The Girl without Skin

by Mads Peder Nordbo

  ‘When are you meeting him?’

  ‘Friday night. Do you have your gun?’

  She nodded. ‘My stuff is across the road. In the blue building.’

  ‘The small block scheduled for demolition?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve picked the lock of one of them. We can sleep there, if your place becomes too dangerous.’

  57

  The sound of running water from the bathroom was reassuring. Somewhere in the middle of it, Tupaarnaq was standing behind a wilderness of tattoos that seemed to move under the spray of steaming water and the purifying razor.

  Matthew took out his own laptop and turned it on. From the sofa he could see the top of the building Tupaarnaq had broken into. He closed his eyes for a few minutes to organise his thoughts, and then began writing his story, basing it on Jakob’s notebook and the information he had gathered from Leiff, Ivalo and Paneeraq.

  The words came quickly, and it took him just over an hour to finish the piece. Meanwhile, Tupaarnaq had emerged from the bathroom and sat down with her own laptop at the opposite end of the sofa.

  He included everything. The abuse at the orphanage in Tasiilaq and in Nuuk. The brutal murders. The medical experimentation. The Danish doctor. The murder of the police officer investigating the case. The widespread sexual assault suffered by Greenlandic girls. He stated that he had interviewed a girl from the orphanage, and had access to Jakob’s notes about his investigation.

  It was just past two in the morning when Matthew emailed the article to his editor. The bad weather over Nuuk had eased off, only to return with a vengeance. Outside his balcony door, the wind was shaking the houses again.

  Matthew felt a craving for a cigarette as soon as he pressed Send, but he didn’t want to smoke when Tupaarnaq was with him. He clenched his fists, relaxed them, then clenched them again. ‘I’m just going downstairs for a moment.’

  She looked up. ‘I’ll come with you. Don’t look so scared—I know perfectly well you’re going for a smoke. I don’t want to sit here on my own and wonder who’s trying to get in.’

  ‘But we’re the only ones here, and it’s the middle of the night.’

  ‘Yes…and I’m coming with you.’

  Matthew found his cigarettes and lighter. There was no porch outside his apartment block, so they crossed the road and huddled outside the blue building, where the porch offered them some shelter. He pressed himself up against the wooden wall in order to avoid the rain whipping at his face. The wind tore at everything, and tossed the rain about. The raindrops felt like ice when they hit his skin. The tip of his cigarette lit up with every drag.

  ‘You need to quit that crap,’ Tupaarnaq said.

  ‘I know, but not right now…I’ve only been smoking for a few years.’

  ‘That’s long enough. It was stupid to start in the first place, especially at your age.’

  ‘Yes, I guess so.’ He took a final drag of the cigarette. He had smoked it so far that he caught the sharp taste of the filter. ‘I thought I might take up writing instead.’

  ‘Don’t you already make your living from writing?’

  ‘Yes, but not like that. Privately. I want to write a book for my daughter.’

  ‘If you had a daughter, you wouldn’t be standing here.’

  ‘No.’ Matthew rubbed his face. There was an acrid smell about his fingers. ‘But when my wife, Tine, was killed in a car crash, she was pregnant. We were expecting a little girl.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ Tupaarnaq stared into the darkness. ‘You would have made a good dad.’

  Matthew stared out into the rain. ‘Time to go back inside?’

  ‘In a moment,’ she said. ‘I prefer being outside.’

  ‘Freedom?’ he asked, not taking his eyes off the rain.

  ‘Yes.’ She had turned her face and was looking at him now. ‘Why did you come back to Greenland?’

  He shrugged. ‘My life in Denmark fell apart. I had nothing. One day I was looking through some pictures and I found one from when we saw my father for the last time.’ Matthew raised his head and looked into her eyes. ‘I remember him giving me a model aeroplane that he had built himself when I turned four. An American B-52. It was in a bag and it reeked of glue. I don’t remember ever seeing him again. He promised to follow us, but he never did.’

  ‘Do you think you’ll find him? I mean, here, after today?’

  Matthew shook his head. ‘No, and I don’t think it matters very much. I’ve been mad at him ever since I was a child.’

