by Karin Fossum
He poured milk into a glass. A little girl? Wasn't she going to be finished soon? Was there a faint smell of hash? He suddenly felt so tired. But then it changed to something else. He thought: I need to go into the living room. I want to watch the news.
She was sitting at the table with the phone clamped under her chin. She heard him, and turned to give him a sly wink. He was caught completely off guard. His sandwich slid across the plate and threatened to go over the edge. Kollberg lay down next to him, his nostrils quivering. Sejer concentrated on his egg sandwich.
"I have to go to bed," said Sara suddenly. "I'll call back when I need you, okay?"
Then she smiled at the wall above the table, where he had hung up a calendar and an old certificate from the shooting range. He was an excellent marksman.
"What am I wearing?"
She looked down at herself, at the green corduroy trousers and the checked flannel shirt that she was wearing.
"A beautiful red, strapless dress made of pure silk. And I'm very tanned. I've just been to Israel. You're talking to a Jewish woman. Haven't you ever had a Jewish woman?"
Sejer had just taken a bite of his sandwich, and now he just about choked on it. He looked at his dog, grateful for the fact that he couldn't understand. Instead, he switched on the television and stared at the screen, at the face reading the news, which he couldn't hear, because he had turned down the sound. Out of sheer politeness he had turned down the sound. But now he decided to turn it up loud and make her hang up the phone. There was a war on the screen. Fighter planes taking off from a ship and flying like bolts of metallic lightning through the sky. He could feel the G-force as he sat in his chair.
"Good night, dear."
Sara hung up the phone. She walked across the room and perched on the arm of his chair.
"Didn't you see the roast beef in the fridge?" she asked.
Roast beef? No, he hadn't seen any delicacies like that, he had been listening to her, bewildered. Besides, eggs were fine. A little too much cholesterol, of course, but rich in protein, and that's what he needed to keep his muscles strong.
"Who were you talking to?" he asked.
"Phone sex," she said with a laugh as she brushed back her long fringe. Not the least embarrassed. He didn't say anything. He didn't feel hungry any more.
"I was bored, and you weren't here."
"Do you know how much it costs?" The words flew out of his mouth, and then she laughed even more. She had a spontaneous, hearty laugh. He didn't understand why she was laughing. Actually, he would have preferred to be alone.
"So how do you know, my good man, that phone sex is so expensive?"
He didn't reply, just sat there feeling foolish. She kissed his rough, grey hair. "I've called them a lot, but I can afford it. I make more than you do." And then she laughed some more.
"But why?" he stammered.
"It's fun. There sits a real live man on the other end of the line." She leaned down and whispered in his ear. "You should try it sometime!"
He was still looking at his egg sandwich. It was only a matter of time before Kollberg snatched it away.
"Where did you get the number?" he asked, embarrassed.
"It was in the newspaper. There are lots to choose from. All depending on what your preference is. Aren't you curious?"
"No."
"They give you everything you want. Everything that's possible to send over a phone line, that is. And it's more than you might think!"
He picked up his sandwich, took a bite, and chewed carefully.
"You're freezing," Sara said. She put her hand on his cheek. She was hot as coals.
"Sometimes we just have to have a little fun in our lives, don't you think?"
Have fun? Was that important? The Devil rose up inside Konrad Sejer. He got up from his chair and towered over her with all of his 196 centimetres, and she sat there in surprise, like a little girl, looking up at him with concern. He thought: I'm stronger than she is. I could lift her up and carry her away. She could wriggle and squirm, but she wouldn't have a chance. He slipped his arm around her waist and held on tight, lifting her from the arm of the chair. She squealed with glee, but he noted with satisfaction the tiny hint of panic as he carried her across the room. He stopped in front of the old chest of drawers that had stood on Gamle Møllevej for all those years and weighed a ton. He bent his knees and with a groan set her firmly on the top of it. There was plenty of room. She shrieked with laughter.
"Sit still," he commanded, taking a few steps back. "If you move you'll fall off."
"I want to get down," she cried.
"You can't," he said. "Or the whole thing will topple over!"
"You can't leave me here," she said, laughing as she began to try to find a foothold to climb down, but stopped when she felt the chest start to topple under her weight.
"Don't move," he said gruffly. "I want to eat in peace. After that we'll go for a long walk."
He sat down again and started eating. Kollberg jumped around, barking and carrying on. He didn't recognise his master. Sara laughed so hard he had to tell her to hush, for fear the chest of drawers would pitch forward and crash to the floor. It was full of crystal. She ran a finger along the top. It was black with dust.
