The Drowned Boy

by Karin Fossum

  “Whatever the priest says,” he started, “Tommy won’t go to heaven. We’re both hypocrites. We’re hypocrites because we got a priest, and I feel like shit.”

  She turned around and looked at him in exasperation. “Speak for yourself. Others can believe what they like. I can’t imagine where else the soul would go. And Tommy had a soul. You agree on that, don’t you?”

  Yes, he thought, that’s true. But it was extinguished with his body. No living body, no energy, and therefore no soul.

  “So you think you’re going to meet Tommy again?” he sneered. “Up in heaven?”

  “Don’t be so mean,” she said. “It’s just that I believe in another existence. If you want to play the atheist, that’s fine by me. But you don’t have the answer either. And there are smarter people than you who believe, so there.”

  He leaned his elbows on the table and had to admit that she had a point. He watched as she worked at the counter. She was quick, Carmen, everything was fast. And he was actually very hungry. He couldn’t ignore the fact that he needed food.

  “Did you see what I got from Pappa Zita?” she asked. “I got a present.”

  Yes, he had, but had forgotten it in the midst of everything else. Pappa Zita had given her a package when they got back to the car after the church service was over. He guessed it was a book; it was certainly a slim, flat package. Perhaps a book about death that she could read and find comfort in. That would be so like Zita, because that was the way he thought—that everything could be said in words.

  “I’m going to keep a diary,” she said contentedly. “He wants me to write about what’s happened. And about everything that’s going to happen in the future. But you’re not allowed to read it. Diaries are secret, so there.”

  She opened one of the kitchen drawers and held up the book. It was beautiful and small, with a red cover. There was a label on the front where she had written her name in careful letters.

  “Can I have a look?” he asked, holding his hand out. He opened it at the first page, which was still blank.

  “Are you going to write in it every day?”

  “Yes,” she said, determined. “I’m going to write every single day.”

  “But what if nothing happens?”

  “Of course something will,” she said. “Things happen all the time. Today we buried Tommy. Tomorrow we’ll go and visit his grave under the birch trees. And the day after, we’ll go to the stonemasons out by Kruttverket. We did agree to do that, didn’t we? And if nothing happens, then I can write just that,” she said, full of enthusiasm. “Today is over and nothing has happened.”

  She went over to the desk and put the book away in the bottom drawer. “Hands off,” she said with a smile. Then she went back into the kitchen and put the spaghetti in the boiling water, leaving the lid off to one side. She sat down at the table and took his hands in hers and squeezed them hard.

  “It’ll get easier,” she said without doubt. “Even the most painful things pass. But you can’t think of the future.”

  “No,” he objected. “It will never get easier.”

  “You don’t want to forget,” she said quietly.

  “No, that’s right. And I can see that you do. I don’t understand how you’re made.”

  “I’ve always been strong,” she said. “You know that I’m really like Dad.”

  20

  TWENTY-SEVENTH OF AUGUST. Morning.

  The late summer heat continued, and many people were now longing for autumn with its soothing dusk, cool nights, and calming dark. But from daybreak the sun burned relentlessly in a blue sky. It stung one’s eyes and parched the fields. Nature was thirsty and needed some fresh, regenerating rain.

  It wasn’t that he was triumphant, that wasn’t his nature. Revenge, hate, and bitterness had never been part of his life and had never played a role in his very particular profession. To prove guilt or innocence, to clear or condemn—that was his duty. He was not looking forward to the interview; it was probably a match he would not win in the end. There were only losers in this case: Tommy, Nicolai and Carmen, Marian and Elsa. And yet he felt reinvigorated. His intuition had always been strong, and he had the feeling he would be proved right, that the boy’s life had been snuffed out intentionally.

