by Karin Fossum
Skarre put his cup down on its saucer with a clinking of porcelain. “How did Carmen react when it became clear that Tommy had Down syndrome?”
“Oh, she took it in stride,” Zita said. “I think you could say that. Don’t you think so, Elsa, she took it in stride?”
“Yes,” she agreed. “They both took it in stride. As my husband said, Carmen is strong. She always has been. But obviously, there’s sorrow too. It’s not easy having a child like that. So they were sad too; it would be strange if they weren’t. After all, it’s understandable that they would also feel some disappointment.”
“And what about you?” Skarre asked. “What were your thoughts on Tommy’s future? Were you worried about it and how he would manage?”
Carmen’s mother drank some more coffee. She seemed to be bothered by the questions and answered them with some reluctance.
“I’m going to tell you the truth,” she said. “When Tommy was born, it was a real shock. Carmen is so young and I thought it was only older women who had children with Down syndrome. It all felt very unreal and I was devastated. So there you go, now I’ve said it.”
“And what kind of mother was Carmen?” Skarre asked.
“The very best,” Zita interjected. “They were such good parents, both of them. Tommy got all that he needed, and we helped them financially. That way Carmen could be at home, for a couple of years at least. Until Tommy went to nursery school. At Solhella, you know, there’s a nursery school for children with special needs. He’d been promised a place from the age of two. The plan was that Carmen would work at the restaurant with Nicolai. They’d get by fine on two salaries. They didn’t have to pay any rent for the house at Granfoss. That’s to say, I am the owner and I certainly wouldn’t fleece them.”
“And what about Nicolai?” Skarre pressed. “Are you pleased to have him as a son-in-law?”
“Oh yes,” Zita replied, without hesitation. “He’s always been so good to Carmen. But he’s not as strong as her, and he’s completely fallen to pieces now. Carmen feels guilty because she left Tommy alone for five minutes, and she’d forgotten to close the door. Nicolai feels guilty because he was in the cellar. And I feel guilty because we didn’t get the fence up in time.”
“And you?” Sejer turned to Elsa. “Do you also feel guilty?”
“No,” she said firmly. “I don’t feel guilty. It was an accident and no one is to blame. And I don’t want to hear any talk of guilt; it’s bad enough as it is. Don’t say things like that!”
Then she dried a tear.
“Don’t you dare try,” she added. “Just leave us be!”
“Certainly, we will,” Sejer assured her. “It is not our intention to hound you about this. We’re not out to get anyone. We just need to get a clear idea of what happened, in terms of the law.”
“Of course,” Elsa said and straightened her back. “I’ll tell you what happened. It was very warm on August 10. Tommy was allowed to be naked for a while and was playing on his blanket. Carmen went into the bathroom and was gone for five minutes. Tommy clearly toddled down to the pond and fell off the jetty. That’s what happened,” she said. “And now please leave us to grieve in peace.”
Zita accompanied them to the front door.
He stood for a while on the step and tried to excuse his wife.
“We understand that this is hard for you all,” Sejer said, “and we certainly won’t bother you with any more questions. We wish you all the best. And we hope that the youngsters will manage to pull through this without any feelings of guilt.”
Zita walked a few steps down the gravel path and stood with his hands in his pockets, poking at the ground with his toe. “Yes. They’ll get through it. Carmen is pretty solid. When it comes to Nicolai, he just needs a bit more time. But we’ll manage.”
“How did you react when Carmen got pregnant at the age of seventeen?” Sejer asked.
“We were delighted,” he said swiftly. “It’s such a gift, isn’t it? And we thought so highly of Nicolai. We promised to do everything we could to help, and we have. We’ve looked after Tommy for them a lot.”
He looked first at one and then the other.
“I know that you’ve been to the restaurant,” he said suddenly. “Elisabeth called and told me that she’d had to answer some questions. I don’t know what that means, the fact that you wanted to talk to her. But we assume that it’s done now. We don’t have anything else to tell.”
