The Girl With No Heart

by Marit Reiersgaard

  She had a frightful thought. Had anyone been filming? Taking photos? Was she the laughingstock of Instagram with hashtag whore? She hadn’t dared to look. It felt as if she was filled with ice water. But then the police probably would have found it by now. Didn’t they confiscate cell phones and such? No one had asked her. The police hadn’t even talked to her. But then she had left the party before they arrived. And now they had arrested Dad. But he couldn’t know anything about what had happened at the party! She tried to push the thought away. She must go downstairs to eat with Mom. Don’t let on. She was good at that.

  Her mother did not say a word about her father during dinner, but Marte noticed that the accusations were right under her skin, just waiting for a little crack to seep out. She had seen it before. Back when they were still living under the same roof, and everyone pretended like they were a happy family with no problems. She remembered the arguments she had overheard while she sat quiet as a mouse in her room; the sounds had climbed up the steps and crawled under her door. She knew that the words would leak out later when she and her mother were alone. Maybe while they were watching TV. Then her mother would say something, seemingly nice, about her father. At first. And then she wouldn’t be able to control herself and it would all spill out. And Marte would listen. Nod a few times. Defend her father a few times. The perfect mediator, she thought, already with years of experience.

  She took out the diary, set it on the bed, and locked the door before she got under the covers. She paged backward and stopped at a random date in April.

  Dear Diary,

  Dad has arrived. I’m sitting in my room. They are arguing again. About me. About money. About the trip. About everything. I hear them even though I closed the door. They always start nicely and talk like grown-ups, but then they forget themselves and start screaming again.

  «But we can’t afford it.»

  That was what Dad said.

  «You can’t afford it, don’t mix me up in your life anymore.»

  That was what Mom said.

  «Okay then, I can’t afford it, and that’s thanks to the fact that you’ve sucked the last scrap of everything out of me.»

  «So now it’s my fault again?»

  «I want shared custody, you know that, the child support is draining me. Besides, you have to get serious soon about buying me out. If not, the house must be sold.»

  «But now we’re talking about the Rome trip for Marte, can we finish discussing that? We’ll each pay half, I think that’s fair.»

  «Then I think it’s fair that I get out of half the support for that month. She won’t be living with you the week she’s gone after all, and God knows I pay enough already.»

  «Do you have any idea what a teenage daughter costs?»

  She remembered how she sat there noting everything they said in her diary. She didn’t know why she had done that, but a feeling that someone ought to mind them had come over her. That later she could throw the book on the table and say: That’s the way it was! This was what you said, Mom! And this is what you answered, Dad! But while she sat there and wrote at a furious speed, she had suddenly understood something else.

  She was the problem. If she didn’t exist, they wouldn’t have anything to argue about. I’m not going to Rome, she had thought. She remembered how something slid into place with that decision. If she didn’t go, Dad wouldn’t have to work overtime, Mom wouldn’t be able to blame him for being greedy and stupid about money. Because she was the one who used up Dad’s money. He always got pizza from Aspendos when she came on the weekends, sometimes on Wednesdays, too. He took her to movies and soccer matches at Marienlyst, even though she actually thought it was a little boring. But it was so good to see Dad happy. She remembered how relieved her parents had looked afterward, when she went down to the living room and said that she didn’t want to go. Dad had looked carefully at her and asked why, the next time they were alone. She had stuck to her decision and said that she just didn’t want to.

  Later she understood that it had been a mistake. Idunn and Linnea came home from Rome with secrets in their luggage. Secrets she wasn’t allowed to be part of. There had been something with Fredrik. He and Idunn had become a couple on the trip and walked hand in hand in the schoolyard, and all the roles were suddenly reshuffled. She had been assigned a new role, but with no script. Marte turned the pages in her diary again. Searched ahead in time. Right before the start of school something amazing had happened. What she now understood had been the start of all the awfulness.

  54

  Through the welfare office, Bitte Røed found out that Agnar Eriksen had been granted a temporary municipal apartment on Strømsø in Drammen. Verner Jacobsen had stated his willingness to go there with her. He needed to air out his ears after the interview in any event, as he put it.

  It was unusually quiet in the car. She didn’t ask who he had interviewed. I’m not going to ask, no, I’m not going to ask anything, she thought as she stopped in front of the low wooden building.

  «Well, well,» said Verner, getting out of the car. «So you think I’m some kind of dog whisperer.»

  He laughed quietly and looked at her sideways.

  «You have a dog. I’m not familiar with dogs. Okay, I know that the tail sits at the end and that it’s a kind of barometer that shows if the dog intends to lick you on the ear or take a bite, but I thought it would be smart to have someone along who was more accustomed to dogs. Everyone on the K-9 patrol was busy, besides,» she added as if to underscore that he hadn’t been her first choice.

  Bitte Røed rounded the car and opened the rear hatch. The dog wagged her tail and jumped out. It peed on the snowbank, leaving a yellow hole in the dirty snow. She let Verner take the leash while she went up the steps and rang the doorbell.

  Agnar Eriksen answered. The dog jumped right on him, set her soiled paws on his thighs and whined with a low but penetrating sound. The tail was going like a propeller in the air. The dog was about to take off. Bitte did not need a consultant to see that they knew each other from before.

  «Lilly?»

