The Girl With No Heart

by Marit Reiersgaard

  Ingrid sat down beside him. Lorca jumped up on the couch and lay down like a protective boundary between them. The news on Norwegian Broadcasting still had Idunn as the main story, even though several days had passed since her body was found.

  The reporter was standing on the road in front of the barricades. It was dark, but warm candlelight flickered in his face. It could be the intro to a folksy First Sunday of Advent story from the local TV station. Only a school band wearing elf hats and playing «A Child Is Born in Bethlehem» was lacking. Instead, the camera zoomed into the forest, into the darkness where, if you knew it was there, the outline of an obelisk could barely be glimpsed.

  «It was here, right behind me, that Idunn Olsen was found dead the night of Thursday, November 27. The police report that inquiries in the area are still ongoing, and that electronic evidence may be key. They state that they are very optimistic about the prospect of solving the case soon, but at the present time there are no suspects in the case.»

  «Is that right? Are you about to solve the case?»

  Verner shook his head.

  «To my knowledge we’re nowhere near a resolution.» He pointed at the computer with a slightly pained expression. «But I plan to read up on the case this evening.»

  The TV image changed, and the picture of a burned-down house filled the screen. It was the same reporter.

  «I have now moved a few hundred meters further down the same road where fifteen-year-old Idunn Olsen was found dead. The fire started in the morning hours on Thursday. The police report that one person was found dead in the ruins. NBC has learned that the house belonged to an elderly woman who is still missing. There is speculation that the fire may be connected to the Idunn case.»

  «What the hell kind of speculation is that!»

  Lorca was startled and jumped down from the couch. Ingrid sent him a mildly reproving look.

  «I understand that they live off of selling sensationalism, but can’t they show a little respect?»

  «Can they be right?»

  «Is there a connection? Hardly.»

  «You should take a few days off,» said Ingrid. «You’ve just buried your son. You have permission to slow down.»

  «I have to give the parents of Idunn an explanation of what happened,» said Verner, thinking about the warlike atmosphere that had been in the air in the Olsen family home. He reminded himself that people handled grief in very different ways. Having your child snatched out of your hands in the way they had experienced must be like getting barbed wire torn through your heart. It was not strange that they were aggressive.

  Verner took the laptop to bed and logged on. Witness interview with Fredrik Paulsen. Thursday, November 27, conducted by Ida Madsen and Heiki Stenvald.

  In this initial interview, Fredrik had explained that he had gone home from the party alone, turned onto the path, passed the obelisk, and saw Idunn lying under the stone outcropping further away. Then he had seen someone coming up the path, called for help, and from there Kristian Skage had taken over. Confronted with other witness statements from the party, he later admitted that he was the one who had broken the TV at Linnea’s house. But he maintained that it wasn’t on purpose. There had been a conflict or two, but so far, the police were far from finding out what had really gone on.

  He was about to fall asleep when something caught his attention. It was the last report from the crime scene investigators, to which a transcript from an incoming call to the emergency number had been attached. He read the log from the police first.

  «Police.»

  «Yes, uh, hello! My name is Erna Eriksen and I would like to report something... uh, I’m not sure that it’s important, but... well, I live in Høgdabakkene and I wonder whether you care about graffiti?»

  «Hmm.»

  «I was on my way out with the dog when a gang of youths walked past my house and they smelled... well, they smelled like spray paint. They’ve sprayed my cellar windows and the fence posts here before, so I thought I would let you know. They didn’t do anything now, but just continued up the hill toward Lierskauen.»

  According to the report, a long pause ensued before the officer tried to get the woman started again.

  «Did you see that they had spray cans with them?»

  «No, but it smelled, and I know who these young people are, they’ve tormented Lilly before, so I don’t dare let the dog out alone anymore.»

  «Well, in this case the police can’t do anything until a criminal act has actually been committed.»

  After some hemming and hawing the call was ended.

