The Island

by Ben McPherson

  We took the train into town, saying nothing, each lost in our own thoughts. We stood for a while in front of the town hall, watched the cranes as they hoisted girders into place on the facade. Still we said nothing.

  We headed into the East End of Oslo. People thronged the street, speaking languages we did not understand. There was dirt here, and colour, and life, and noise. Kids on snakeboards glided through gaps in the crowds, bumped fists with friends as they passed. White boys with face tattoos and plaited Nordic beards sank beer from cans. Laughing women passed by in niqabs. Lesbian couples held hands or made out in the doorways of bars. There was an edge on these streets, something intoxicating and new.

  Elsa put her arm around me. She rested her head on my shoulder and we stood stock still, let the people flow around us, watched them as they surged and ebbed.

  ‘Why did we never choose this, Cal?’

  ‘We’re choosing it now.’

  ‘We chose the part of town that’s the very opposite of this,’ she said. ‘And we wondered why our daughters weren’t happy.’

  ‘It was for six months.’

  ‘That’s what we told ourselves. But we never chose this life anywhere we lived. We’re not even forty. How did we become this old white married couple?’

  ‘Tonight we chose this.’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘No, tonight we chose a cocktail bar that has a barbershop on the second floor. They take thirty bucks for a peach Bellini. I don’t know what that is, but it’s not this.’

  I looked around me, at the ebb and surge of the crowd. ‘All right,’ I said. I led her to a bench table outside a dirty bar that opened on to the street. ‘Turn your phone back on. Tell your friends they’re meeting us here.’

  ‘Hedda won’t like it.’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘She won’t.’

  She put her handbag on the table. She rummaged.

  ‘That bag,’ I said. ‘Not really you.’

  ‘And what do you know? No cigarettes.’

  ‘I’m trying to start a fight, Elsa.’

  ‘OK.’ She leaned her head to the left, then to the right. ‘OK, fuck you. I like the bag. And I like Hedda. Even if she doesn’t like you.’

  ‘I knew it,’ I said. ‘I fucking knew it.’

  ‘Sorry,’ she said. But if this was the beginning of something more honest I could take these little shards of pain.

  We sat watching the people as they passed, our fingers entwined, saying very little. I kissed Elsa’s neck; it was good to feel her skin beneath my lips: so familiar, so ordinary, so alive.

  ‘Do you and Bror ever talk about me?’ she said.

  ‘I kind of assumed you wouldn’t want me to,’ I said. ‘Though I think he’d like me to.’

  ‘What if I were to tell you a truly monstrous secret?’ she said, her gaze level and easy.

  ‘What if I already know your monstrous secret?’ I said.

  ‘You can’t,’ she said. ‘You don’t know the first thing.’ Her wolf eyes, all flecked with gold.

  ‘What if I knew more than you think?’

  ‘Not possible.’

  ‘Elsa,’ I said, ‘what have you done?’

  She looked me in the left eye, then the right. She looked away.

  ‘OK,’ she said. ‘Here goes …’

  ‘Cal. Over here. Happy fucking anniversary, mate.’

  And so the moment passed, and we were on our feet and embracing our friends. And still I didn’t know if Elsa was joking, or if she was about to tell me about the Glock.

  ‘Great piece,’ said Jo, his arm across my shoulders.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Edvard.

  I stepped forwards to hug Jo, felt his stubble raking mine.

  ‘How are things?’ I whispered.

  ‘About the same.’

  But from his smile you would have thought nothing was wrong. ‘You really shook them up, Cal,’ he said, turning to Edvard. ‘Didn’t he?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Edvard stepped forwards, hugged me with surprising warmth. ‘Yeah, management’s freaking out.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said.

  ‘No,’ said Edvard. ‘They should freak out. Happy Wedding Anniversary, by the way.’

  Elsa embraced him warmly and said something that made him laugh, and she turned towards me and smiled.

  Only Hedda was hanging back. Elsa’s oldest friend, clutching defensively at the hem of her dress. She was made up for the cocktail bar, not for the street, in her too-short black dress and her too-high red shoes. She looked exposed, shrinking in the summer light.

  ‘Hedda,’ I said. ‘Sorry about the change. You look beautiful.’

