Free The Murder of Harriet Krohn by Karin Fossum Page A

pellets.
    “And preferably not a mare,” Charlo adds.
    “Bad experience?” Møller asks. He’s not a terrifically accommodating man. His voice is a little terse, but he’s not unfriendly. He’s just sounding Charlo out.
    “I’d probably go for a gelding,” he says. “What about the bay in the stable up the way? I hear he belongs to you.”
    Møller glances at him.
    “My daughter’s riding him.”
    Charlo loses courage for an instant.
    “Are you interested in him?” Møller asks in surprise. “He’s large. Not many people dare to get up on that one.”
    Charlo shrugs defensively, attempting to curb his enthusiasm.
    “Yes, he’s large all right, but he makes an impression. But I’ve no idea what he’s really made of. He’s probably expensive. Good build. Lots of muscle.”
    “One meter eighty high,” Møller says. He places the pail on the floor and wipes his brow with the sleeve of his jacket. His boots are caked with wood shavings and horse manure, and thick black stubble forms shadows on his jowls.
    “If I got an offer, I might possibly consider it,” he says, and scrutinizes Charlo more closely. He won’t sell to just anybody. “He’s a bit much for the girl; she’s only thirteen. But we haven’t found anything else for her. It’s mainly so that he gets some exercise.”
    Charlo feels a flutter of excitement.
    “Shall we go up and take a look?” Møller suggests. Charlo is surprised. He thanks him and stands there watching the man while he finishes his feeding. He parks the pail and the wheelbarrow in a corner and buttons up his jacket. Then he walks quickly out of the stable, and Charlo scoots after him. Two small girls with their legs sticking out ride up on ponies and a couple of cars with trailers drive in. The riding center is starting to hum with life. They go into the upper stable.
    “I’ll bring him into the passage,” Møller says, “so you can see him better.” Charlo nods gratefully, feeling a quiver of elation inside. He can’t believe that he’s standing in here, admiring a beautiful horse. That this man listens to him and takes him seriously. Møller ties the horse to the ring.
    “This chap’s pretty heavy to ride,” he admits, and begins stroking the horse’s neck. “But on the plus side, he knows a lot. He’s well trained, doing well in dressage, and can clear one meter thirty. He’s always been in good health. Even temperament. Strong-willed but never any trouble. A fine, steady canter. He requires a lot of warming up because he’s large. But if he’s given the time he needs, you’ve only got to give him the word and he’ll go for hours.”
    Charlo listens, enthralled. He believes every word that Møller says.
    “What’s his name?”
    “Call Me Crazy.”
    “Didn’t you say he had an even temperament?”
    “Oh yes.” Møller strokes the horse’s muzzle. “He must have got the name before he was gelded,” he replies, chuckling.
    “Breed?” Charlo asks.
    “Holstein. Good pedigree. A dependable horse.”
    “He’s beginning to sound expensive.”
    “I wouldn’t take less than fifty thousand for him. That much I can say.”
    “Fifty?”
    Charlo chews his lip, thinking of what he owes. He thinks about the silver and tries to do a mental calculation. You can bargain with a horse’s owner, he’s sure of it. At any rate, down to forty-five. He thinks, he hopes. The horse is absolutely lovely. People would stop to look at him.
    “Would you like me to saddle him so you can try him out?”
    He shakes his head emphatically at this. “I hadn’t given it a thought; I haven’t ridden for years. But would it be annoying if I came out a couple of times to look at him? Could I take some photos?”
    Møller nods his assent.
    “Yes, just come along. The stables are open to the public. I can arrange for my daughter to put him through his paces in the ring, so you can see how he moves. If you’re interested, that is. She wants something a bit smaller and