He went back up the steps and then turned to them for the last time.
“I’m sure it’s just your job,” he said somberly. “The fact that you always think the worst. I’m trying to understand that. But you won’t find anything here. It was an accident. There’s nothing more to say.”
Then he disappeared into the house and shut the door with a bang.
“The Women’s Clinic,” Sejer said to Skarre. “I’ve let them know that we’re coming, so they’ll be waiting.”
16
IT WAS AFTERNOON by the time the two men arrived at Oslo University Hospital. They walked down endless corridors and through wide double doors with glass panels. And then, at the end of a corridor, a sure sign that they were in the right place: a beautiful bronze statue of a stork with a bundle in its beak. They found the staff room and one of the midwives on duty stood up and shook their hands.
“Yes,” she said. “I looked after Carmen. I got your message so I waited. Please, sit down. I’ll be with you in a moment.”
It was a nice, homely room, with a large curved sofa and two armchairs. Flowery curtains in the windows, a large cabinet full of cups and glasses, a coffee machine, a big spacious desk. Two green filing cabinets and a PC. There was a big teddy bear in blue overalls in one corner. Above the desk, a bulletin board was full of photographs of babies in all colors and shapes and cards with messages of thanks from a number of parents. Skarre took off his jacket and went over to have a closer look at the photographs. Thank you for all your help, from Fredrikke. Thank you for looking after me at the birth, from Emilie Krantz. We wouldn’t have managed without you, from Nina and Marie.
The midwife returned after a few minutes, pulled a chair out from behind the desk, and sat down. She was probably in her mid-forties, round, and dressed in a white coat over light pants and white clogs with rubber soles. She immediately inspired trust. Her hair was thick and blond and on her coat she wore a porcelain badge that said ANNE MARIE.
“Yes, I remember her,” she said immediately. “It was a cesarean. She has an extremely narrow pelvis. Oh yes, I remember her, but mostly because her name, Carmen Zita, is an unusual name. Not one you forget really. And she was so young. And the child had Down syndrome. Yes, yes, I remember her well. And the father too, he was almost as young as her and incredibly shy. But I don’t understand why you are here. I don’t see how I can help you; has something happened?”
Sejer looked at the buxom midwife. And it struck him that she was like his wife, Elise. There was something about her hair and eyes, and the warm, assured smile that gave her dimples.
“The child is no longer alive,” he told her. “Tommy drowned in a pond by his parents’ house. We are investing the accident as a matter of procedure.”
She was silent when she heard this, and the warm smile disappeared. She said nothing for a few long seconds, digging her hands deep into the pockets of her white coat. Then she kicked off her white clogs and sat there with bare feet that were small and narrow and golden-brown at the end of a long summer.
“Oh no, that’s so sad,” she said at last. “He was such a great little boy. What age did he get to?”
“Sixteen months,” Sejer said. “He had just learned to walk. But tell me something. He had Down syndrome. How quickly can you see that something is wrong?”
“We see it right away,” she replied. “But we have good training. And Down syndrome is not the worst thing that can happen to a child. They generally grow up into kind individuals, though they often don’t live as long as other pe
ople. You could live until you were ninety,” she said with a brief smile. “But people who are born with the syndrome are old by the time they are fifty. If they make it to fifty, which is not always the case. As you know, their appearance is distinct and unmistakable. They are also shorter than most people, and many of them have congenital heart disease. They grow and develop slowly, both physically and mentally. Premature aging and dementia is very common, which is sad but true. And yet they can be a joy to us all. That’s certainly what I think. Don’t you agree?”
“How common is it for a baby to be born with Down syndrome?”
“One in every seven hundred is born with it. Which is actually quite a lot, if you think about it. On average, they live to sixty. They often have a kind of simple wisdom that we others have lost. Something genuine and honest. They are wholly themselves in everything they do and never false in any way. In fact, they make quite an impression and are rather charming. So it always warms my heart to deliver a baby like that. And I’m proud of it.”