"I like dust," she teased him. "Dust contains a little of everything. A little of you and a little of me."
"Be quiet and let me eat!" he shouted.
Down by the river stood an elderly woman. She was standing to the right of the barge, which functioned as a cafe, but was closed now. She stood there a while, looking across at the railway station on the opposite bank. She stood erect, with an air of having finished something important. Then she took a few steps and stopped again, next to a stairway that led down to the water. She started down the steps. On the third step she stopped and raised her head to look at the bridge span, that long, slender line of concrete that connected the two parts of the town. People were walking back and forth across the bridge. The lights, thousands of them, glittered like broken reflections in the water. She went down another step. And then she did something odd that would have surprised anyone who might have noticed. She lifted up her coat, an old brown coat. Then she went down another step, and the water came up to her ankles. Now she was paralysed by the cold of the water. There were a lot of people in the square, but she was so unobtrusive, didn't make a sound when she finally fell forward into the water, with her arms spread out. She looked like a large child falling into a snowdrift.
"It's too bad she won't live. But then again, who
does?"
It was spitting rain. Sara and Sejer were walking close together. Kollberg was on a short lead; the drizzle glittered in his rough coat. The few solitary souls still abroad started walking faster as they felt the rain come down harder. Sarah and Sejer cut across the square and headed over the bridge. Sejer wanted to go over to the other side and walk through the old neighbourhoods with the small shops. They walked at a brisk pace to stay warm. At the highest part of the bridge, they paused and leaned over the side. That's what people do at the top of a bridge. Enjoying the fact that they're still alive. Sara looked at him. His distinctive face, strong and handsome. Especially his eyes and his thick hair. She buried her forehead in his coat sleeve and stared down at the eddies in the water.
"Are you tired, Konrad?"
"Yes," he said. "Sometimes I am."
"Too much going on at work?"
"Just the usual. But after all, I have been wandering around here on this earth for 440,000 hours."
"Good heavens! That's a lot!"
"Hm. You know Jacob. He's so playful. Whenever he's bored, he sits around with his pocket calculator."
Sara thought for a moment about that dizzying number. "You know," she said, "in a way it must be good to die in the water."
"Why's that?" he wanted to know. He didn't turn around, just kept looking down, and then over to the left towards the barge near the shore.
"To lie still and just float,
to be licked clean by the water."
Licked clean. Perhaps. But the actual process of drowning wasn't like that. To hold your breath, feel your eyes bursting, and then your lungs, until you started to rise, swell up, and everything exploded inside your head. And finally, the fog. That's what he had heard. Red and warm.
"Just think of all the people who are dead under that water," Sara said. "People we don't know about."
This is a dreary town, he thought, especially in the rain. So forsaken on the shore of this roaring river. But the bridges enchanted him whenever he saw them, all beautiful arched spans surrounded by glittering lights. Sejer looked back towards the square. Suddenly he let go of Sara's hand. She followed his gaze down towards the barge.
"A woman," he said, "she's standing on the steps. With water up to her knees!"
He let go of the dog's lead. Set off on his long legs, with Sara close behind. Sejer's shoes pounded the pavement and people started turning around to look at him. Kollberg raced along, his heavy body rippling as he ran. People who were coming towards them stepped aside at the sight of the big animal. Sejer reached the end of the bridge, hurtled round the edge, and raced for the stairs. For a moment he stopped to catch his breath. Something was floating in the water, something dark and compact. He ran down the steps, keeping his eyes on the heavy body rocking on the water. Slowly it sank. The ice-cold water spilled into his shoes, but he didn't feel it; he was trying to calculate the direction of his dive so that he could grab her.
"Don't do it," shouted Sara. "The current will take you!"
He turned part-way around, thinking: She's right. He wouldn't be able to do it, they would both go under. But he couldn't stand there without trying. Just stand there and watch her die. Sara ran down the steps, grabbed his arm, and shouted at his pounding head.
"Don't do it!"
She's afraid, he realised in surprise. Then the body disappeared. He followed a fleck of foam with his eyes. Saw the roaring speed of the river and thought: I was just about to drown, the way she drowned. He raised his hands and blew on them.
"It was a woman," he murmured.
He patted his hip and found his mobile phone. Kollberg was on the shore, barking. People came running from all directions. To stand here like this, he thought, just stand here and watch someone go under. It hardly seems possible.