  And when Hedda leaned in and hugged me there was no hostility between us, no sense of putting on a show.

  ‘Beer,’ said Jo. ‘The boyfriend’s buying.’

  ‘Really?’ said Edvard. ‘Am I really?’

  ‘Handsome does as handsome gets told,’ said Jo.

  Edvard looked from face to face, gave a what-can-you-do smile, and went inside.

  ‘Seriously,’ said Jo as we sat down opposite each other, ‘seriously, Ed can’t tell you this, but he’s fucking delighted that someone said what you said about Tvist.’

  ‘I was worried,’ I said.

  ‘Oh please.’ Jo laughed. ‘The police here are way too reasonable to harass you. And look …’

  He passed me his phone. A newspaper front page. They had used a studio picture we had taken last spring: Elsa, Vee, Franklin on my shoulders and at the front, looking straight down the barrel of the lens, Licia. In stark red text were the words:

  Korrupsjon eller inkompetanse?

  Elsa was laughing. ‘They put us on the front page of Posten?’

  I said, ‘Does that mean what I think …?’

  ‘Corruption or incompetence,’ Jo translated. ‘Three major police errors that cost us our daughter. You really are taking the fight to the police, Cal. You didn’t know they were doing this?’

  The crazy euphoria of the moment. I handed the phone to Elsa. She stared at it, eyes shining.

  Then Edvard was there in front of us.

  ‘I thought I sent you to get beer,’ said Jo. ‘Go get these people some beer.’

  But Edvard simply stood there.

  ‘What is it, kjære?’ said Jo. ‘Ed?’

  ‘I’ve been suspended.’

  And as we were staring at Edvard in disbelief, and as Jo was reaching out to comfort him, the phone in Elsa’s hand began to ring.

  ‘It’s Tvist,’ she said. She passed me the phone.

  I pressed answer. I raised the phone to my ear. I heard Tvist’s voice say, ‘You and your wife will meet me at Headquarters.’

  36

  A modest corporate space at the end of the main office. Two blue plastic chairs waiting in front of the large white desk. We sat down, holding hands.

  ‘Keep the faith,’ whispered Elsa.

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Keep the faith.’

  Tvist approaching from the far end of the office.

  ‘No interrogation room?’ I said as he reached us.

  ‘The prosecutors have asked for the helicopter footage to be admitted into evidence. The Andersens have offered no objection. Well done.’

  We had expected anger, but Tvist looked tired. The past year had aged him. His shoulders curved forwards; patches of puckered flesh gathered beneath his lower eyelids.

  He opened a drawer, placed a typed sheet on the desk. A transcript of my broadcast. Then he reached across and switched on the recorder.

  ‘Perhaps you wish to formalize your very serious accusations.’

  That strange solemnity as he looked from me to Elsa; that sense that he expected us to fill the silence.

  ‘Edvard is not my source,’ I said.

  ‘Edvard … is not the reason you are here.’

  We said nothing. Tvist sat, drumming his fingers. Eventually he said, ‘I’m compelled to ask you how you came by your footage.’

  I looked at Elsa. She gave a tiny sh
ake of the head.

  I turned to Tvist. ‘No.’

  ‘I ask because maybe the person who murdered Pavel Lisowski was interested in this material.’

  ‘Or maybe that person knows Pavel gave you the footage,’ said Elsa.

  Tvist turned towards her. ‘A revenge killing? Interesting thought …’ He gave a sharp, fleeting smile. ‘There are some dangerous people in our safe little country. It is my job to protect your family from those people. Agreed?’

  That smile again.

  Elsa glanced at me. Was he threatening us? It sounded nothing like a threat. I wondered how protective he would feel when he saw the front page of Posten.

  ‘All respect, but this is not a difference of opinion.’ Elsa’s voice, her fury barely contained.

  ‘No?’

  ‘Your tactical unit’s boat sank; your armed officers hid in their car. These are hard truths, not opinions.’

  ‘Well, we could argue for hours about the difference between a fact and a truth and an opinion. But by making his “truths” public, your husband has done the very thing that he is accusing my officers of.’ He turned to me. ‘When you put your needs before the needs of the nation you make my job difficult. There can be reasons why we do not wish your facts to emerge.’

