The Girl With No Heart

by Marit Reiersgaard

  «Have you seen this?» she said.

  It was quiet for a moment. Agnar got up and moved soundlessly toward the door. They could not see him, but to be on the safe side he stood by the bookcase and pretended to study the contents. Keyboard sounds. Rapid fingers. Click, click, click.

  «See, there! That name... registered to Erna Eriksen? Isn’t your friend named Eriksen? He said he lived in Tranby before.»

  Silence.

  He was unable to make out anything other than fragments of the whispered conversation.

  And then Finn’s voice.

  «The police are searching for any next of kin.»

  «It must be him,» said Elin. «Do you think he knows?»

  A long pause ensued. Agnar held his breath so as not to miss out on anything. Finn whispered something that was impossible to hear, but then he continued in a louder voice, as if it was the idea that he should hear them now.

  «He just asked if he could spend the night on the sofa. What should I say?»

  He could not hear how she answered, although he was exerting himself so that his ears were ringing. But he made out: «... notify the police.»

  Agnar heard the refrigerator door open. Bottles clinked. Steps. Agnar grabbed a book from the shelf and stepped back quickly, pretended to be reading the back cover.

  «Do you like to read?» Finn asked when he came into the living room with two beer bottles in hand.

  «You bet,» said Agnar.

  He put the book back on the shelf. Finn handed him a beer.

  «And you still like Aass beer,» Finn said with a smile, clinking his bottle against Agnar’s.

  «It’s the best.»

  They’re afraid. And Finn, that bastard, would stab him in the back, thought Agnar, but he smiled and drank. Swallowed. Good Lord, how good it tasted. The contents of the bottle ran down his throat and rushed straight out into his bloodstream, repairing the soft parts of him.

  «One more?»

  Agnar nodded. He could have one more. But he must not get drunk again. He had to keep up. They thought he was hiding. It was almost funny. They had no idea that he wanted to be found. Someplace other than in the vicinity of his mother’s house, obviously. And then the pastor would come with consoling words. But he needed time to think. And Finn and his lady would give him that.

  «Take care, then, Agnar.»

  Elin stuck her head into the living room while she wrapped a scarf around her neck.

  «Nice to meet you. I have to go to work.»

  She waved and smiled. Phony cunt, Agnar thought, emptying beer number two.

  «She’s a nurse,» Finn explained. «Has evening shifts at the home this week.»

  «And you?» Agnar asked, without really being interested.

  «No, I’m on the dole for now. Till something turns up.»

  «On the dole?»

  «Yes, unemployed,» Finn said.

  His face tightened for a moment, but then relaxed into a smile.

  Finn went to the kitchen and got two fresh bottles.

  The beer had placed a pleasant veil over his brain. Agnar felt that the world was about to slip away. Don’t slip away, he thought. Don’t slip away. Maybe that was exactly Finn’s plan. Serve him enough so that it would be easy to kick him out. Get a grip! He set the bottle down on the table with a clunk.

  «Now you’re going to pick up that phone,» he said, pointing at Finn’s cell phone on the coffee table. «And you’re going to call your lady and say what I’m saying now: She must not talk with anyone. Not yet. I need time to think first. Then she won’t say a word to either pastor or police, not her mother, not her girlfriend, not her colleagues. Not a soul. Is that understood? I’m the one who’s calling the shots here now.»

  He smiled and took out the book he had caught sight of under the coffee table. Soon a Mother, it said in light red type on the front page.

  «There are things going on, I understand,» Agnar said, opening the book to a random page.

  «Great to have found yourself a young, productive lady. Fascinating, isn’t it?»

  He held up the book and showed his buddy a picture.

  «After only three short months... the kid’s no bigger than a plum, but looks like it’s ready to go, just a little thick in the head.»

  He laughed out loud at his own witticism. Finn was not laughing.

  «This is going to work out fine,» Agnar continued. «You’ll get instructions from me from now on. I hope your lady is willing to listen to reason.»