  Verner Jacobsen closed the attachment from the police desk. Erna Eriksen had called the police the night Idunn was killed, only hours before her house caught fire. He recalled the news clip with the burned-down house. He would like to have had a closer chat with Erna Eriksen and ask her who these young people were. But it was probably too late.

  He opened the document with the final update from the CSIs. It had been extremely difficult to secure good footprints in the terrain around the obelisk since there was a very strong wind. The area was as good as covered with snow when the work was started. One of the few tracks they had managed to secure did set itself apart. The track that was found in a snowbank was indistinct in a manner that indicated that the person who had made it hadn’t been wearing boots at all.

  Was the perpetrator so crafty that he walked in stocking feet? Verner thought. In that cold! Then followed a list of objects found at the scene, including Idunn’s cell phone, an empty bottle of liquor, a mitten, and a cigarette butt. Images were attached. Most of them he had studied before. The pictures of the girl and how she was lying with one arm twisted under her, which would have been painful, if she had been alive after she fell.

  He sat there with the next image in front of him. He zoomed in. When his heart skipped a beat, that told him he was onto something important. The picture was of the obelisk. At the bottom of the plinth. Why hadn’t he seen it before? He looked at several of the images. They were taken from the part of the obelisk that faced the forest, on the opposite side, that is, from where Idunn was found. The CSIs had added that they were uncertain whether this had any significance for the case, as part of the text in the image was hidden under a layer of snow that had blown up onto the marble plinth. After they brushed away the snow, the letters had clearly emerged, written with black spray paint: WHORE I.

  40

  «It’s so nice that you’ve been removed as a suspect in the case.»

  Bitte Røed moved the spatula around in the ground beef, hacked it up, and added a pouch of taco seasoning. Kristian Skage was standing next to her, cutting tomatoes and onion. He leaned toward her and kissed her on the neck, whispering, «You were really anxious that I might be a suspect, weren’t you?»

  Bitte laughed. «I guess you know how a detective thinks.»

  «Like a journalist, I assume,» said Kristian. «It’s annoying in a way not to be allowed to write about the case. But the editor still wants my help, though. Typical.»

  Bitte saw that he was trying to laugh it off, but she understood that he thought his boss was taking advantage of what should have been his story.

  «I’m glad I’m a cop,» she said. «At least we don’t need to fight over getting the worst assignments.»

  «Are you sure? I thought there was prestige in all occupations.»

  Bitte didn’t reply. He was right, but she liked to look at police work as an idealistic matter, that it was the results that were important, not who actually cleared up the case. Often it was close collaboration between several agencies that led to a breakthrough. A little unwillingly, she did have to admit that she was not really satisfied with being assigned to a fire and the theft of a hearse.

  Just then, Julie and Marte came in the door, and she had other things to think about.

  «Well, how was it there? Lots of people?»

  «Yes,» Julie answered. «It’s completely insane how many candles are lit up there. The police ar
e still there, Mom. They asked us if we knew Idunn.»

  «And? Did you know her?»

  «No, not me, but Marte was in her class.»

  Bitte forced herself not to start an interrogation. Here she stood in her own kitchen with a possible key witness, and she couldn’t ask about anything other than if she was hungry. She felt like a racehorse that was put in the stable because of a swollen ankle.

  «Was there any activity over at the fire, then?» she asked instead.

  «It was cordoned off with that tape,» Julie said, «but otherwise no one was there. We’re going to my room. How long before dinner?»

  The girls disappeared upstairs before she had time to answer.

  «Looks like they’re getting along,» said Kristian.

  «We fit together,» Bitte said with a smile. «All of us.»

  «I hope things fall into place for Marte now. It’s awful to say it, and I don’t want to say anything bad about someone who’s dead, but Idunn was not very nice to Marte at the end.»

  «How’s that?»

  «They’ve always been friends. She and Linnea and Idunn. They’ve hung out together since first grade, but something happened over the summer. Marte refuses to say anything about it.»