  Carmen came into the room and he showed her to a seat. They weren’t in the office this time, with its lovely view from the window and his dog on a blanket. Now they were in one of the station interview rooms, the saddest room there was. Bare with coarse stone walls and glaring lights. She remained standing for a moment and looked around the Spartan room. She seemed confused and uncertain but tried to compose herself. It was not a particularly welcoming room and reminded her more of a cave in the mountains. No windows and nothing on the walls. Just the uncomfortable lighting, two chairs and a table, a laptop, a work lamp with a halogen bulb, and strip lights.

  “I don’t understand what all the fuss is about,” she said. “I’ve got nothing more to say; you’ve got to stop.”

  “We’ll see,” Sejer said phlegmatically. “Sit yourself down, because we need to talk. It’s important.”

  She was wearing a sleeveless dress that was almost as short as a T-shirt. When she sat down, it slid up over her thighs, revealing how thin she was. She couldn’t weigh much more than ninety pounds, give or take a couple. The sandals on her feet had obviously given her blisters, as there were bandages on her heels.

  He sorted his papers, pressed the record button on the Dictaphone, and put it down on the table between them. It was about the size of a cigarette pack, with an ominous blinking red eye.

  “Carmen,” he said gravely. “I would like to go through what happened by Damtjern on August 10 once more. It’s true that you have already given a statement, but we have found some striking new evidence that means that we need to go through this again.”

  “What have you found?” she asked, playing tough.

  Thus far, she was not giving an inch.

  “We’ve done an autopsy on Tommy,” Sejer reminded her. “This involved a thorough internal and external examination. A number of samples were taken. Of his blood, his saliva, and his tissue. The pathologist doesn’t miss much, and you of course have the right to know what we have found. Naturally we look for signs of external violence, among other things. And for poison or what we call ‘toxins.’ The lab results have come in and that is why you have been called in again. This is serious, Carmen. Do you understand what I am saying?”

  Carmen Zita pulled herself together. Poison and external violence, mere fantasy, she thought. She raised her chin and was defiant and proud and unassailable.

  “And no,” he said, before she had time to protest. “We have found no evidence of violence. Nor have we found toxins. But we did find something else.”

  She nodded, almost mechanically. Her lips were tight and he knew her heart was beating faster, because her cheeks flushed red with the sudden surge.

  “So, Carmen,” he said firmly, “think back and be as precise as you can. The tenth of August, around one o’clock. Nicolai is in the cellar working on a bike. You’re busy in the kitchen. Tommy is playing around on the floor without any clothes on, because it’s so warm.”

  “Yes,” she complied. “I was preparing some food. And when I’d finished, I had to go into the bathroom. And I’m really sorry, but I was gone for quite a while. But that’s hardly a crime, is it?”

  “Why?” Sejer asked. “Tell me what it was that kept you there. I’m curious.”

  “I’d put some socks in to soak, so I rinsed them and hung them up to dry. I don’t wash socks in the machine because they shrink. And it took a few minutes. So there, now you know.”

  “Can you be more precise than a few?” Sejer asked.

  “Well, I don’t know. Maybe six or seven minutes. Or more, I’m not sure. When I came back into the kitchen, Tommy was gone. So I went to look for him in the living room, in the hallway, and in the bedroom. It took some time before I realized that he wa
sn’t in the house. I didn’t think about the pond, not right away. But then it’s always been there, and I didn’t think he’d be able to walk that far in such a short time. And he had no shoes on and the gravel is sharp.”

  Again her hand went up to her eyes, and the tears started to flow steadily.

  “So I ran out and down to the pond and I saw him right away. Beside the jetty. It wasn’t my fault, no matter what you think.”

  Sejer made a brief note.

  “What do you think I think?” he commented patiently.

  “Well,” she said hesitantly, “that it was my fault. But I don’t have eyes in the back of my head and I’m totally innocent.”

  “So what did you do then? Tell me.”

  “I threw myself into the water as fast as I could. I pulled him up onto the grass and tried to give him mouth-to-mouth. But it didn’t help—nothing helped. He was gone. And there was all this foam around his mouth. I was terrified.”