“How are they at birth?” Sejer asked. “Tell me, what signs you can see?”
“Newborns with Down syndrome are generally of normal weight and length,” she said, “but they often have what we call low muscle tone. When you pick them up, they feel like a little sack of sand. They’re limp. They lack the muscle tone and suppleness of other newborns. And I can tell you, it was a lot of information for the young couple to take in. We told them that they had the right to care and financial support, as well as extended leave from work.
“There’s a brutal paragraph for pregnant women if they are tested before giving birth. They, of course, dream of having healthy children. Paragraph 2 of the Abortion Act says that they have the legal right to terminate the pregnancy if the fetus has Down syndrome. Which is so sad, but then, that’s life.”
She paused, drew breath, and put her clogs back on.
“And naturally, many parents choose to do that. They can’t face the difficulties it would entail. And anything we can tell them is cold comfort. So it’s a shock, no matter what, and I can understand that. No one has the right to make a moral judgment.”
Sejer nodded. “Did you tell the parents right away when Tommy was born?”
“No, we waited until she had been transferred to the ward and rested a bit. It was the doctor and I who went in. It’s emotionally very demanding, having to tell someone something like that,” she added, “so it’s good if there’s two. You never get used to it.”
“So you remember it well?” Skarre asked.
“Yes, I remember it well. Because of her reaction.”
“What did she say? What did she do?”
The midwife let out a deep sigh. She pulled her hands out of her pockets and folded them in her lap.
“She said, ‘No.’”
“What do you mean?” Skarre pressed. “Simply ‘No’?”
“She was in denial. She said, ‘No, you’ve made a mistake.’ So the doctor had to tell her again that the boy had Down syndrome. That there was no room for doubt. Because that is what they often think, initially. Is it really true? Are you one hundred percent sure? And Lord only knows, it’s a massive comedown. From the greatest joy to the deepest desperation. The child has finally been born after nine long months, but it’s not entirely healthy. I never get used to it,” she told them. “I have to steel myself before I go in. I guess you have to do that in your job as well. I mean, you must have given some people terrible news. So perhaps you know how I feel.”
“Yes, we do,” Sejer said in a gentle voice.
“We comforted them as best we could,” she continued. “We explained her rights in terms of the future and assured them that the boy would bring them both joy and laughter. But she just kept saying no, that we had made a mistake. That time would prove that we were wrong. He would get better; he was just a bit tired. I felt for her so much, and I’ve had to tell people worse things in my role as a midwife. It’s just part of the job.”
“What about the father?” Skarre wondered. “Nicolai Brandt? How did he react?”
She thought for a moment, casting her mind back. She recalled the young man with the thin hair.
“He was incredibly quiet. Not the chatty type. But at least he understood what we were telling them, and he certainly never questioned our judgment. I felt for him too, but I remember that he did manage to muster some hope for the future. ‘We should be happy for the child we’ve got,’ he said, hugging her and the child. I can’t remember if he was crying. The doctor gave them as much information as possible to instill hope. He explained that there were cases where children with Down syndrome had passed their exams, with good grades, after only three years of high school. And some had passed their driver’s license test. I can’t get over what you just told me, that he drowned in a pond. I don’t know what your thoughts are on the matter. But let’s hope that you are wrong. I mean, if you suspect the parents in any way. You’re asking all these questions for a reason, and it’s making me nervous. Between you and me, Carmen Zita’s reaction was certainly unusual. Like she was in her own world, and it was impossible to get through. Over the years, I’ve had to tell many people similar things, and no one has reacted quite like her.”
“How long was she in the maternity ward?”
“For five days. I remember her parents came to collect them, and her father asked to talk to the doctor, which he did. He seemed very strong and composed, and said that he would help in any way possible. I was so happy to hear that, because he seemed so dynamic.”
