The Drowned Boy

by Karin Fossum

  “He is extremely quiet and reserved,” Skarre said. “He’s barely said a word. They’re being held separately. They haven’t spoken since they were taken to the station. The mother went back to the house to put on some dry clothes. Holthemann has been looking after them, and he contacted a psychologist from Unicare as it’s obviously a crisis situation, whatever happened. Guilty or not, we still have a dead toddler.”

  Sejer searched for a packet of Fisherman’s Friends in his pocket and popped one in his mouth.

  “And you?” Skarre asked, looking at him intently. “Have you had any more of those dizzy spells that were bothering you?”

  “No,” Sejer snapped. “No, I haven’t noticed anything. It must have been a virus, passed pretty quickly. Happens, I guess.”

  “You’re an incredibly bad liar,” Skarre said, smiling. “Come on, let’s measure the distance from the pond to the house. I reckon it’s about one hundred and sixty-five feet. And that’s nothing for a little lad out exploring.”

  2

  HER BODY WOULD not be still and her hands scuttled around on the table looking for something to do.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked, her voice fraught with anxiety. Hmm, Holthemann thought, she’s squeaking like a mouse in a cat’s paw.

  “We don’t think anything at the moment,” he replied. “Like I said, we have certain procedures. We just need to take down a statement and then you can go. Don’t upset yourself about it; it’s something we do whenever there’s a sudden death. There are rules that have to be followed, so relax.”

  “He’d just learned to walk,” she said. “He was playing on his blanket on the floor, then all of a sudden he wasn’t there.”

  “What were you doing?” Holthemann inquired.

  “I was doing the housework. I don’t remember exactly; everything’s so muddled.”

  She paused and a deep furrow ran across her forehead.

  “I think I was preparing food,” she added, having seemingly made up her mind.

  “You were making supper?” Holthemann asked in a friendly voice.

  She thought again, trying to imagine the situation. Her voice was high and childlike, and Holthemann smiled. The smile made his otherwise stern face a little softer.

  “Yes, that’s right. I was cleaning a fish. At least, I think I was. And I’m not very good at it, so it took awhile. Yes, sorry, my head is a bit of a mess, but I remember I was preparing the fish. And Nicolai was down in the cellar repairing a bike, because that’s his hobby. I just don’t understand it,” she wailed. “I don’t understand!” She burst into tears again, and kneaded the tissue in her hand, unable to control herself. She looked terrified, as if she still could not grasp what had happened, had not fully accepted it—that her child was dead and gone forever. The boy she had loved, because she really had, was now no more than a tiny bundle wrapped in a sheet, on its way to the criminal pathology lab to be examined externally and internally.

  “Is there anything I can get you?” the chief superintendent asked. Despite his tough image, he thought it was important to show understanding. “Would you like a drink? Can I get you some water?”

  “I just want Nicolai,” she sobbed.

  The chief leaned forward and patted her on the arm. “You’ll be able to speak to a psychologist soon,” he said. “He’ll help you sort things out in your mind. Because it’s all over the place right now, isn’t it?”

  She started to dry her tears. She was only nineteen years old and she seemed even younger, slender as a reed, with fair, almost white hair. She wore long, dangly earrings and pink nail polish. Her top was far too short and showed her belly, golden-brown after all the sun this summer and adorned with a small, silken pearl in her navel.

  “Tommy’s only sixteen months old,” she cried. “I tried mouth-to-mouth, really I did, but it was too late. His lips were all blue. I don’t know if I did it right either; it looks so easy on TV. And I couldn’t do the heart massage, because I didn’t dare press too hard. I was scared I’d break his bones, because he’s only little. And if I’d broken some of his ribs, they could have punctured his lungs. I kept thinking things like that, because I’ve heard those things happen.”

  “Take it easy now,” Holthemann said. “We’re going to go through everything in detail. The inspector will take statements from you and Nicolai. Then we can draw up the whole incident and make sure we’ve got it right.”

  She put her hands on the table and scrunched the tissue into a damp ball.

  “But I’ve said everything I’ve got to say,” she sobbed. “There’s nothing more to tell. I found him by the jetty.”