  Agnar stroked his hand across the glossy picture of a newborn baby on the cover of the book before—as if by accident, as he turned around to pick up the beer—he let the book slide out of his grasp, so it fell to the floor with a thud.

  21

  «Let us bow our heads in prayer and call on the Lord’s mercy.»

  Idunn’s father folded his hands and bowed his head. Idunn’s mother sat beside him on the sofa, and did the same. She felt his sideways gaze on her, the one that checked that she bowed her head enough.

  What help could they have from the Lord now? Sølvi thought. He was not merciful to them. He had taken the only important thing from her—should she continue to pray to Him? The whole day she had been beside herself. There had been conversations with the police, the pastor, and members of the congregation. She could still hear their voices, a mishmash of questions and sympathy, and her own, which had forced out: Thanks for coming. Thanks for the concern you’re showing. Thanks for the flowers. Thanks. Thanks. Thanks. It wasn’t her. She didn’t recognize the voice, but assumed that this clone that was still able to speak had always been inside her skin, waiting to take control.

  The police had asked so many questions. And she was expected to be able to answer them all. Such as: When did you last see your daughter? Did you know that she was going to that party? Did you argue before she left? When was she born? What grade was she in? Who were her friends? Did she have a boyfriend? She had turned most of it over to her husband. He was so clever with words.

  Sølvi got up from the sofa. Her knees felt soft.

  «Sølvi,» said Gustav. «We’re praying.»

  You pray, she thought. It wouldn’t bring Idunn back to them. Everything was destroyed. She could get up and go now. There was nothing left.

  She ignored Gustav’s admonition to complete the prayer and went into Idunn’s room, where she knelt in a pile of clothes that were on the floor. The same pile that only two days before she had nagged her daughter to carry down to the laundry room. She put her face next to Idunn’s sweater. It smelled of Idunn; a fleeting part of her was still here.

  The police had wanted to go through her things. Ransack the room. Sølvi had begged them to at least give her a day or two. No, she hadn’t begged, she had shouted: Can’t you show a little respect? You cannot go into her room, you cannot!

  She hadn’t cried. The grief was like a hollow space with a thin membrane around it. Like being pregnant with a scream. One day, perhaps it would be delivered, waking her in the middle of the night, push out of her. But now all her bodily functions were set on standby. Everything turned inward, her tears dammed up inside her. She would drown within a short time.

  What should she do with all these things? She let her gaze glide across the dressing table with a mirror that Idunn had inherited from her grandmother. Her hairspray. Perfume bottles. Face powder and mascara that she had forgotten to close properly, everything, so quickly, transformed to something no one had any use for. A deceased person’s effects that must remain exactly as Idunn had left them. It was the only way to preserve her. Justin Bieber stared at Sølvi from all the posters. Idunn’s schoolbooks were in a pile on the desk. On top was the paper in German she had written and read out loud to her. Sølvi hadn’t listened properly; she didn’t speak German.

  I didn’t see her. All the days that simply passed. All the years she had taken for granted. The future was there all the time. Ahead of them. Now time was cut up, hacked into small, dreadful pieces. Idunn
was dead, the police had said. It was not true. She took a sweater from the pile, put it next to her face. The smell of her daughter lived. Idunn would soon come into the room and complain that she was sitting there rummaging through her things. Any moment now. She listened for steps on the stairs. In the silence that arose she saw it. Something was blinking in the pile of clothing. A blue light. Idunn’s computer.

  She pushed the clothes aside. She opened the lid, and let a finger glide across the keyboard, waking the contents from slumber. At the same time, the picture of Idunn lit up before her. A self-portrait taken last summer. In the background, she could glimpse the apple tree in the pasture, and a patch of blue sky. Idunn had forgotten to log off Facebook.

  Sølvi sat looking at her daughter’s profile with her breath closed off somewhere deep inside her. Idunn was smiling at her, and Sølvi let her index finger stroke her daughter’s cheek. Jerky dry sobs worked their way out of her chest. Idunn had over 700 friends, and the messages ticked in all the time while she sat and watched.