  “How long did you try for?” he asked.

  “Oh, I can’t remember. I screamed for Nicolai to come. He panicked as well and was down by the pond a few seconds later. And he tried to revive him too, and I was so sure that he’d manage, because Nicolai is so good at all kinds of things. But no matter what he did, he couldn’t get Tommy’s heart started. When the paramedics came, they took over. They’re obviously much better at it than us, but they didn’t manage either, even though they seemed to try forever. When they said there was no point in continuing, I just about fainted. They gave up right in front of my eyes. It’s over, they said, and one of the men was crying like a baby. We were both crying and Nicolai was in shock.”

  At this point in her account, she changed position in her chair, as if she wanted to emphasize what she was saying.

  “And I couldn’t understand why the police said we had to go down to the station. It was an accident,” she said conclusively.

  She had said all she wanted to say. Sejer jotted something down, the thoughts racing through his mind, a combination of sorrow and sympathy. He felt no joy in breaking down her story. After all, she was practically a child herself, and he was a sympathetic person. But there were still so many questions to be answered. He was always fascinated by this moment, the moment when the mask fell away. Thanks to a combination of science, intuition, and sense.

  “Carmen,” he said calmly, “why are you lying?”

  “But I’m not lying!” she cried. “Leave me alone; I can’t take being blamed anymore. I did what I could, but it was too late!”

  Sejer let her sit in silence for a while, her outburst vibrating in the air. Meanwhile he prepared his next move.

  “Carmen,” he said quietly. “It didn’t happen the way you’ve told me. You have the opportunity now to tell the truth. I’m still waiting for the only possible explanation. Tommy has been examined by a pathologist and a number of tests were done. The cause of death was drowning; we have established that. But he didn’t drown in the pond. And that is no unfounded claim. It is a documented fact.”

  “What?” she said uncertainly. “What do you mean? I don’t understand what you’re going on about. I’ve told you what happened!”

  She stared wide-eyed at the Dictaphone that lay between them on the table. The red eye was still blinking, documenting her every breath.

  “Don’t say things like that; it makes me nervous,” she added.

  “Tommy had water in his lungs,” Sejer said. “But not the water from Damtjern. The water in Tommy’s lungs contained soap.”

  There. He’d said it. He made a brief note and then looked at her across the table.

  “So how do you explain that? Why are you lying?”

  The silence that followed was so absolute you could hear the traffic on the street outside, despite the room being sound insulated. So, not the muddy water from Damtjern, but soapy water. That could not be explained away. Everything seemed to stop. He could see that she was searching for words but could not find them.

  “What actually happened, Carmen? Did he drown in the bathtub? Because you know, you won’t get away with this now that we’ve found the evidence. I want the truth about what happened, my dear, even if we have to sit here until Christmas.”

  “Am I suspected of something?” she asked lamely. “You might as well tell me like it is. If I’m suspected of something, then I’ve got the right to a lawyer. I’m not going to answer any more stupid questions!” she said, bursting out with a sob. Her tears were streaming steadily and evenly. A deep red flushed her cheeks.

  “Of course you’ll get a lawyer. But the fact is that you’ve given a false statement. And that is serious. That is where you stand at the moment. But you have a chance now to tell the truth once and for all. Tell me what actually happened. I’m sitting here, listening.”

  Carmen Zita continued to weep bitter tears at the injustice. “OK, I’ll tell you, but you have to believe me then,” she pleaded. “You see, I found him in the bathtub. And it was already too late.”

  She leaned back in the chair, crossed her arms, and stared at him in anticipation. Sejer listened and made notes. Found in the bathtub, OK, that was possible. The incident might still be an accident. In which case she could perhaps be tried for negligence, and she was presumably aware of this.

  “So, you’d put him in a bath of warm, soapy water. Do you use the big bathtub, or do you have a special baby one?”