  She suddenly looked him straight in the eye and was very determined. “I know that it was my fault. You might as well just say it, I know what you’re thinking. I should have paid more attention, but I was only away for a few minutes. I only went into the bathroom.”

  “We’ll come back to things like blame later,” Holthemann said. “We’ll have to establish first if anyone is to blame at all. Sadly, accidents happen every day, and this time it was your turn.”

  She pushed her chair out from the table, leaned forward over her knees, and stayed like that for some time, as if she was about to faint.

  “There’re spots dancing in front of my eyes,” she said, exhausted. Her voice was thin and frail, barely audible.

  “Yes, it’s the stress,” Holthemann explained. “It affects the muscles around your eyes, but it’s not dangerous. Just relax. Try to breathe normally and it will pass.”

  “I just want to talk to Nicolai,” she begged. “Is he sitting somewhere all on his own?”

  “No, he’s with an officer. I’ll go and get you something to drink. And then we’ll contact your parents. They live here in town, don’t they?”

  “Yes, they live in Møllergata,” she said. “Mom won’t be able to cope with this, nor will Dad. He’s already had one heart attack. The year before last, and we were beside ourselves. I don’t see why I have to sit here,” she complained. “I want to be with Nicolai; you can’t refuse me. Damn you!”

  Holthemann didn’t have an answer. He often fell a bit short when it came to people in need. But everything had been done on Jacob Skarre’s request: he’d said that this was an accidental drowning that they might want to investigate in more detail, just in case. He got up, left her alone in the room, and went to the staff room where there was a fridge full of cold drinks. He took out a bottle of mineral water and walked back before he realized that he’d forgotten to take a plastic cup from the holder. He headed back to the staff room, got one, and returned to the room where she was sitting. He handed her the cup and helped her open the bottle.

  “You will get all the support and understanding you’re entitled to, believe me. Now, have a drink,” he ordered. “The shock is making you thirsty.”

  3

  MAYBE HE’D BEEN killed, thrown in the pond, unwanted by his mother, Sejer thought. Or by his father, or both. A child who was different, a deviant—perhaps in some people’s eyes, a loser. A sudden rage, a mean thought, an urge to destroy. Or was he seeing ghosts in broad daylight? The door into the garden was open. There was no one watching the boy and he tottered out of the house and across the dry grass on his plump little legs, walking the short distance from the house to the jetty. Drawn by the glittering water that lay like a mirror in front of him. I’m not being prejudiced, Sejer thought. I must take absolutely every possibility into consideration. I’ve done this job long enough, that’s how I work. Anything is possible in this case. A simple, clear rule that always helped him focus. Too many bitter experiences, he thought, and I don’t like to be duped or lied to. As he drove, he thought about his parents again, and all that they had given him as a little boy. Love and understanding, leniency. Encouragement and confidence, an understanding that life was not easy, for better or for worse. Careful now, he said to himself; they’re probably both innocent. But Skarre had expressed clear concern. He thought about it and what it m
ight mean. Intuition was important and definitely had a role to play in every investigation. Having a feeling about something, the seed of suspicion that something is wrong. It might be a lack of eye contact or a strange distance to what had happened. A body that won’t be still, restless and nervous hands, a monotone voice when giving a statement. The sequence of events rattled off as if learned by rote, a kind of planned version. A hand that constantly dabs the eyes to dry imaginary tears or, for that matter, real tears. Because everything had gone so terribly wrong, with or without blame. Or horror that an emotion could be so catastrophic. I’m going to kill you now because it’s unbearable. I can’t stand this child, can’t cope with this child, and other impossible emotions. All these different signs of lies. And a depressing thought kept coming back. The child had Down syndrome. Another reason for this unease. Even though the public prosecutor would only consider the facts of the case, these gut instincts were incredibly important. They were based on the experience that they had built up over all their years with the police. Skarre had noticed some nuances that he couldn’t explain, that had made him think twice. Sejer took this seriously because Skarre was smart. And pretty good in his observations. Two parents sitting in the station crying their hearts out, but were they tears of loss and grief, or were they tears of shock and panic because they were guilty?

