Death By Water

by Damhaug, Torkil

  She tried to recall what it was she had thought of saying to him. He distracted her the whole time, and she couldn’t seem to stop him.

  – Can you live in such a way that death will be something to relish? he asked her. – Prepare yourself to turn it into your life’s climax? Imagine you’re having sex and achieve orgasm at the precise moment of your dying, disappearing in a movement that never ends. That is what my last programme will be about. But not in the way people might expect. You must never do what they expect, always be a nose in front.

  He took a last drag from his pipe and put it back in the ashtray.

  – How do you imagine you will die, Liss?

  She couldn’t bring herself to answer.

  – Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about it. I can see by looking at you that you’re preoccupied with death.

  Should she share her innermost thoughts with this semi-naked and wholly uninhibited priest? Tell him about the marsh by Morr Water. It would be like taking him out there, like having him there beside her when she lay down and looked up between the trees as the blanket of snow spread itself across her. She pulled herself together, but again he was there before her.

  – There’s something about you, Liss. You’re from another place. You make me think of an angel of death. Do you know the effect you have on other people?

  She sat up straighter. His eyes were growing distant now, as though he was looking deep inside himself.

  – What did you talk to Mailin about?

  Berger put his head back. The dressing gown slid to one side, and it occurred to Liss that he was about to expose himself to her.

  – We spoke always of passion. She was interested in it. Passionately so.

  – The passion of the adult, Liss corrected him. – In his encounter with the child.

  – That too. Your sister was of the opinion that the recipe for a good life lies in in controlling the passions.

  – While you believe they should be liberated.

  He gave a hollow laugh. – Not liberated. Liberate yourself on them. Let them withdraw all the power from you. Would you really exchange fifty years of boredom for the intense pleasures of a year, or a minute?

  – You sound like an evangelist.

  – You’re right, I’m more of a priest now than I ever was when I stood at the altar and delivered sermons from the Bible. I proselytise because I enjoy the staring and the contempt, but also the curiosity, the desire to allow oneself to be tempted. Where does that desire come from, Liss? Why have you come back here again?

  – You asked me to come. I need to know what happened that evening Mailin went missing.

  He picked up a remote control, turned off the music. – Did I tell you last time that I knew your father?

  She sat there open mouthed.

  – It was in the seventies, long before you were even thought of. We hung out with the same crowd. I was a lapsed priest; he was an artist with more ambition than talent.

  He seemed to be thinking about something before he added: – I suspect that was Mailin’s real reason for coming here. And why she said yes to the chance to appear on Taboo. She wanted to know what I could tell her about this father of yours who left you.

  – I don’t believe you.

  Berger shrugged. – You can believe whatever you like.

  – When … was the last time you saw him?

  – Mailin asked me the same question, Berger sighed. – I met him in Amsterdam about ten or twelve years ago. It was when he had an exhibition there.

  The pipe had gone out; he picked it up anyway and puffed away on it. It emitted a gurgling sound.

  – I’m sure he thought he would make his name in the international art market. But he wasn’t intended for great things. Deep down inside he knew that himself.

  She sat stiffly on the edge of her chair, unable to take her eyes off him.

  – But then he rang me not too long ago. He’d heard that Mailin was going to appear on Taboo. I think he’s kept track of you two all along, from somewhere out there.

  – You’re making stories up to get me interested, she yelled at him. – That’s what you did to Mailin, too. Enticed her here.

  He sat up, leaned across the table towards her.

  – You still believe that I am the one responsible for her death?

  She couldn’t say anything.

  – You think I met her at the office, drugged her, carried her out to the car, locked her in the boot and drove her out to a disused factory. Undressed her and played with her until I got bored, killed her and then left.

  – Stop it!

  A spasm jerked across his face. – Why should I stop when this is what you came here to hear?

  She stood up, suddenly unsteady. – I don’t know why I came here.

  He stood up too, rounded the table. Towering in front of her. She was forced to inhale the smell of his naked body, the male sweat, the unwashed hair, all kinds of bodily fluids, and the whiff of his guts from his mouth as he bent down towards her. Then something happened to his eyes, the gaze widened, and he began to shake. Suddenly he grabbed her by the shoulders, pulled her close to him, held her tightly.

  – I know what happened, Liss, he muttered, his voice thick. – I liked her, I told you. She didn’t deserve to die like that.

  He squeezed harder. Liss feels the soft swell of the pot belly and the large sex hanging down below it. She knows what’s going to happen next. The light is sucked away and burns itself into everything around her, opens up a room in which she can hide away. And just then the doorbell rang. The grip was relaxed, she pulled herself free, grabbed her jacket, ran out into the corridor, struggled with the lock.

  There was no one outside. She slammed the door shut behind her, raced down the stairs and out into the street. Not until she reached Kirke Way did she stop running. She turned, but knew he would not follow her.

  Her phone rang. She saw the name on the display. Still she took the call.

  – What’s the matter? asked Jomar Vindheim.

