She sounded impatient, but he noticed her footsteps had grown quiet again. ‘Are there any seals near where you live?’ he asked her.
‘Yes, but when I go hunting I’ll take a boat, so I can get away for a bit.’
Matthew’s eyebrows shot up. ‘You have a boat?’
‘Tell me, just how thick are you?’
‘But you just said—’
‘I’ll borrow one and then I’ll return it. You’re really not from around here, are you.’
‘I’ve been here two months.’
‘Time to get you blooded.’
‘Blooded? What do you mean?’ Matthew nearly tripped, but managed to keep up with her.
‘I’ll take you hunting later—see if it makes you run home to Denmark.’
By now they had reached the police station.
‘Is this where you’re going as well?’ she asked him.
He shook his head. ‘No, I…I don’t know what I’m doing.’
She nodded towards the door. ‘Come with me, then. Can’t do any harm, given how nice and Danish you look.’
Five minutes later they were standing in front of the counter. The petite woman on the other side had called an officer to deal with the matter.
‘We can’t release your weapons,’ the officer said, nodding at the computer monitor, which was facing away from them. ‘The case hasn’t been closed, and there’s a note here saying that your items can’t be returned.’
‘Like I’ve just explained to you,’ Tupaarnaq said, ‘there was no case, so—’
‘That’s no use to me,’ he said. ‘We’re talking about weapons that haven’t been signed off for release.’
Tupaarnaq took out some papers, which she placed on the counter. ‘Here are my receipts for the rifle and the ulo…And here you have my proof of residence and my tenancy agreement.’
He looked at her quizzically.
‘Were my rifle or my ulo used in the commission of a crime?’
The officer stared stiffly at the screen.
‘I’m happy to help you,’ Tupaarnaq said. ‘They weren’t, nor were they illegally in my possession.’
‘You were just arrested for murder,’ he mumbled.
‘Unlawfully,’ Tupaarnaq said calmly. ‘I was released the same day because the charge didn’t stand up. It didn’t. And you know it.’
The officer sighed. ‘Your property, however, was listed as potential evidence, and it’ll take time to get it released.’
‘Not in Nuuk, surely?’ Matthew heard the anger in her voice now, but she kept her cool. ‘Now, listen to me. I’m not an idiot, though you may think I am. My rifle is just around the back, and you know that not a single shot has been fired from it, or you would never have released me so fast. So if you could just go out and get it for me, that would be great.’
‘Your rifle is in our possession.’
‘Why?’ She leaned her upper body across the counter.
He looked back at the screen. When they’d arrived, the reception area had hummed with quiet office life. Now it was silent.
‘Unless you can produce a valid reason for retaining my property, or you can show me, in writing, that the Weapons Act here in Greenland has been tightened within the last few minutes, then you must give me back my belongings. If you won’t, please provide me with details of your complaints procedure, together with a form to be completed when reporting a case of theft.’
‘But—’
‘No buts. Make your mind up. Those are your choices. I can always get hold of the forms myself, and then I’ll write to the authorities and the media in Denmark about how you are personally obstructing the rehabilitation of a recently released, traumatised young woman, who would like to return to her life as a hunter and fisherwoman after being locked up since she was fifteen years old. And of course I’ll mention the brutal arrest and police harassment based on nothing but misogyny and circumstantial evidence. So what’s it to be?’
26
Matthew held Tupaarnaq’s laptop while she swung her rifle over her shoulder. ‘There are few things on this earth I hate more than men,’ she said. ‘None, in fact.’ She took out her mobile and checked the time. ‘It’s too late to go hunting today.’
‘Today? You were going to go hunting today?’
She nodded and took her laptop from him. ‘Absolutely, but it’s too late now. Spending the night at sea would be stupid.’ She took a deep breath and nodded resolutely. ‘We’ll go early tomorrow morning.’
‘I—’
‘What?’ she said, glancing sideways at him. ‘You have something better to do?’