  ‘And now you have a sister instead.’

  ‘Yes…That hasn’t quite sunk in yet.’

  ‘Give it time and it’ll all fall into place.’

  He stared at his boots and shrugged again. ‘I think she and I both really hate our father. Else, my half-sister’s mother, texted me soon after my visit telling me that Arnaq doesn’t want to have anything to do with a half-brother on her father’s side, so she couldn’t give me her mobile number. But at least they have mine now. We’ll have to wait and see.’

  He was about to add something more but was interrupted by his mobile, which had started to buzz in his pocket. ‘Who on earth could that be?’ he mumbled as he took it out. ‘It’s my editor. I didn’t think he would be awake at this hour.’

  ‘Hello? Matt? We can’t print that. What the hell were you thinking? Nuuk is a small town, and you know it. It’s out of the question!’

  ‘I’m sorry for emailing you so late.’

  ‘That’s all right, I was up anyway. No, everything about that article is wrong—do you hear me? We just can’t print it. We can’t publish all those allegations. These are highly respected men you’re slinging mud at, and you’ve managed to drag a dead Minister for Greenland into it as well. It just won’t do. And I don’t see how you can have any evidence to support your claims. Corrupt business practices, fair enough, but this! Jesus, Matthew. And Lyberth’s body isn’t even cold yet. I was expecting a respectful article about his death, and you send me this!’

  ‘But it’s true, all of it. Surely we have to—’

  ‘Sermitsiaq isn’t a tabloid. A great politician has been found murdered, and before we even announce his death to our readers, you’re dragging his reputation through the mud…Along with that of Greenland’s most powerful civil servant.’

  ‘Every word I wrote is true. Read it again. I can produce a witness, and I have the police officer’s notebook.’

  ‘It’s still no good. It goes against all press ethics.’

  There was silence. The wind and the rain pushed and pulled at Matthew.

  ‘Listen,’ his editor continued in a softer tone of voice. ‘When I get back to Nuuk, we can talk about it. I would like to see that notebook for myself. Let’s meet tomorrow morning when I’m back. Until then, cobble together a few words about Lyberth’s demise, but hold back the salacious details. The man is dead and the police are treating his death as suspicious. That’s all we need to write right now. No—on second thought, I’ll get one of the others to write his obituary.’

  ‘Okay,’ Matthew sighed. ‘Where are you now?’

  ‘Tasiilaq. My uncle’s birthday party. I’m flying home tomorrow.’

  The call ended, and Matthew dropped his mobile back into his pocket.

  ‘The world is full of idiots,’ Tupaarnaq said, and briefly put her hand on his shoulder.

  ‘He’s in Tasiilaq, just like Abelsen.’

  ‘Greenland is a very small community.’

  He nodded wearily. ‘I need to watch some movies.’

  ‘Movies? Right now?’

  ‘Yes, eight-millimetre films. I believe they were recorded in ’73 and show an eleven-year-old girl from the case back then. Najak—the one who was never found.’

  Tupaarnaq clenched her fist, and her entire body tensed. The sinews on her neck stood out clearly. ‘What if it’s child porn? Can you cope with that?’

  ‘I don’t know, but I have to watch them.’ He breathed deeply, all the way down t
o his stomach. ‘I have to watch them. It’s the least I can do.’

  As soon as they were back at the apartment, he hooked up the projector and fitted the first reel. Tupaarnaq turned off the light. The film flickered. The light bulb. The darkness. The light. The tiny body of the curled-up little girl. Matthew changed reels without saying a word.

  Tupaarnaq sat on the sofa with her legs pulled up in front of her, her face half-buried in her knees. Her arms were looped around her legs. Her eyes were distant.

  ‘Wait!’ Matthew exclaimed. ‘There was a man. Did you see him?’

  Tupaarnaq cleared her throat. ‘I saw him. Rewind the film… quick.’

  Matthew reached out his hand and flicked a switch so the film played backwards. The blanket. The shadow. The naked Najak.

  ‘Stop,’ Tupaarnaq whispered hoarsely.