  She muttered a few disjointed words, something about Berger.

  – I’ll pick you up, he insisted. – I’m in the neighbourhood.

  She protested but was relieved when he ignored her.

  26

  – YOU NEED A cup of coffee, he said as she sat beside him in the car a few minutes later.

  Coffee was the last thing she needed. She wanted to ask him to drive her to the flat in Lang Street so she could get into her room and be alone. – I can’t face the thought of a coffee bar, she said.

  – Then I’ve got a better suggestion, he claimed. – After all, you’ve been to my place before. You know you’ll get out of there with your life and your honour intact. Even your senses.

  – Senses? she exclaimed, not sure where he was going with this.

  – What were you doing at Berger’s? he said to change the subject as he accelerated through the junction at Majorstua. – Your sister?

  She didn’t answer. He passed through another junction, this time on amber, before saying: – You think Berger has something to do with it?

  – I don’t know, Jomar.

  A weird name, she thought, it sounded strange when she said it. She decided to trust him, described what had happened at Berger’s flat, but avoided mentioning anything about Berger’s claiming to know her father.

  – Did he threaten you? Christ, Liss, you should make a formal complaint.

  She could still feel those fists squeezing her into that enormous, soft body … It never did any good reporting something like that. But what he said as he was holding her, that was something the police ought to know about. I know what happened. Ring Jennifer, she thought.

  – I don’t think he meant to make a threat. There was something or other he wanted to tell me. Weak of me to chicken out.

  – Is it chickening out to get out of the way of a guy as unstable as that? Jomar smacked his lips. – Not such a brilliant idea to go there in the first place. Next time I’
ll come with you.

  She tried to summon a smile. – Probably smart. Rumour has it that he’s very partial to young lads, especially really good-looking ones …

  She broke off, noticed that he was looking at her.

  His flat seemed brighter than the last time she was there. And tidy, considering it belonged to a young man with a lot of time and money on his hands. Or maybe he had a housekeeper. A door in the hallway was ajar, and through it she caught a glimpse of a tall bedhead with wrought-iron ornamentation, and a punch ball hanging from the ceiling. The furniture in the living room certainly wasn’t from IKEA. The sofa and the chairs looked like Jasper Morrison, but she avoided asking Jomar Vindheim if he was interested in interior design. Along one wall were shelves containing CDs and DVDs. She waited until he disappeared out into the kitchen to make coffee before looking at his collection. Rap mostly, and that was closer to the sort of impression she had of him. Action films and PlayStation games. The Da Vinci Code and a few other books. She took one of these down, Atonement, which she had read herself. Was standing with it in her hands when he came back in.

  – You read this kind of thing? she blurted out, aware as she said it that it sounded decidedly patronising.

  – Shocked? He handed her a cup of coffee.

  – Didn’t think most footballers could read, she said, trying to smooth things over with a more obvious irony.

  He opened the curtains. The flat was on the ninth floor, and the Oslo sky hung outside the window like a crude grey canvas.

  – A girl I met gave it to me, he confessed as he slipped down on to the sofa. – She insisted that I read it.

  – I see, Liss responded, picturing a little football groupie who tried to attract his attention with the aid of someone else’s talent. – And did you?

  – Yep. Good stuff. Especially that you never really know if they survived the war or not. In the film, it was much too obvious.

  She raised her eyebrows, exaggerating her own surprise. – So you like that kind of open ending?

  – Worked well there anyway, he replied, ignoring her sarcastic tone. – The girl I got it from is actually a friend of yours.

  It dawned on Liss that this friend had to be Therese, who had called her a bitch.

  – Can I smoke, or do you want me to walk down the nine floors?

  She could have managed to wait, asked mostly as a provocation, because suddenly she felt irritated. Not with him, if the truth be known, but he was there, he’d invited her back to his place, he kept popping up all over the place, sent her messages and didn’t give up even though she had made it clear she wasn’t interested.

  – Sure, he said, got up and fetched a bowl. – Use this as an ashtray.

  It was white with a drawing of a little Asian girl on it; her eyes were suggested by two lines, and she was holding up a poppy.

  – Anyway, I have a balcony.

  He opened the door and accompanied her out into the chilly afternoon, even went back and fetched a jacket for her. She recognised it and had to smile.

  – What I liked best about that book, he said after he’d lit her cigarette for her, – is that it reminded me of my grandfather.

  – Oh yeah. Was he falsely accused of rape and ended up a war hero? Suddenly she remembered something. – You met Mailin.

  For a few seconds his face grew a shade darker. – That’s right in a way. Briefly.

  – Why didn’t you mention it?

  He shrugged. – Haven’t really had the chance to have a proper talk with you. Not yet.

  She ignored the invitation. – Where did you meet her?

  – At the sports school. She ran a course there, about abuse in the world of athletics. It was a couple of years ago. I talked to her afterwards. I liked her.

  His response did nothing to quell her irritation. She finished her cigarette and squashed it out against the head of the Chinese girl.