He shook his head hesitantly.
She sighed. ‘Listen, if I wanted you dead, I would have flayed you by now. You’re coming with me so that we can see what you’re made of. I can’t work with a wimp.’
Matthew frowned. ‘We’re working together?’
‘Yes. Your notebook, the murders and me being arrested—they’re all connected. Only I don’t know how yet.’
The thought of their paths merging was dizzying, and he felt something unravel inside him as they walked. ‘You were pretty impressive back at the police station.’
‘He had no idea what he was doing,’ she said. ‘This is Nuuk, not Copenhagen. If the police want to act within the law, they have no grounds on which to retain my property.’
‘You certainly sounded as if you knew what you were talking about.’
She stopped. They were on the path that went over the steep rocks in between the apartment blocks where she lived.
‘I was locked up for twelve years. While I was in prison, I sat my finals and then I read law. You could say that I had plenty of time to study.’
She started walking again. Matthew looked briefly at her back before following. ‘You’re a lawyer?’
‘Well, I’ve got the degree, but I don’t expect I’ll ever practise as a lawyer, with my background.’
The long, grey apartment blocks emerged from the rocks. Solid concrete. Rows of dark windows. Matthew followed Tupaarnaq up a weathered wooden staircase and into a shabby gallery that ran along the building’s ground floor.
‘I want to show you something,’ she said. ‘You can come with me up to my place, but you’ll have to wait outside the door. I don’t want anyone coming inside.’
Matthew followed her through first one heavy swing door and then another. Both were old and wonky, and it looked like it was a long time since either of them had shut properly. Behind the doors were concrete stairs that led up to the first floor. Matthew tried in vain to close the second door before he followed Tupaarnaq up the steps. There had to be a massive draught in the winter once the storms and the frost got hold of the headland—especially in this block, which bordered the dark deep of the North Atlantic. The walls around them were covered with simple graffiti. Names. Years. Profanities. There was a skull with the caption: xixx—u wil di in 12 day—c u in hel.
Matthew and Tupaarnaq went out through the door to the first-floor gallery and upstairs to the second floor. This door was even more damaged than the ones downstairs. Its plastic window had been torched, and had shrivelled into long, brown, melted scars.
‘This is it.’
She stopped in front of a white door to the right of the stairs. Above the door someone had written in red spray paint: Abandon hope, all ye who enter here.
‘Wait here.’ Tupaarnaq looked at him sharply to make sure he had understood before she took out a key and let herself in. She gave him a last look from under her eyelids before disappearing into the apartment. All Matthew had time to see was a totally empty hall. Absolutely nothing but the floor and the walls had been waiting for the woman who had just entered.
He walked on as the door closed with a quiet click, and continued towards the external gallery. This heavy door wasn’t as damaged as the previous one, but it couldn’t be closed properly either. He pulled it open and looked across the rocks and the sea. He identified the spot where he had been reading Jakob
’s notebook earlier that day. The fingers of his right hand instinctively moved to his left collarbone, and he glanced back towards the closed door.
After a while Matthew returned to Tupaarnaq’s apartment. It was quiet behind her front door, not that he had expected anything else. He had no idea what it might be like inside. Or what it must have been like to be locked up at the age of fifteen and not let out for twelve years.
He jumped when the door opened. She looked at him, nodded and handed him a USB stick. ‘Take a look at this.’
‘What is it?’
‘Just some stuff. Remember, there are two sides to every story, always, and the truth is often found in the details of a lie.’
‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘I’ll have a look at it when I get home.’
‘Good. See you tomorrow. Be here at eight.’
Matthew steeled himself and nodded. ‘Okay. Eight o’clock it is. See you then.’
‘Put on some old clothes. Killing is messy.’
As soon as he got home, he inserted Tupaarnaq’s USB stick into his laptop. It contained several folders with files saved either as PDFs or JPEGs, and as he opened them he realised that they were all pictures of articles about the killing of her family in Tasiilaq in 2002.