Sejer sat in silence for a short while. He glanced up at the photographs of all the babies on the bulletin board.
“I’m assuming they never sent you a photograph,” he said with a fleeting smile.
“No,” she confirmed. “I never got a picture of Tommy. People send photographs because they are proud, happy, and grateful. But Carmen Zita left the ward after five days, and she was not in the slightest bit proud or grateful.”
17
TWENTY-FIFTH OF AUGUST. Morning, the funeral.
Nicolai stood in the doorway and looked at her, and he didn’t like what he saw. Today was the day when Tommy was to be buried. And Carmen was going to say goodbye in a wholly inappropriate dress. Short and tight with a scooped neck, it left nothing to the imagination. She normally wore it to parties, and now it just looked improper. But he also saw how beautiful she was—perfect, like a little doll. And it was clear to him why he had fallen for this girl with the white hair. No boy in the world would say no to Carmen, he thought. Not a single one. And I am no exception.
Carmen was in the bathroom and pulled herself away from her own reflection.
“You should have put something else on,” she complained. “It’s so embarrassing; we should have gotten a suit. People will wonder why you’re not dressed up.”
“Fine, but I don’t have a suit,” he said, feeling hurt. “You always complain, but I do as best I can. And clothes aren’t important anyway. This is about Tommy.”
Carmen turned back to the mirror and stared at herself. Yes, she was satisfied, Nicolai thought. Tommy was going to be buried and Carmen was satisfied with how she looked. It really bothered him. He leaned against the door frame. He knew that he wasn’t good enough and was deeply ashamed of his shabby clothes. He heard a car pull into the yard and went over to the window and looked out. He waved at the people in the car and went out to meet them. Pappa Zita’s sturdy frame towered over the top step; behind him was Elsa in a navy blue suit.
“How are you, my boy?” Zita asked, holding his hand. He held it for a long time, while a single tear trickled down his cheek. Then he crossed the threshold and came in. “This is a sad, sad day,” he said, his eyes piercing through Nicolai. “We have to be strong.”
Nicolai didn’t answer. There was nothing to say, other than it was the blackest day of his life. He had not been so sad since the day his parents died in their Cessna, Bird Dog, in a violent storm. It all came back to him now with full for
ce. Zita reached out his hand again but this time ruffled his hair. Nicolai did not turn away. He had always liked Zita and knew this was a clumsy caress from a man in mourning.
“Is Carmen ready?” Zita asked and walked down the hallway.
“Yes, she is,” he said with a wan smile, wondering whether his parents-in-law would react to her daring dress. Just then, Carmen came out of the bathroom, tottering on high heels. The black dress was so tight that any movement was restricted to tiny steps across the floor. She gave her father a long hug, swallowed by his generous embrace and weeping bitter tears.
“Put a jacket on,” her father said firmly. “Your dress is beautiful, but it’s too low and not appropriate for church.”
Carmen made a disappointed face and protested vociferously. It was far too warm to wear a jacket, and she didn’t like her father’s objections. “What kind of jacket do you mean?” Carmen whined. “The dress won’t be visible otherwise.”
“A cardigan,” her father said. “Surely you’ve got a cardigan?”
“She does,” said Nicolai, who had sat down on the sofa. “Your dress—it’s not a party we’re going to.”
“I dressed up for Tommy,” Carmen said, smarting. “And all you do is complain.” She pouted like she always did when she didn’t get her own way.
Nicolai closed his eyes and groaned. He couldn’t believe that they were in this situation. They were about to go to church to bury Tommy, and this was the end. He wanted so much to be strong, to be dignified in his grief. But more than anything, he just wanted to let go and cry like a baby. Carmen turned on her heel and disappeared into the bedroom. They could hear her slamming doors and drawers. After a while she came out again with a cardigan over her arm.
“Put it on,” her father said sternly. “It’s a church and you need to be covered. People will react if you sit there with bare shoulders.”