  ‘And then,’ said Elsa, ‘you will smile and tell him that he’s welcome here, and that in time he will learn how things work, and that for the sake of the country he should keep his foreign mouth shut, because his story could have consequences that he does not fully understand.’

  Tvist laughed. ‘Your husband is clearly not the only satirist in the family.’

  Elsa scowled.

  Tvist turned to me. ‘There is one unsettling consequence to your posting the material. The video has travelled widely. Been widely seen. A viral hit.’

  Another pause.

  Tvist pressed his fingertips against his forehead. ‘Cal, Elsa …’ He turned to us each in turn. He seemed genuinely to be struggling to find the words. ‘… we have for a long time assumed that your daughter was on the island. That Licia was the girl in the blue dress.’

  It struck me that perhaps for once he was not manipulating us; that there was a reason for his solemnity.

  ‘As a result of the video you posted, another father has contacted us, claiming that it is his daughter in the film.’

  ‘It’s Licia,’ I said. ‘Elsa spoke to her.’

  ‘Before she arrived at the island,’ said Tvist.

  ‘We had texts,’ said Elsa.

  ‘From a phone that was not on the island. It isn’t Licia in the footage.’

  The impact of those words: so gentle at first, yet so firm, like an arm clamping around my neck. We had spent a year believing …

  ‘This man is a Chechen. He lives in London. He had no idea that his older daughter was in Norway, let alone that she was on the island. You will see she looked a little like Licia.’ He opened a drawer, slid a picture across the surface of the desk. Elsa and I looked at each other. I picked it up.

  ‘This girl was not known to us,’ said Tvist. ‘No records. Perhaps she came looking for a better life.’

  The picture had been taken in winter. Blond hair, plaited, worn under a fur hat that covered her ears. Red cheeks, a warm smile. A beautiful child, but not our child.

  ‘From a distance one might indeed think this girl was your daughter. She was also fifteen.’

  Elsa took the picture from my hand. ‘Is this the girl whose body we were shown?’

  ‘We have no record of that.’

  She laughed, a bitter, angry sound in that neutral white room.

  ‘Mistakes were made on that day. However …’ Tvist pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘This girl’s name is Maria Krikk. My best guess is that Maria travelled unaccompanied, without papers. Disappeared from the radar. There are many such children seeking sanctuary here. Her father and sister have not seen her for eighteen months.’

  ‘She has a sister?’

  ‘A year younger than your Viktoria.’

  ‘If she was living here illegally,’ I said, ‘why go to Garden Island?’

  ‘Maybe she was an idealist? A feminist? Who knows?’

  ‘Makes no sense.’

  ‘To this day we have no concrete evidence that your daughter was ever on the island.’

  ‘There’s her dress,’ said Elsa. ‘Which you failed to find.’

  ‘You are right to point out our mistake.’ He looked up, addressed himself to me. ‘We have searched the island extensively since then. The dress does not make your case. No further evidence has emerged.’

  ‘Just like you found no evidence of an organization,’ said Elsa.

  ‘Listen please to what I’m saying to you. Maria Krikk is a better fit than Licia Curtis.’

  Desperation in Elsa’s eyes. ‘Search again. Please.’

  That same patient smile. ‘There is nothing more.’

  I said, ‘You have the print from Licia’s shoe on the police boat.’

  ‘A similar shoe. Yes. But we have no such prints on the grass, or on the path, or in any of the other places you might expect.’

  ‘It was dry,’ I said.

  ‘Precisely. Doesn’t mean she wasn’t there, but we can’t say that she was. Look …’ He leaned across his desk. ‘What I am about to say violates another family’s right to privacy. I need an undertaking that you will not publish what I am about to tell you, nor indeed will you discuss it outside this room. Either of you. Do you understand me?’

  Elsa nodded. I nodded.

  ‘All right. You have a right to know this, I think. Maria is unusual amongst the victims in that she was struck by three bullets. Her body was found in the water near the boat dock on the island. The first of those bullet holes matches the hole in the shoulder of her dress. From the first bullet fired, before she escaped from the main house and ran. We believe she removed the dress before she entered the water. As you know, we could find no trace of anything that could be said with certainty to be Licia’s DNA.’