Matthew read the files one after the other. There was no doubt that Tupaarnaq had been convicted even before the first news reports reached the public. The murders were brutal and the newspapers explicit in their coverage of the tragedy in the east Greenlandic village. A picture of two dead girls lying on a double bed was published in several papers. The blood from their bodies had soaked into the quilt and mattress. A woman was lying on the floor not far from them. The pictures of the father had all been taken when he was alive, but according to the papers he had been shot with his own gun and then cut up with an ulo. The newspaper Politiken wrote that it was the most gruesome murder ever on Greenland’s east coast—a tragedy in which the family’s oldest daughter had killed everyone except her younger brother, who hadn’t been at home that afternoon.
Matthew continued looking through the files. The intervals between the stories grew longer until the verdict came. Tupaarnaq had only ever admitted to killing her father, and had refused to speak about anything else throughout the entire trial. She was convicted of all four counts of manslaughter: guilty of killing her father, mother and two little sisters. Contrary to the advice of her legal counsel, she had not appealed the sentence.
Matthew picked up his mobile and checked the time. Then he found Leiff’s number and texted him. The girl who killed her family in Tasiilaq. Do you know anything about her younger brother who survived?
Once he had sent the message, he texted Malik as well. Have you heard from Lyberth?
Outside, the sun had set fire to the evening sky over Nuuk. The orange light from the flaming clouds cast a glow so strong that it looked as if the living room walls were burning.
He found his cigarettes and went out onto the balcony. His thoughts circled tentatively around the notebook, the landscape, Tupaarnaq, and the many loose ends, wondering how they were all connected. The cigarette smoke soothed him, allaying his unease.
He finished smoking and went back to the sofa, where he picked up his mobile. He had two messages. Leiff had written: No, but I will look into it, while Malik’s reply was more comprehensive. He hadn’t heard from Lyberth, but Ulrik had written to him saying that the police wanted the notebook back. Malik had replied that he didn’t know where it was, which had prompted Ulrik to call him and complain bitterly. Malik could tell that Ulrik was calling from home rather than the police station, because Lyberth’s daughter had said something in the background.
Just then a new message from Malik appeared at the top of the screen. Ulrik has spoken to Ottesen and knows that you got the notebook from him. Just so you know.
27
The sea was calm and reflected the scarred, round peaks of Mount Ukkusissat the next morning when Tupaarnaq and Matthew sailed out between the rocks in the small harbour by the public swimming pool. It hadn’t taken Tupaarnaq many minutes to pick a boat and get it started. On the way to the harbour she had told him that it was better to borrow one without a steering wheel, as such boats always required a key. She couldn’t be bothered to short-circuit one when all they needed for a quick trip was a low dinghy with an outboard motor and a tankful of petrol.
The boat slammed against the waves, and the wind swept across the open hull. Matthew shivered in his blue anorak and zipped it all the way up to his neck, while he looked enviously at Tupaarnaq’s thick woollen jumper and black boots. The forecast had promised sun all day and up to twenty degrees Celsius, but out at sea the conditions were different. The bouncing of the boat caused his half-empty stomach to lurch, and the wind whipping across the sea was so cold that it felt like frost against his skin.
At the bottom of the boat lay a long stick with an iron hook on one end. The dark stains on the hook bore witness to the animals who had bled before they were pulled out of the sea. Tupaarnaq’s rifle lay next to it, gun-metal grey with a wooden stock.
The boat listed to the right, and Matthew’s body moved in the opposite direction. He had no idea where they were going. Tall mountains grew out of the sea around them.
Tupaarnaq sat next to the motor, the tiller under her arm and behind her so she could look ahead and steer them between the arms of the fjord.
Matthew’s thoughts returned to the files on the USB stick, and he reviewed the information in his mind. Why hadn’t she appealed her sentence? Surely an innocent person would have appealed a conviction for murdering their own mother and little sisters?