  He started to think about the recurring dizzy spells again. I’ll have to bite the bullet, he thought, and haul my decrepit body off to the doctor. It’s all downhill from here. Then I’ll have to endure a whole raft of tests and the nerve-racking wait. Maybe there really is something terribly wrong with me, and life as I’ve known it until now is—well, maybe it’s over. The word cancer popped up in his thoughts again, thoughts that would not let him be. He suddenly felt the need for moral support and dialed the number of his daughter Ingrid, to tell her about the incident at Damtjern.

  “Hi, Ingrid, it’s me. Yes, I’m in the car. Yes, yes, I’m using the hands-free; don’t be silly. We’ve found a little boy. He was lying in a pond up by Granfoss. His mother found him by the jetty. Just over a year. It’s so sad. Yes, exactly, I’m on my way to the station. I’m going to talk to the parents. Maybe I’ll drop by afterward, if that’s all right?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Of course that’s all right. And how are you otherwise, Dad?”

  She meant the dizziness. He said he was sure it would pass and it was just a matter of patience. But she wasn’t going to let him get away with such a vague answer.

  “It’ll pass? Don’t give me happily ever after; I’m too old for that. I know you,” she continued, “you’re not telling me everything. But you don’t need to spare me; remember that I’ve been through a lot. And just so you know, I can stomach the truth.”

  She was referring to her stint as a nurse in war-torn Somalia with her husband, Erik, who specialized in acute medicine. When they came back home, after working there for several years, they had a boy with them. Sejer’s only grandchild was now a promising young dancer with the National Ballet School.

  “OK,” he said. “I promise, I won’t spare you. And yes, I am still dizzy. I mean, every now and then. But I promise I’m going to do something about it, once and for all.” He was at the railroad crossing in the center of town, and the barrier was down. While he sat and waited for the train to pass, he thought about the little boy again. What Skarre had said was right. If this was actually murder, and it was the mother who had done it, she would get off lightly. That special bond between mother and child, so many mitigating circumstances, so many possible explanations. Non compos mentis, he thought, not of sound mind. Personality disorders, psychosis, depression, and other complaints. There was so much to choose from. A freight train with dark red cars finally thundered past. He listened to the steady rhythm of the wheels and the rattling of iron and metal, and he counted the cars, as he had done since childhood.

  He could not help but think of a dandelion head with its delicate white pappi, because her hair was almost as white as snow. He was also struck by how slight she was, thin and fragile as a twig. A child with a child, he thought. It was incredible that she had managed to give birth to a baby at all.

  “Come with me,” he said in a reassuring voice. “Let’s go to my office; it’s just a bit farther down the corridor.”

  She got to her feet and then saw the dog. Frank stood up on his hind legs, wanting to say hello. She stroked him gingerly on the head, but she seemed to be elsewhere. The catastrophe had drained her of color and she had dark rings under her eyes.

  “If he bothers you, I’ll put him in the car,” Sejer said. “But usually he settles down; he doesn’t normally make a fuss.”

  She shook her head. But she did keep looking at the dog, as if he touched something in her, some longing.

  “What is your name?” he asked as kindly as he could, as they walked down the corridor.

  “Carmen,” she replied. “Carmen Cesilie Zita.”

  Her name sounded familiar. And before he could ask, she had given him the answer.

  “Yes,” she said, as though reading his thoughts. “My father owns the fast-food place in Torggata. The one called Zita Quick. He’s had it for ten years, and we both work there. Well, I don’t really at the moment because Tommy’s still so little. But Nicolai does shifts there. We’re open all night.”

  She paused and looked at Sejer with blue eyes surrounded by thick black lashes. “People come all the way from Oslo for our food,” she said proudly.

  He opened the door to his office. Frank slipped in, went over to the blanket by the window, and lay down.

  “Please, find yourself a chair,” he told her.

  He studied the slight girl.

  “My condolences, Carmen,” he added. “It’s terribly sad.”

  He wanted to be friendly. Wanted to do everything right, in case she wasn’t guilty.

