In the Darkness by Karin Fossum Page B

your mouth, he thought.
    Remnants of sperm which had been found inside the victim had been DNA tested, but as they hadn’t yet got a database, he had nothing to check it against. The submission was with Parliament and would come up this spring. And after that, he thought, anyone who got into trouble would have to take great care with any bodily function. Every kind of human trace could be scraped up and DNA tested, with an error of one in seventeen billion. For a while they had toyed with the idea of getting government permission to summon and test every man in the county borough between the ages of eighteen and fifty, but this would have meant calling in thousands of men. The project would have cost several million kroner and taken as long as two years. The Minister of Justice considered the project, such as it was, in all seriousness, until she began to understand the details of the case and learn a little more about the victim. Maja Durban wasn’t considered worth all that money. He could understand that to some extent.
    Occasionally he would fantasise about a future system in which all Norwegian nationals were automatically tested at birth and put on file. This thought conjured up a mind-boggling vista. For a while he sat reading through the interviews, there weren’t many of them regrettably, three colleagues, five neighbours from the block where she lived and two male acquaintances who claimed to know her only slightly. And finally, that childhood friend, with her hazy account. Maybe she’d got off too lightly, maybe she knew more than she was saying. A vaguely neurotic sort, but decent enough, at any event he’d never had reason to bring her in. And why would she have killed Durban? A woman doesn’t kill her friend, he thought. Besides, she’d made rather an impression on him, that leggy painter with the lovely hair, Eva Marie Magnus.

Chapter 8
    NONE OF THE crime-scene officers could recall a green boiler suit.
    Neither had they seen a torch or a note with a name and telephone number. The glove compartment had been emptied and sifted, there were the usual things people keep in glove compartments, a driver’s licence, an instruction manual, a city map, a packet of cigarettes, a chocolate wrapper. Two empty disposable lighters. And, despite his wife’s hint at his lack of allure – a packet of condoms. It had all been diligently noted down.
    Afterwards he phoned the brewery. He asked for the personnel department, and an obliging man with the remnants of a Finnmark brogue answered.
    ‘Einarsson? Certainly I remember him. It was a really dreadful story, and he had a family as well, I believe. But in fact he was one of our most punctual people. Almost no absences at all in seven years, as far as I can see. And that’s some going. But as regards September and October last, let’s see …’ Sejer could hear him leafing through papers. ‘This could take a little time, we’ve got 150 men here. Would you like me to call you back?’
    ‘I’d prefer to wait.’
    ‘All right then.’
    His voice was replaced with a drinking song that reverberated down the line. Sejer thought it was rather amusing, at least it was better than muzak. It was a Danish recording with an accordion. Really lively.
    ‘Well, now.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Are you there? He clocked in fairly late here, I see, one day in October. The second of October. He didn’t arrive until nine-thirty. Presumably he’d overslept. They go to the pub sometimes, the lads here.’
    Sejer drummed his fingers. ‘Well, I’m grateful for that. One small thing while I remember. Mrs Einarsson’s alone with a six-year-old boy, and she appears not to have received any payment from you yet, is that possible?’
    ‘Yes, hmm, that’s right.’
    ‘How so? Einarsson had a company insurance policy, didn’t he?’
    ‘Oh yes, yes, but we didn’t know for certain what had happened. And the rules are quite explicit. People do run off sometimes. For one reason or