  R.I.P. Idunn.

  Miss you, Idunn!

  <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

  I wish that R.I.P meant Return Is Possible!

  Inconceivable that you’re gone.

  Love you <3

  Rest in peace.

  The list was endless. Idunn was still alive inside the machine. Sølvi suddenly thought of something she had read once, it must be in Science Illustrated, that space travelers can’t cry in the usual way. In a weightless condition, the tears just remain in the corner of your eyes.

  She had come to the end of the greetings and could see Idunn’s last update. The very last thing she had written on Facebook: This is the night! Will I survive;-)

  Sølvi was weightless. Everything was floating. She could not cry.

  Friday, November 28

  22

  «But Mom, it’s going to die.»

  «Unfortunately, that sort of thing happens,» Bitte Røed said, opening the breadbox. She reconsidered, and instead reached up to the top shelf in the kitchen cabinet and took out a package of hardtack. After having seen video of herself from the press conference yesterday evening, she decided to be the enemy of anything that contained starch. Low carb was no doubt the thing. Shouldn’t that make the pounds melt like butter?

  «You’re so cynical, Mom!»

  Julie did not look up from the computer screen. Her daughter had opened a package of noodles and was eating them dry, right from the package. The crumbs that sprinkled down on the table resembled little white maggots.

  «Julie, how many times have I said that isn’t a proper breakfast?»

  «What’s ’cynical’?» Peder asked as he slurped down cornflakes and milk.

  «It means she couldn’t care less if someone dies,» Julie said.

  Peder looked at his mother.

  «Is that true?»

  «It’s true that ’cynical’ can mean not caring, but of course I care whether someone dies. I’m a police officer.»

  «Then we can’t very well just let it die.»

  Julie turned the computer toward her mother and showed her the notice in the local online newspaper.

  Dog Found

  On November 27, the Drammen police station received a dog found at Tranby in Lier. Female, probably mixed breed, mainly brown, with patches of white and black. The dog had injuries that indicate she may have been mistreated or in an accident.

  No one has reported the dog missing so far. The police have taken her to the dog pound. If no owner claims her, the dog will be euthanized.

  The owner is asked to please contact the police.

  «I’m sure the owner will pick her up, Julie. It says that she might have been involved in an accident. She probably ran away and couldn’t find her way home again. Now the owner will probably be happy.»

  «But what if she doesn’t get picked up? Or if it’s the owner who has mistreated her, and that’s why she ran off? Since you work for the police, can’t you check? Mom, I promise I’ll take the dog for a walk every day. I’ll take responsibility.»

  «Me too!» said Peder.

  «And if you move out, or take that around-the-world trip you’re dreaming of? Who do you think will take responsibility then?»

  «But then I won’t travel,» Julie said. «I want a dog so much. Haven’t you ever wanted a pet, Mom?»

  Bitte loosened the belt on her robe, which was tight around her waist. The only animal I want is a tapeworm, she thought and sighed.

  «It’s not up for discussion, Julie. The answer is no, we’re not getting a dog.»

  Julie got up quickly and marched out of the kitchen. Peder imitated his big sister and stomped after her. They each picked up their schoolbag and slammed the door behind them.

  «Have a nice day, then,» Bitte called after them, but they were already out the door. She sighed and looked at the news on the Internet. The headlines naturally concerned the teenage girl who was found by the obelisk. Idunn Olsen. What if it had said Julie Røed? thought Bitte. Her ribs contracted, kept her from breathing out. What if something happened to Julie? Today? Then I would think, for the rest of my life, that the last thing Julie said to me was that I’m cynical. She got up quickly, forgetting that she was still in her robe and slippers, and rushed out and caught sight of them at the end of the road, right by the bus stop.

  «Julie! Peder! Love you!»

  They turned around, and even from that far away she could see that they thought she’d lost her mind.