  Kristian peeled the onion and divided it in two. He stood there a moment with the knife in his hand, as if he had forgotten that he was about to chop it up.

  «Marte keeps a diary,» he said. «She writes every day. Maybe it would have been possible to find out what happened. It is tempting...»

  «You mustn’t even think like that,» Bitte warned. «If Marte finds out that you’re snooping in her things, she will never trust you.»

  «Not even if it’s to help her?»

  «What do you think you’ll find in the diary?»

  «Well, I don’t know, maybe something about why Idunn and Linnea suddenly started hating Marte. And they were so evil. I asked her to take a screenshot when they were chatting to have evidence if it came to a head.»

  «What did they write?»

  Kristian started chopping the onion, carefully so the knife wouldn’t slip.

  «That was what was so difficult. They didn’t write mean words or revile her or anything. On the contrary, it was more like: You’re the prettiest. Sweet. And: Marte you’re the world’s best.»

  «But...?»

  «Marte maintained they were being ironic.»

  «So, what do you think?»

  «I don’t know. And I actually thought that everything was fine again, that they were friends again, all three of them. It was the same day that... this happened to Idunn. Both of the girls stopped by. They were going to Linnea’s together. Marte came down and met them, and she looked happy.»

  Kristian set aside the knife and eased the little pile of onion into a bowl.

  «I thought that now it would work out,» he said quietly. «The girlfriends came by like they always had before. But then, you know I got that call from Marte later in the evening. You heard it yourself.»

  «Fortunately, it appears that most kids grow from such an experience,» Bitte said, thinking of Julie. «Sometimes I think maybe it’s worse for the mother or father, to see that their child is suffering without being able to do anything.»

  «Yes, but it was so bad for a while that I had to do something,» said Kristian. He dried his eyes with the back of his hand. «Onion, you know,» he said with a smile.

  «You know I like a man with feelings,» said Bitte Røed, capturing a tear that was still hanging on his cheek.

  Kristian appeared to have fallen far back in time. His face tightened, and he wiped away new tears.

  «What did you do?»

  «You know that I’m the president of the PTA,» he said. «On the committee, we first started investigating this thing with social media. The youngsters have so many platforms, it’s impossible for parents to keep up.»

  «Yes, I know,» said Bitte. «We see it at work. Most parents have no idea what’s going on. The new thing now is drug dealing via Snapchat. But Kristian, what did you do?»

  «We got the teachers involved and started an extensive anti-bullying campaign, but it seemed as if things got even worse for Marte after that. One time I found a razor blade under her bed. A straight razor! What was she doing with that?»

  Bitte Røed did not reply. She took the frying pan off the burner and poured the ground beef into a bowl. She would stop by to see Verner on Monday, she decided. Someone ought to have a talk with Marte, if that hadn’t already been done.

  «But promise me, Kristian,» Bitte said while she set the table. «By all means, check what she posts on social media, but do not read her diary. There is no worse violation of trust!»

  41

  It had gotten late. The aroma of tacos lingered and gave the house they had just moved into a scent of home. Kristian and Marte had gone home, and Julie and Bitte were on either end of the couch. Peder was lying on his stomach in front of the TV, watching a movie. It had been a nice evening. How lucky I am, Bitte Røed thought. But it was sad that it took a crime to make you truly value what you had. In principle, she ought to be constantly reminded by her work, but this type of case, with children involved, was fortunately not daily fare.

  She let her thoughts wander. They ended up with Idunn’s parents. Bitte could easily imagine how absurd «Beautiful Savior» would sound through their radio. Had they bought presents? What would they do if they already had? Had already packaged them nicely and wrote «to» and «from» tags? How did they keep going?

  «Sit completely still, Mom,» Julie said.

  Bitte blinked. She would not allow herself to cry. She had to be smarter about separating work and her own life.

  «Why is that?» she said, smiling at her daughter.

