Karin Fossum - The Murder of Harriet Krohn

Dearest Julie,

Do you read my letters? I hope so, but I dont make any demands. I stay in the background. Ive nothing to offer you and I know why you feel bitter. But Im writing anyway I am your father, after all. Writing has become a consolation. I find it soothing. You know how things stand, how Im placed. Everyones after me because Im in debt, and I feel like a hunted deer. Ive no real friends anymore, only lukewarm acquaintances. Do you remember Bjrnar Lind? He was my best friend. Wed known each other since we were boys, and now he wont have anything to do with me. I owe him two hundred thousand kroner, and I dont know where Im going to find that sort of money. Im worried hell put people on to me, worried about what theyll do if I cant pay. There are rumors that hes hiring someone to come after me. And you know what they do to people? They cut off their fingers with pruning shears. I feel ill just thinking about it. Daily life is difficult. The dole isnt enough for necessities its impossible to keep up with bills and repayments.

If only there was light at the end of the tunnel! Its my fault all this has happened, and you mustnt worry about it. Just look after yourself and be happy. Be young and fit and hopeful! But I am trying to deal with things in my own pathetic way. I have some initiative left even though Im down on my knees. Ive got plans. Dreams. Im racking my brain frantically to find a solution. It spins and sifts and searches in all directions. When did we last see each other? It was on May 27, do you remember? We argued. I was simply trying to describe how compulsive gambling is. The thrill of it, the addiction. You slammed the car door behind you, and I thought, Ill never see her again. No more chances for me. I drove home to Blomsgate with the feeling that Id failed at everything. There must be a way out! Is it just that I cant find it? I stare into the future until I cant see anything anymore. I pace to and fro in the house. I chew my lips until they bleed. I often think of your mother with sadness and regret. All the things she had to put up with as a result of my obsession. It was so much easier then, as she took care of us and organized everything. She was a kind of corrective influence. I cant grasp that shes gone. Once a week I visit her grave. Its so sad. Often I just want to fall to the ground, dig right down, lift off the lid, and take her back. Yesterday I bought a plant and placed it in front of her gravestone an erica, the one with the mass of reddish-mauve flowers that can deal with almost any conditions, a bit like heather. I tend her grave, you know. I trim and weed and water. Sometimes I look for signs, to see if, perhaps, youve been hanging around there. Have you? Do you stand there crying all alone? I like the idea of acknowledging that death comes to everyone. Perhaps some just fade, sitting there withering away, like my mother. In my worst moments, Ive viewed death as a way out. Ive still got my fathers old revolver. Forgive this candor. You are not responsible for me. I wont live to be very old. Im so tired already. Just think, your grandmother is seventy-nine. But she just sits there immobile in her chair, only half alive. In a kind of slumber where nothing happens. But her features are still strong, like that prominent chin that youve inherited. As for me, I cant disappear in a doze. Every cell within me vibrates. Blood courses around my body, my fingers quiver. At night I lie in the darkness listening. There are so many creaks and sighs in this old house that I dont get much sleep. Is it them? I think. Has my final hour come? Today, I was at the Job Center, but nobody wants a middle-aged man. And Ive no decent references, either. Nothing to show or boast about. Julie! I wont give up, even if Im driven to drastic measures. Ive spent every minute of every day searching for a solution. It all hinges on money I havent got. Things I cant afford, plans I cant bring to fruition, debts I cant pay. Fear and shame are everywhere in the terror of each ring of the doorbell, and in the long hours until sleep arrives, bringing the only solace the day affords. Unless, that is, I dream of ruin. Life cant go on like this. Its sapping my strength too much. This constant fear, this thudding heart. My own miserable face in the mirror and the knowledge that I destroyed everything. Just because of a flaw. A penchant for gambling, chance, and luck.

Im not asking you for forgiveness, only an iota of understanding. Im on a different course now. Gambling is no longer a pleasure to me. I think I could walk past a slot machine with my money safe in my pocket. But theres something about those flashing lights, its a kind of intoxication. Time stands still in front of the machine, and Im fully alive. I take possession of it, control it, challenge it. The machine greets me with its lights and music, draws me in, tempts me. And I surrender myself to it, float away, begin to dream. This may seem like weakness to you, but its only half the truth. If you only knew how desperate I am, how far Im prepared to go for us to be in contact again. Ive no one else but you. I feel Ive been driven back to my last bastion and I dont know how things will end. Im friendless, jobless, and childless. No, not childless. I still cling to you, even though you dont need me, dont want me. Maybe youve seen me occasionally, sitting in the Honda outside your school, hidden among the vehicles in the parking lot. I watch you emerge from the building with a crowd of friends, and see you healthy and laughing and fooling around. I see your magnificent red hair, like a cloud around your face. Do I have any place at all in your life? I dont know if I could bear it if you cut me adrift forever. To grow old alone with no ties to anyone. Of all the misfortunes that can befall us, loneliness is the worst. Not even having someone to weep with in this wretched world. You are the only thing Im proud of in my life. But you look thin, Julie. Are you eating enough? You must wrap up better. Its winter now. Mom would have said the same if shed seen you with your neck bare. You always used to listen to her. Do you remember those happy days? When I still had my job at the car showroom. I was a good salesman, capable and reliable, and I remember the satisfaction of concluding each sale. The feeling of success, of being in the swing of things. Returning to you and Mom in the evenings, to the warmth and light. Theres no light anymore, so my life is disappearing. While I write, you feel so close. Its as if Im holding your hand, and I cant bear to let go. Listen to me! Think of me, let me feel that Im part of your life! Are things all right with your apartment and at school? I dream of making some difference to you, of giving what you want most of all. I dont believe in miracles, but I believe one can change ones own destiny. Its just a matter of willpower and imagination. Of endurance and courage. I also believe it comes at a price. As things stand now, Id give anything. Ive nothing to lose. Dark, fearful days are all that lie before me.

A man is walking through the darkness.

He is visible beneath the streetlights for a few moments. Then he is swallowed up by shadow until he emerges again under the next light, as if his existence only flares up momentarily. Thats how he experiences it; thats what his life is now. He comes to life and starts to glow, only to go out again on and off like a hot, quivering fever. His fists are clenched in his pockets as he thrusts on through the darkness, but he arouses no interest. Nobody turns to look at him. Hes an ordinary middle-aged man with thinning hair. As he walks along, he thinks, with something approaching amazement, that its not visible from the outside. The thing Im just about to do. How little people know. Im moving in the midst of them, and they walk the streets immersed in their own affairs.