  “Why can’t I be with Nicolai?” she asked. But the question was also a complaint and she sounded petulant. You don’t just plow your way into someone else’s life; you tiptoe in with care and respect. So he weighed his words carefully. He had considerable training.

  “You have to be separated, as a matter of procedure,” he explained patiently. “I can understand if you might find it a bit brutal, but we automatically follow lots of rules and regulations, so there is absolutely no need to worry about it. We’re going to talk together for a while, and then afterward you can both go home to Granfoss. Oh, I see you didn’t take your mineral water with you. Shall I get you another one?”

  She shook her head and sat down in a chair by the window. She wasn’t interested in the view; her eyes were fixed on her hands, which she had folded in her lap. But she glanced over at Frank every now and then. The dog lying on the gray blanket was obviously soothing.

  “What was your little boy’s name?” he asked. “Tommy?”

  He rolled his chair across the floor and sat down beside her.

  “Yes, his name is Tommy Nicolai.”

  She started to cry. And while she cried, he sat and waited patiently until the outburst was over.

  “Now, let’s go through it all again,” he said. “Step by step. Exactly as it happened. You can tell me your own way, if you like. Or if you think that’s difficult, I can ask you questions.”

  “Maybe you should ask questions,” she said. “Everything’s just chaos; it’s so hard to remember.”

  “I understand,” Sejer assured her. “I’ll ask you questions then. Now tell me about the day. What were you doing when you discovered that Tommy had disappeared?”

  He could see that she was rifling through her memory; her eyes darted around the room, returning to Frank again, who had fallen asleep on his blanket.

  “Well, it was getting on for supper time. I’d decided we were going to have salmon. So that’s probably what I was doing, preparing the fish.”

  “Probably? You’re not sure?”

  “Yes, of course I’m sure. Don’t talk to me like I’m some stupid lit
tle girl.”

  But she paused and didn’t seem certain at all. Sejer reminded himself that she was most likely in shock, so her memory would have gaps; he’d seen it before. Likewise, angry words would spill over in the heat of the moment.

  “Do you feel uncertain, Carmen?” he asked again.

  “The whole day is just a blur,” she said curtly. She wrung her hands. She was on guard; he knew the signs.

  “And Tommy’s dad? What did you say his name was?”

  “Nicolai Brandt. And we’re married. I know what you’re thinking, that we’re young and silly, and we lack judgment.”

  “Not at all,” he said. “I would never think that. Where was Nicolai when it happened? Tell me.”

  “He was down in the cellar repairing some old bikes. He earns a bit of money doing simple repairs and gets quite a few jobs. He loves messing around with bikes; he’s obsessed. So he wasn’t there when it happened. I was alone in the kitchen and Tommy was sitting on a blanket on the floor. He had no clothes on because it was so hot and I wanted him to get some air. He often gets very sweaty. I’d opened the back door to get a draft through.”

  Sejer noted her body language and the pitch of her voice. She was now very focused and calm, as though she finally felt in control of the difficult situation. But her voice was monotonous, and he knew that this detail could signal distance. That she was keeping something terrible at a distance, which she simply couldn’t face.

  “Then I had to go to the bathroom,” she continued. “A chore I had to do in there. It took awhile. And when I came back, he’d gone. He wasn’t sitting on his blanket, and the room was empty. Tommy has just learned to walk,” she explained, “and he’s pretty good. He can get quite far in a minute, and I’d been away for a while. First I ran into the bedroom. I even checked under the comforter, because, you see, I panicked right away. Then I ran out of the house and looked around. But I couldn’t see him anywhere—not in the sandbox, not behind the house. I couldn’t even bear to think about the pond. Even though it was a constant threat, I pushed it out of my mind. But I went down in the end, because I had to look everywhere. And then I saw him by the jetty. He was lying face down under the water. I threw myself into the water without even thinking. I managed to get him out onto the grass. And I shouted as loud as I could for Nicolai. Eventually he came running out in a panic. It was so strange, because I heard the screams, but I didn’t recognize my own voice. Do you know what I mean?”