Tupaarnaq knocked on the hull to get his attention, then pointed at the sea in front of the boat. He turned and saw a lump of ice the size of a truck pass close by. ‘They can be several hundred metres tall, if you go further up the coast.’ She was practically shouting to drown out the engine and the wind. ‘Above the water, I mean. Below the surface they can be one kilometre.’ She pulled the tiller and the boat made a soft arc around the lump of ice, which shone white and turquoise in the morning sun.
‘It’s the first time I’ve been this close to an iceberg,’ he shouted back. ‘It’s amazing.’
‘It’s not an iceberg, it’s a growler. Icebergs are bigger.’
‘But it’s still beautiful,’ Matthew whispered to himself. The growler had a long shelf right below the surface of the sea, and the water over it glowed turquoise and was so pure that he felt like jumping in.
The mountains continued everywhere. In some places they rose steeply. In other places there were long slopes covered with grass and shrivelled shrubs. They were going in the direction of Kobbe Fjord, in between Mount Ukkusissat and Mount Kingittorsuaq. Or Store Malene and Hjortetakken, as they were called in Danish.
Tupaarnaq switched off the engine, and once the boat settled on the sea, the icy wind mostly eased off.
Matthew started to relax. ‘Aren’t we going ashore?’ He looked briefly at her before turning his gaze to the plain at the foot of Mount Kingittorsuaq.
She shook her head. ‘No, we shoot seals out here. If you want to go reindeer hunting, you’ll have to wait. It can take days before we spot any.’
‘No, no…This is quite enough for me.’ He stretched his neck, which had grown stiff and sore from the wind and the bumping waves. ‘I was just wondering if we could go ashore and take a look at the landscape instead.’
‘There,’ she said, pointing across the sea. ‘And there!’
‘What are you looking at?’ he asked, his gaze scanning the waves in vain.
‘The small black dots on the sea. Can’t you see them? They’re seals. There are lots of them.’
She leaned forward and picked up the rifle with one hand. The other slipped into her pocket and reappeared with a small black magazine filled with cartridges.
‘I can’t see anything.’ He narrowed his eyes and continued his search.
‘They pop up and then they disappear a
gain,’ she explained and raised her rifle to her cheek. ‘They come up for air.’
The slim rifle seemed a part of her. As if she was born to have this long weapon close to her body. The butt was pressed against the thick jumper covering her shoulder, and her left hand merged with the wood and metal in a firm grip. She lowered the weapon and smiled contentedly. ‘Plenty of seals.’ Then she cocked the rifle. The bolt clicked in place, with a cartridge in the chamber.
She raised the rifle to her face again and wedged it against her shoulder, while she pressed her cheek against the glossy wood of the butt and closed her left eye. Her right eye stared into the telescopic sight.
He heard how her breathing slowed and became heavier. He couldn’t see any of her tattoos. Not a single leaf or a flower. No skulls baring their teeth. No deep shadows. There was only her face and shaved head. The freckles around her nose.
Suddenly a shot rang out. Her body was rigid. Frozen in the shot. She continued to stare into the solitary eye of the telescopic sight, then she put down the rifle and grabbed the tiller. The engine awakened from its slumber with a roar and the boat began leaping across the sea, wave after wave, until she released the tiller and let the boat coast until it came to a standstill.
‘There,’ she said, pointing diagonally to her left. She nudged the tiller slightly with one knee, so they were heading straight towards the animal in the water. It wasn’t dead, but it was struggling. Its head and eyes were above the water, while its body lay just below. It tried to swim but its body refused; the water along the left side of the animal was red from blood.
Matthew looked up at Tupaarnaq. ‘Aren’t you meant to kill it outright?’
‘Hang on.’
She turned and switched off the engine, before straightening up and pushing the boathook towards him with her boot. ‘You jab the hook into its neck once I’ve shot it a second time.’
‘Eh? But…it’s—’
She looked at him. ‘Are you going to help me or what?’
The Girl without Skin Page 10