  Matthew stopped the film and restarted it in slow motion, taking pictures of it with his mobile at the same time. ‘I’m going to send these to a friend at the newspaper. He might recognise something.’ He looked at Tupaarnaq, who was still curled up on the sofa. ‘Did you recognise anyone?’

  She shook her head. ‘Only what’s happening.’

  Matthew looked at her. ‘Are you all right?’

  She shrugged. ‘No, but it’s okay.’ Then she leaned to the left and rested her head on his shoulder. ‘Why do people do these things?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said quietly, carefully leaning his head close to hers.

  The film ran out. The rain was pelting the large windows and the balcony door.

  ‘I’m glad that you’re here,’ he continued.

  Tupaarnaq moved away. Not with a jerk. She just shifted.

  Matthew looked down at the sofa. ‘I’m sorry if I said the wrong thing.’

  ‘It’s okay…’ She patted his thigh. ‘You’re a good man.’

  Matthew pressed his lips together. ‘Can you hack Sermitsiaq’s website, so that we can upload my article online ourselves?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Technically it’s not difficult, but I gather from your conversation with your editor that it might cost you your job.’

  ‘If Abelsen gets away with it, I’m guessing it’ll cost me my life—and I wouldn’t be surprised if he also gets you locked up for murder.’

  Tupaarnaq shrugged.

  ‘Too bad,’ Matthew went on. ‘They’re not going to get away with this. They should have been stopped forty years ago.’

  58

  NUUK, 14 AUGUST 2014

  Matthew woke on the sofa under a blanket. It was morning, and the light had pierced the blanket fibres and found him. The wind was calm again.

  He took out his mobile and brought up Sermitsiaq’s website. The article had already been taken down, but he knew it had been there. Some people must surely have seen it. Tupaarnaq had put it on the front page, along with photographs of the orphanage in Tasiilaq and two of Lyberth, one of which was taken when Lyberth was accused of sexual assault by a female government employee.

  His mobile had been on silent, and Matthew could see that he had seven missed calls from his editor and a similar number of voicemails.

  Leiff had called too, but only once. Rather than leave a message, he had sent him a text:

  Matthew, please stop by the newspaper ASAP. Before noon. I’ve heard you’ll be fired as soon as the boss is back, and you won’t be allowed to clear your desk and your computer, so if I were you I would get here pronto. There’s a parcel on your desk. It came in the post. If you’re not here in an hour, I’ll keep it for you. I believe it’s Lyberth’s handwriting on the cover.

  Matthew then noticed another text from Leiff:

  The other thing. The pictures you sent me. It looks like a very big shipping container, insulated on the inside. I don’t recognise the girl in the picture, but I believe that the man is a young Abelsen. Now, watch your back and be careful what you get yourself mixed up in. This looks like a matter for the police.

  It was still only nine-thirty in the morning, so he had plenty of time. Matthew didn’t bother listening to the voicemails from his editor. He googled a couple of sentences from his article to see if anyone had managed to copy it before it was taken down, but found nothing.

  He heard the toilet being flushed. Feet crossing the floor. He sat up and pushed the blanket to the far end of the sofa.

  ‘You don’t have to pretend that you were awake.’

  He looked at her questioningly, and ran a hand through his hair.

  ‘I heard you snoring a minute ago.’

  ‘I don’t snore.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  She headed for the kitchen. ‘All right if I make some coffee?’

  ‘Sure.’ He cleared his throat, arched his back slowly and tilted his neck from side to side. ‘If you can find some.’

  ‘Well, you’ve got Nescafé,’ she said, with her head halfway inside the cupboard to the right over the kitchen sink. ‘That’s good enough for me. Would you like a cup?’

  ‘No, thanks—I don’t drink coffee.’

  ‘You should try it instead of cigarettes.’

  The word cigarettes sent a frisson through his body, and he couldn’t stop himself from glancing at the packet and the lighter on the coffee table. ‘I need to go to the office to pick up something before my editor returns to Nuuk,’ he said.

  Tupaarnaq was standing with her back to him, stirring her cup. She nodded slowly. ‘I saw that your article has been taken down,’ she said, turning around with the cup in her hand. ‘Are they up in arms about it?’

