laces.
    ‘Everyone has connections to someone,’ he declared. ‘And you’re no exception.’
    ‘Yes,’ I retorted, ‘I am an exception. But you don’t realise it, because it’s part of your job to believe that all people have things in common. I don’t wish to sound arrogant, but I’m really not much like other people.’
    ‘What do you do in your spare time? If you don’t have anything to do with people.’
    ‘I often go to the park near Lake Mester. I sit by the fountain and ponder life.’
    ‘And death,’ Randers interjected. ‘You ponder death as well, no doubt. Isn’t it a part of your work?’
    ‘Yes, that’s true, I often ponder death. But I know nothing about what you call a suspicious death.’ I shrugged my shoulders. ‘So I’m sorry. You’ll just have to find another door.’
    Randers held my gaze. And even though I can take quite a lot, I was extremely nervous.
    ‘Often the motives for murder are trivial,’ Randers explained. ‘And that’s our theory about this crime.’
    ‘You don’t know that,’ I said. ‘It’s merely an as-sumption.’
    ‘Correct, an assumption. Because that’s what my ex-perience tells me. We’ve got some clues as well, important leads. We can return to that, we’ve time enough. What are you like, Riktor? Get on well with people?’
    ‘No,’ I admitted, ‘not especially. That’s why I keep away from them. But I like superficial contact of the sort I can strike up with patients on the ward. They haven’t long to go, after all.’
    Randers rose from the sofa, crossed to the window, and stood gazing through it.
    ‘Do you often stand here looking out?’
    ‘I do. And people pass by. They cycle, or they run. Some push prams, some have dogs. I like making up stories about them,’ I said, ‘where they’re going to, why they’re running, what they’re running from, why they wanted that child, if they regret things perhaps, regret all those choices that can’t be undone. It gives me a feeling of control. And it’s important for me to have control. There. Now you’ve got some data for your perpetrator profile.’
    He gave a short laugh. He turned and went back to the sofa, seated himself in the corner.
    ‘Who’s the victim?’ I asked innocently.
    ‘Ah.’ He prevaricated. ‘I thought you’d never ask. Not one of the pillars of society, perhaps,’ he confessed. ‘But still, a life is a life.’
    Half an hour later he got into a green Volvo and turned out on to the road, I could hear him changing gear.