  – Your sister was well liked by everybody. It’s just too fucking awful. If there’s anything I can do, Liss …

  Stop talking about it, she thought, but didn’t say it. Stop following me around, she thought, but she didn’t say that either.

  Back in the living room, she sank down into the sofa. It was so comfortable to sit in. She didn’t want to leave yet, but she couldn’t stay.

  Jomar said: – I hope Jimbo’s stopped bothering you.

  She blew out her breath with a low whistling sound. – I’m not scared of him. If he was going to do anything to me, he would have done it in the park that night.

  He didn’t move his gaze when she looked over at him.

  – I think you ought to learn how to look after yourself a bit better, Liss.

  27

  THE TIME WAS 6.42 when Viken called. Roar Horvath picked up the remote and muted the sound on the TV.

  – A body was found in the fjord by Aker Brygge this morning, said the detective chief inspector with no preamble.

  – Saw that on the net, Roar replied. – Relevant for us?

  – Jim Harris. Skewered through the throat with a sharp object. Probably a screwdriver. The carotid artery completely severed. Dead before he was dumped in the water.

  Roar was on his feet, standing in the middle of the room. – When?

  – Last night. Masses of blood on the quayside, right next to Tjuvholmen. Must have happened there.

  – Witnesses?

  – Four or five seagulls. None of them willing to say anything.

  Roar glanced at the TV screen, a repeat of a La Liga match. – The guy had a drug debt.

  – This isn’t drug related, Viken asserted, and Roar too had immediately seen that it didn’t fit the pattern.

  The detective chief inspector’s voice took on an unpleasant undertone as he continued: – Plåterud has been kind enough to let us have a résumé each time she’s had a conversation with Liss Bjerke. It’s time we resumed control of the interviewing of central witnesses. What’s your opinion?

  – Oh absolutely, Roar coughed. Jennifer had called him not more than half an hour ago, she was coming out to see him later that evening. – It isn’t Plåterud’s job to carry out interviews, he agreed, and cleared his throat again. – I’ll get in touch with her.

  – Get in touch with who?

  – Liss Bjerke.

  – I’ve done that ages ago. Have you checked her out against the PNC database?

  – No, Roar had to confess. Liss Bjerke had been in Amsterdam when her sister went missing, and it was hard to see how she could be involved. All the same, he should have checked her against the list of offenders. It was a question of the reliability of an important witness.

  – I thought not, Viken observed. – The girl has eight cases outstanding against her.

  – Christ.

  – Assaulting the police in the course of illegal demonstrations. Hauled in a number of times.

  Roar thought about it and swallowed. – Then we’ve got a very good excuse for bringing her in.

  Viken said: – We’ll keep it in reserve in case we need it. It looks as though I’m going to be able to get her to come in more or less voluntarily. She demands to speak to a female investigator.

  – Are we going to let ourselves be dictated to by a stroppy girl?

  Viken snorted at the other end. – This is all about one thing.

  – Of course, Roar noted. – Results.

  He turned off the TV and made his way out into the hallway, took his shoes out of the box room.

  – I’ve got your memo about Pål Øvreby here in front of me, Viken continued.

  Roar had done a thorough job on it. The day after he had interviewed the psychologist who shared the waiting room with Mailin Bjerke, he had called back and asked a series of control questions. The guy insisted that he had not seen hide nor hair of Mailin on Thursday 11 December. On one point, however, he did change his statement. On thinking about it, he recalled that he had stopped as he passed her car parked on Welhavens Street. He bent down to see if Mailin was inside,
apparently because there was something he wanted to ask her. What it was he had long since forgotten. Roar had wanted to know if there was a parking ticket in the window, but the psychologist was unable to help him there.

  – Any new information? he asked now.

  – I received a letter this afternoon, the detective chief inspector grunted. – I’ve put a copy on your desk. You’d better take a look at it next time you’re down here.

  – Is it about Øvreby?

  – You might say that. A tip-off that the guy is involved big-time in a social security scam. Anonymous sender.

  Roar got his other shoe on.

  – Apparently something that’s been going on a long time, Viken added. – The letter concludes as follows: Mailin Bjerke knew what was taking place in the office next door.

  28

  Thursday 8 January

  RoAR SWUNG INTO the Oslo police station garage at 7.15. As he turned off the engine, his phone rang.

  – Awake already? said Jennifer, obviously trying to sound surprised. – And here’s me ringing to wake you up.

  – Been up for hours, he shot back at her. – Showered, eaten, done some work. Even though I had female company until well past midnight. Just couldn’t get her to leave.

  – Oh that’s too bad. And she probably forgot to pull the blanket over you before she left.

  He could see her smiling, the face breaking up into tiny wrinkles.

  – By the way, I’ve just been talking to Viken, she said. – I told him about a test finding that’s come in that might interest you too.

  She always sounded like a proud little girl when she had something important to relate.

  – Are you calling to tease me, or are you actually going to tell me what it is?