  ‘I just need to clear my desk and then I’ll get out of there. I’ve got some research to do—I want to check a few more things about the films.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Someone from the paper has texted me to say that the man in the film is Abelsen.’

  The coffee aroma reached his nostrils and slipped inside his mouth, where it unfurled and turned into an even stronger craving for a cigarette.

  ‘Watch your step when you’re outside,’ was all she said.

  59

  It took Matthew just a few minutes to clear his desk, and as it was only ten o’clock in the morning, he decided he might as well delete his old emails as well. Not that he had anything to hide. He just didn’t like the thought of other people going through his correspondence.

  His parcel was in a drawer in Leiff’s desk. It was the safest place, Leiff had texted him—and that was undoubtedly true, because Matthew soon surmised from his colleagues that they all knew what had happened.

  Before lunchtime, he had finished going through his mailbox and deleting files and passwords, and he clicked Shut down. He picked up his bag and went downstairs to see Leiff, who opened the drawer and handed the parcel to Matthew.

  ‘Take it home with you,’ he said with a smile. ‘And if you write another story, then send it to me and I’ll try to get it published under my by-line.’ He nodded in the direction of the parcel that was now in Matthew’s bag. ‘Looks like it might be exciting. You will text me once you open it, won’t you?’

  ‘Yes. I’ll go through it and see what I find.’

  ‘Sounds good. If things go wrong, then come over to my place.’

  ‘Okay, thank you.’ Matthew hesitated. ‘The pictures I sent you. Do you remember anything else? Might the container still be here?’

  Leiff shook his head. ‘I don’t know. It could have been set down anywhere. Only I don’t remember there being so many of that size in Nuuk in 1973. Then again, it’s a long time ago, and it might have been left somewhere off the beaten track. I happen to know someone who has a container like that built into his house over on C.P. Holbøllsvej. I mean, from the outside it looks like a house. It has a roof, a window and everything, but it’s just a shipping container with wooden cladding.’

  ‘Could it be the same one?’

  ‘No, that one came up here just under ten years ago, so it can’t be. Only they’re similar, and his is also insulated and shiny on the inside.’
Leiff nodded to himself. ‘I’ll ask around.’

  Matthew’s apartment was only a few hundred metres from Sermitsiaq’s offices, but his legs and his mind felt as though it was much further away. He felt like everyone was staring at him. Did people know? Had Abelsen returned to Nuuk? Were the police looking for him? He still hadn’t given the notebook back to Ottesen. Abelsen wanted it, but might well decide to have him killed anyway. Matthew spent several minutes looking about him before he inserted the key into his front door and let himself into the quiet, dry stairwell. He took the stairs rather than the lift, so that he would see if anyone was waiting on the landing.

  He had bought himself some time by confirming that he would be outside Nipisa on Friday night with Jakob’s notebook, but he was well aware that he had twenty-four hours at best in which to get Abelsen arrested, unless he wanted to end up like Lyberth and the men from 1973.

  His thoughts began to calm down. There was no one on the landing or outside his door, and it took him only seconds to let himself in and lock the door behind him. He wondered whether he should go to see Tupaarnaq in the blue building across the road rather than stay in his apartment, where anyone could find him, but he decided nothing was likely to happen in the next few hours. And if the police or his editor turned up, he could always pretend to be out.

  The files inside the parcel covered most of his coffee table when he had finished spreading them out. They were not at all what he had been expecting, because they weren’t related to the orphanage, the girls, the medical experiments or anything that linked Lyberth to the 1973 case.

  Matthew closed his eyes and slumped back on the sofa. The files contained nothing that would either support Jakob’s case from ’73 or acquit Tupaarnaq today. He couldn’t even be sure that it was Lyberth who had sent him the parcel, although Leiff believed it to be his handwriting on the package. Matthew took out a cigarette and lit it, and then got up from the sofa and walked across to the balcony door.

  Then again, he mused, the films might prove damning for Abelsen, if they could show conclusively that he was the man in front of the camera. Abelsen’s habit of keeping trophies might very well have made him keep the container.