  «Just sit still.»

  Julie aimed the phone at her mother and took a picture.

  «Look at this!»

  Bitte took the phone and held it at an arm’s length, so she would be able to see without reading glasses. The phone slipped out of her hand, but she picked it up from the blanket she had over her lap and stared at the screen again. A shiver of cold ran up her spine.

  «Good Lord, what is this?»

  She stared at the picture of herself, on the couch, with a pillow behind her and a blanket in her lap, but on her shoulder a hand was resting. White. Bony. As if someone was standing right behind her. She turned around, but obviously there was nothing to see other than the bookcase with glass doors that she still hadn’t managed to fill with books.

  Julie laughed.

  «Just an app I downloaded. See now.»

  She turned around and took a picture of the living room.

  The picture showed a shadowy woman who was hovering somewhere between the ceiling and the TV, right over an unsuspecting Peder.

  «It’s eerie,» said Bitte. «It looks like we live in a haunted house. Stop that,» she ordered when her daughter aimed the phone toward her again. She suddenly thought she could feel that hand on her shoulder.

  She happened to think about yesterday, when she had come into the living room and got the idea that someone was watching her. She stood up and looked out into the tiny, dark apartment garden, but saw nothing other than the hedge that was drooping under all the snow.

  Monday, December 1

  42

  Agnar was standing outside the police station. Should he go right or left? The policewoman who questioned him had told him to visit the social services office. It was on the same street as the police station, but now he’d forgotten which direction she said it was in. He had a claim to get temporary housing. The only alternative the social worker had come up with after his stay in the drunk tank was a night at a hotel. Not such bad service from A/S Norway, Agnar thought. He had earned a little luxury despite everything. But now the weekend was over and the probability of being placed in a shelter or miserable public housing was imminent. He went to the right. Klausen’s Bakery exuded a sweet smell as he passed, and his stomach rumbled. The policewoman
had only served coffee in a plastic cup from a machine.

  That was one fine lady, for a cop. She’s the type I should have had, he thought. Gentle and gullible, with a little something to take hold of. Finn’s confirmation that he had been with him and the wife ever since he got off the train on Wednesday had done the trick. And when he convinced her that he hadn’t been anywhere near his mother’s house, he was again a free man. Not bad, he thought. Set free twice in less than a week.

  Agnar was satisfied with his performance, but he turned around several times while he walked down the street. He had a feeling that someone was keeping an eye on him. Not until he could no longer see the police station, with the surveillance cameras on the wall, did he breathe easier.

  The police had informed him that it was most likely his mother that had been found dead in the burned house, even though the test results were not yet ready. The grieving son was a role he could easily identify with. He had basically grieved his whole life. It seemed as if the police had already concluded that his mother died in the kitchen as a result of the fire. And no one could know that he had anything to do with the car theft. There were probably not enough resources to investigate a stolen car, hearse or not, and he had left it in good condition. For the same reason, they would probably not investigate an old screwball who lived alone in a dilapidated house with bad wiring.

  He rubbed his bare skull and suddenly thought of the cap. Mama’s cap. It must still be at Finn and Elin’s. He remembered that he had put it under the pillow. It ached a little in his soul at the thought that perhaps it was gone. My God, is it possible to be so goddamn sentimental?

  He kept coming back to the fact that he had been able to walk right into his childhood home. Usually, his mother was careful about locking the door. Maybe she really was getting senile, he thought. Maybe she forgot to lock up, went into the kitchen, stumbled on the edge of the tattered rug, and fell into the dishwasher, where there could have been a couple of knives with blades sticking up. That could be an explanation. Or there could have been a burglary, that she had to face an armed thief, an addict or one of those Eastern European gangs that ravaged the country. His mother used to complain that foreigners came to her door in the summer and offered to lay stone in the garden or replace the roof. He knew that she felt unsafe. She’d been scared of everyone who came to the door. She had been like that ever since that business with his father.