  I looked across at Elsa. A thought began to grow in me. The most exciting, dangerous thought, only Elsa had not seen it yet.

  I said, ‘You found this other girl’s DNA?’

  ‘I cannot speak to you about procedure that does not relate to your case. But I may tell you that Maria is our best fit and you may read what you will between the lines …’ He let his voice tail off, watching us to make sure we understood.

  ‘This is wrong,’ Elsa was saying. ‘You’re giving up on Licia.’

  ‘Love, I don’t think that’s what he’s saying.’ Hope was coursing through me. ‘Elsa, if Licia wasn’t on the island …’

  ‘We can’t, Cal,’ she said. ‘We can’t let ourselves believe that she’s alive. Because every time that hope turns to nothing.’

  ‘But if she really wasn’t there …’

  We locked eyes. I could see that the thought terrified her.

  I said, ‘Breathe, love.’

  ‘We had an independent witness confirm Maria’s identity,’ Tvist was saying.

  Elsa’s eyes were locked on to mine. ‘Who?’

  Tvist exhaled heavily. ‘Understand that I’m obliged to protect that witness’s identity.’

  Elsa turned. She was staring very intently at Tvist.

  ‘Why?’ she said. ‘Why are you obliged?’

  ‘Please understand what I’m saying to you.’

  ‘Oh. You mean it’s a child,’ said Elsa quietly. She gave a little half-laugh. She turned from Tvist to me. ‘He means Arno. That Arno confirmed her identity.’

  ‘Did he?’ I turned to Tvist.

  That warm sympathetic smile. ‘You must respect my procedures, but again you may read between the lines.’

  Elsa couldn’t quite let it go. ‘How would a person who doesn’t speak confirm or deny anything?’

  ‘By pointing and by nodding,’ said Tvist very simply. ‘Cal, Elsa, I know this doesn’t bring your daughter back,’ he said. ‘But it’s somet
hing to hold on to, no?’

  Elsa, though, was in shock.

  We sat on a bench on the dirty path that led down from the police station. The air was thick with barbecue smoke.

  ‘Jesus fuck, Cal.’

  ‘But this could be good, love. This could be really good.’

  ‘We’ve spent a year believing she was a hero. When all the time it was Maria who saved Arno.’

  ‘I know. But if she’s alive, Elsa …’ I was struggling to contain my elation. ‘If she’s alive then we don’t need Licia to be a hero. We just need to find her and bring her home. And we need to tell Vee.’

  ‘Please don’t.’

  ‘She has a right to know.’

  ‘Know what? That her sister is not a hero? That we have no idea where she is?’

  ‘Elsa,’ I said, ‘can’t we please find the good in what Tvist just told us? Because what he’s telling us is that she could be alive.’

  ‘Cal,’ she said, ‘the police have had a year to find her. And they’re nowhere. We’re nowhere. We’re all starting from scratch.’

  Vee was awake when we got home. She accepted the news about Licia, asked us very few questions. I made martinis. Vee sat with us on the dirty grey planter at the back of the apartment as Elsa scrolled through Twitter and I looked out over the hills in silence.

  ‘Are we ever going to go home, Dad?’ Vee said at last. I turned. The set of her jaw was heartbreakingly adult. ‘Or did this place just kind of become our home?’

  ‘I don’t know, Vee.’

  ‘Rhetorical question.’ She got to her feet, stood looking at me.

  ‘What, love?’

  ‘I was so sure it was her in the helicopter footage.’

  ‘Everyone was.’

  ‘People need to see it, right?’

  ‘They do.’

  ‘Night, Dad. Mum.’ She leaned across and kissed me, nodded a goodnight to Elsa. ‘Don’t stay up late, Mum,’ she said as she headed for bed.

  Elsa watched Vee go. When we heard the tap running in the bathroom she said, ‘I keep trying to find reasons not to go back to the courtroom tomorrow. For Vee’s sake, I know we have to. But the truth is we’ve spent a year fighting the wrong battles. Making enemies of the wrong people. Did you see what you get when you drop Tvist’s name into Google these days?’