  “Yes,” she said, “he was in the big bathtub. And it was pretty full. I had to support his back so he wouldn’t slide under. I was on my knees on the floor. We were playing with some rubber ducks; he loved that kind of thing.”

  “Why did you leave him?”

  She shook her fair head. “I didn’t, I didn’t leave him. I’m not stupid, you know. No one would leave such a small baby in a bathtub full of water and I’m not totally irresponsible.” She leaned forward over the table and looked at him with earnest eyes. “I had a fit,” she said dramatically. “It happens every now and then.”

  “A fit? What kind of fit? Explain.”

  Again he heard the hum of the traffic from the street outside. But then the world disappeared again and he was absolutely focused on the present, there in the room.

  “I’ve got a serious brain disorder,” she confessed. She pouted and pushed her lower lip forward, as if she was sulking.

  “What do you mean by disorder?” he asked.

  “I’ve got epilepsy,” she explained. “I was washing him when I had a major seizure. I was flat out on the floor for quite a while. When it was over, he was lying at the bottom of the bathtub and it was too late. He had swallowed loads of water and I just panicked. I didn’t really know what I was doing. Surely you can understand that,” she added. “I was so scared, I just went to pieces.”

  Hmm, he thought, a seizure. Cramps and loss of consciousness. He checked that the Dictaphone was still recording. All Carmen’s words would be stored in the little box and could be used for or against her in court on the final day.

  “I thought I might be charged with negligence if I told the truth,” she continued. “So I carried him down to the pond. Then I could say that he’d gone there by himself, on his own two feet. Right to the end of the jetty and over the edge. It would be a more believable explanation in a way, and it wouldn’t really be my fault. Just an unfortunate accident. That’s what I thought. It probably sounds stupid, but I wasn’t myself. You’ve got to believe me; it was a major fit. So I carried him out to the pond and let him sink. I pretended that was what happened, made up a new story. Then I went to get Nicolai. And I don’t want you bothering him anymore, because it’s definitely not his fault!”

  There was silence again following this outburst. He waited. He could not help but wonder at this new turn of events. For all he knew, she might be telling him the truth now. A very intricate story but perhaps too fantastic to be a lie.

  “How long have you had epilepsy?”

  “I was born with it,” she said. “I’ve always had it, and it’s
pretty bad.”

  “Do you take medicine?”

  “Yes,” she replied. “Of course I take medicine; don’t be ridiculous! I don’t have fits that often, but when I do they’re big ones and they last a long time. Maybe once a month. We didn’t get enough air when we were born, you see. I’m actually a twin and it was a difficult birth. My sister Louisa died right away; she was only alive for an hour. And she only weighed three pounds. I weighed six, so you can imagine. I was the stronger of the two of us, and I’m proud of it. So there.”

  “And how do you feel after a blackout like that?” he inquired.

  “Not good,” she said quickly. “Dizzy, confused, and weak. I don’t really know what I’m doing. I’m just not with it for quite a long time. And later I can’t remember those first few minutes; it’s like they’ve been erased. More often than not I have to lie down, and I usually sleep for a few hours. But I’ve lived with epilepsy all my life, so I’m used to it. And Nicolai is too, and Dad of course. He knows how it is and he understands me.”

  Sejer pondered what she had told him. It was absolutely plausible. She might get away with this version; stranger things had happened in Norwegian courts. A good lawyer. A charming defendant. A constant stream of tears and a serious, chronic condition that gave her fits.

  “I shouldn’t have given him a bath without Nicolai’s help,” she said and sniffed. “But he was so busy with his old bikes. All I had to do was shout if I could feel a fit coming on. But I didn’t this time.”

  “So normally you can feel it beforehand? That you’re about to have a fit?”

  “Sometimes I get a little warning. But I didn’t this time. It hit me before I had time to think, and I just collapsed on the floor. And Tommy slipped out of my arms and went under. You have to believe me, because it’s true!”