The fire started in the kitchen. The coffee maker had been on for hours and was piping hot. The flames grew fast, and swiftly licked along the curtains. Soon they reached the red chair and the rug on the floor. The heat was now shimmering in the room; plastic melted, things fell apart and the blaze kept spreading, to the next room and the next. Outside, a great roaring sound came from the windows. A bicyclist noticed the flames.
The fire brigade arrived seven minutes later, and after them, the crime technicians. They fought their way inside, searching the rooms. The trap door to the cellar stood wide open. They looked down inside. Wiped the sweat and soot from their faces.
It was pitch dark. A policeman switched on his pocket torch, swung the beam of light around. Something greyish-white lay on the floor at the bottom of the stairs. More people arrived. They moved cautiously down the first steps and looked down as they shone their lights. They fell silent. They stared at the tarpaulin. At the bottom they had to step over it and stand on either side. The plastic had grown soft from the heat; it no longer rustled. They pulled it away. Stared in horror at what lay beneath. A tangled mass of plastic and hair and skin. It was, in a word, indescribable.
CHAPTER 23
September 10.
What Sejer remembered most clearly from his mother's funeral was the sound of dry sand striking the lid of the coffin. He couldn't get it out of his head. He opened the window to air the room, sat down and started again. More and more pieces of the great tragedy were piling up on his desk. A picture, however vague, was slowly taking shape. But he couldn't believe his eyes. How could this have happened? And why? Irma's body was fished out of the river the evening after she drowned. She was found floating against an old, rotting bridge foundation under the overpass. There she lay, rocking on the water, in the glittering lights. The bag had been rinsed clean in the river, but it was still in place under the tight vest. And then the fire. The discovery in the cellar. The circumstances in that dark room. What did it mean? To think that he had stood in her kitchen, only metres away from the boy. He remembered the feeling he had as he stood in front of her. The conclusion he drew at once, that she was not quite right in the head.
So what? That didn't give him the right to search her house.
He glanced up as Jacob Skarre came in, waving some papers.
"This is unbelievable," he muttered. It was the report from forensics. Skarre dropped into a chair. Sejer read aloud.
"'The boy, four months old, was found dead in his bed. The autopsy reveals that the cause of death was an epidural haematoma. A bleeding between the cranium and membrane of the brain. This is a result of a head injury. Such haematomas arise over time. They lead to increased pressure, and the swelling travels down the length of the spine, where it affects the respiratory system. Essentially, the child died because he stopped breathing. Immediately following the event, the child may seem perfectly normal, without visible symptoms. The doctor at the casualty department cannot be faulted for his evaluation. After a few hours, fatigue and lethargy set in. Lapsing in and out of consciousness. It is therefore reasonable to surmise that the child died as a direct result of his fall from the pram. The fall which, in turn, can be blamed on the assault perpetrated against the mother.'"
"Does this mean that we could have charged Andreas with manslaughter?" Skarre wanted to know.
Sejer smiled bitterly. "Not even with the most ill-tempered judge in the land. They stole a handbag from her pram. They didn't touch her. That's simple theft, with a maximum sentence of three years. But it would never have happened. A young boy. First-time offence. He would have got off. With a severe fright and a warning."
"But the baby's mother – what about her?"
"Well. The mother is responsible for her own child, under any circumstances. She let go of the pram. And she didn't set the brake properly." He shook his head. "What does the report say about Andreas? What did they find out?"
"It looks like a nightmare. If they're correct in their assumptions."
"Which are?"
"That either he fell, or was pushed down the cellar steps. When he landed on the cellar floor, he broke his neck, or to be more precise, cervical vertebra number four. The injury would have caused significant paralysis from his neck down. So that's where he lay."
"And then she bashed in his head with a hammer," said Skarre.
"Yes. But not straightaway."
Sejer pushed the papers aside and stood up. He leaned against the filing cabinet, tapping his fingers against the green metal.
"There are indications that he lay there for a while. All alone on the floor. With a broken neck."
"Define 'a while'."
"Several days. He disappeared on September 1, right? One of the wounds on his head, probably caused by his fall, was different from the rest. It wasn't deep enough to have caused a coma, maybe just occasional loss of consciousness. And it was severely infected. That kind of thing takes time. In addition, he had bedsores, on his back and elsewhere. And there was a blanket covering him. And a heater nearby. She was holding him prisoner. He must have taken in nourishment in some way, at least water. She gave him water," he concluded, sounding amazed.
"The baby bottle," Skarre said.
"What are you talking about?"
"She gave him water in a baby bottle. I stood behind her in a queue at the supermarket and she left it behind. It surprised me that she was buying such a thing. What do you think Andreas was doing there?"