  Somewhere, Bitte Røed thought as she went in again, right now, perhaps, a mother is trying to remember what her daughter’s last words were, or what she herself said the last time they were together. She should not have brushed aside this thing with the dog in such a brutal way. Not that she wanted a dog, but she could have said it in a more diplomatic way. At some point it will have to come, Bitte thought; my last word, the last update on Twitter or Facebook, the final text message. She picked up the phone and checked the messages. The last one she had sent Julie was on Wednesday evening.

  Where are you? It’s starting to get late.

  And Julie’s last message to her had been:

  At the soccer field with Beate. Coming home soon :-)

  Bitte Røed shook off the feeling of impending disaster and thought that she would go crazy if she went around every day thinking that maybe it was the last time she saw the kids. But I’ll make homemade pizza twists tonight, she thought, already forgetting the war on calories she had planned to start.

  She had time to skim through the most important news before leaving for work. Idunn was obviously the lead story on all the news sites. Missing Hearse Found, it said in a small item in Drammens Tidende, but the police, meaning her, had no leads on the thief. A house was totally destroyed in a fire in Tranby, and there was a three-day sale at the Liertoppen mall.

  23

  Verner Jacobsen was sitting alone in the office he shared with Heiki Stenvald and Ida Madsen. He studied the pictures from the crime scene, shortly before he had to go to one of the interview rooms to talk with the boy who had found the girl. Verner caught himself missing Bitte Røed. Now when the case was shielded, only those on the team had access to case documents and could discuss it among themselves. Boyfriend. He had reacted like a jealous teenager. Grown man, he corrected himself, why shouldn’t she have a boyfriend? What had he really expected? There had never been anything between them, other than in his unruly imagination. And it would never be more than that either. Anything else would be morally reprehensible. He did not know when it had started. It had come sneaking like a viral infection the day Bitte Røed showed up as a newly hired detective at the morning meeting, delayed by the snowstorm. He remembered how she had stumbled in with her hair in wet clumps and those irritating red lips that were always smiling. He suddenly felt depressed about being on an investigation team without her. It must stem from the funeral yesterday, he thought. That was obviously the reason for the emptiness he felt.

  But now he would bury h
imself in work and feed on other people’s sorrow for a while. Was it to escape his own sorrow that he chose to be a detective? He had wondered about that many times, why he had chosen an occupation whose main business involved being absorbed in violence, killing, and death. Because I want to give people peace, he thought. Give people peace to grieve, because they get to know the truth.

  He smiled wryly at himself. As if the truth would give peace. Well, well. There was finally peace at home for him, but it had been a turbulent time after Ingrid discovered that he had lied, or not exactly lied, but rather neglected to tell the truth, about the past. He had decided never to lie to her again. Apart from those times he thought about Bitte when he was holding her after the lights were turned off at night. But weren’t you allowed to dream a little? Could a dream be equated with a lie? He didn’t think so, but the balance was subtle, of course.

  He looked through the list of names of the young people who had been at this party. It was most likely neither correct nor complete. Many of the youths had taken off when rumors started that the police had been called, and Linnea Løvås, who lived in the house, hadn’t known everyone. He skimmed the list and stopped abruptly halfway down. Julie Røed! Bitte’s daughter had been there. Was she aware of that? He felt a little shiver at the thought that now he suddenly had a completely valid reason to visit her office.

  24

  Bitte Røed was shaking with anger. Her daughter had called her cynical. Ha! Julie could just forget about that dog! She had lied. Lied right to her face and maintained that she had been at the soccer field with Beate all evening, and now her name showed up here. On her desk! And here she had made herself a laughingstock in front of the whole housing association by running half-naked out in the street just to call out that she loved her. Just wait till she comes home and gets to talk with me, she thought, but suddenly anger was mixed with something else. Julie had been at the same party, at the same time as Idunn.

  It was now confirmed that they were dealing with a homicide. Did they know each other? Did Julie know anything? She would most likely be called in for questioning. Little girl. And there was still a murderer loose out there.