  Agnar got down on his knees, and the dog put his forepaws on his chest and licked him on the face. Agnar grimaced and drew the back of his hand over his mouth.

  «Sit!» he commanded, standing up. He held his arm straight to keep the dog from jumping up again.

  «You’re old acquaintances,» Verner Jacobsen observed.

  «She’s my mother’s dog.»

  Agnar looked up, and Bitte thought he looked scared for a moment.

  «Was, I mean,» he said, clearing his throat. «Was my mother’s.»

  «He’s been at the pound,» Bitte Røed said. «And as it is now, he’ll be put down if no one takes responsibility for him. Are you willing to take that on?»

  «Yeah, sure,» Agnar said. The dog sat obediently by his feet.

  «There’s also an unpaid vet bill and a charge for the stay at the pound that has to be covered before you can take her.»

  «I’ll take her, but I have to get the welfare check into the account before I can settle up.»

  «I’m sure it will work out,» said Bitte Røed. She felt relieved. Now Julie didn’t need to call her a cynic any longer.

  «Okay, you can go with us back to the kennel to arrange the formalities right now, if you want,» said Bitte, thinking that she could pump him for information at the same time about the first twenty-four hours after he was let out of prison, to look a little closer at his alibi.

  Agnar nodded and asked them to wait until he had put on his shoes and jacket.

  A little later, when they had driven Agnar and the dog back to the apartment, it was starting to get dark.

  «Isn’t it a bit strange?» asked Bitte Røed.

  «What do you mean, ’strange’?» said Verner Jacobsen.

  «Agnar said that he hadn’t had contact with his mother in many years. Do dogs have such good memories?»

  «Lorca doesn’t remember that he just got a treat,» Verner said with a
smile.

  «But what would Lorca have done if you hadn’t seen him in several years. Do you think he would have been excited to see you again?»

  «I don’t really know, but there are many stories about dogs who never forget their owners and sit faithfully by their grave until they call it a day, too. Where Lorca is concerned, I’m not convinced. He pouts if I’ve been gone a long time. I have to entice him with meat scraps to get him to come out of his cage, but it’s possible he’s just a cranky breed.»

  «I’m just thinking,» Bitte continued. «If what Agnar says is correct, he can’t have seen his mother’s dog in many years, so I’m guessing the dog was a puppy. Can a dog remember that far back? To me it looked like the dog was overjoyed to see him again, as if they had recently spent time together.»

  «I would ask the kennel, or Terje on the K-9 patrol. He’s had dogs his whole life. If what you’re suggesting now is correct, Bitte, maybe you’re a step closer to finding a perpetrator and a possible arsonist. Well thought-out, but didn’t you say that he had an alibi from two people?»

  «Yes,» said Bitte. «I’ll have another talk with them, but I’ve checked the surveillance cameras from the train station on Wednesday afternoon. A person who may have been Agnar Eriksen is seen walking out of the station area in the direction of the witnesses’ apartment. Sure, this person has a long beard, but he may have shaved it off. We’re in the process of collecting video data from the area to see if he shows up anywhere else.»

  She tried to hold back a smile, but it forced its way out between her pinched lips. Well thought-out, he’d said, and in the intoxication from the compliment she heard herself saying, «Was it Kristian you interviewed earlier today?»

  Verner looked at her with sincere pain. He decided to be honest.

  «Yes.»

  «And...?»

  «You know I can’t say anything, Bitte.»

  He saw her face drop and added, perhaps not without reluctance.

  «Just between the two of us,» he said. «I think you’ll soon have him home again.»

  It was surprisingly painful to see how the news released something in her. Kristian is a lucky man, Verner Jacobsen thought, and pictured to himself a quiet evening on the couch together with Ingrid. Damned if I won’t have to start knitting again, he decided.

  55

  August 13

  Dear Diary!!!!

  I’ve been kissed! Properly, that is. At first it was a little yucky, like a wet snail that was, like, searching for something in my mouth. I was starting to smile, but then I got scared. Scared that he was just kidding. That it was Idunn and Linnea who said that he should trick me into thinking he was interested. But he said afterward that it would have to be our secret. I don’t really know why, but it doesn’t matter. Fredrik likes me. I promised not to say anything to anyone, not to Idunn. Not to Linnea. I think maybe it’s going to be difficult. Idunn and Fredrik were together after the summer tour with the choir, but that was a long time ago. Now the new school year will start soon and this is just such a good start. I’ve sent him a direct message on Facebook. <3<3<3

  Marte sat on the edge of the bed with the diary on her lap and looked at what she had written three months ago. Now she knew that everything she thought was true was just a moldy lie. She took the envelope with the heart jewelry that someone had put in her mailbox and held it in her hand. How much does an empty heart weigh, she thought, fiddling with the jewelry. The heart was made up of two equal parts, like the friendship chain she had gotten from Idunn when they were in first grade. They had each worn half as a necklace until Idunn lost hers on a field trip in third grade.

  This heart only had one hole for the chain. It was not the idea to share it. She saw herself reflected in the shiny surface. Two Martes looked at her with big fish eyes, and if she tipped the piece of jewelry back and forth, her face changed, just like the face distorter in Photo Booth. She was about to put it down when something gave way. Suddenly she was sitting with half a heart in each hand. A square metal tab stuck out of the one part. A flash drive. The piece of jewelry was a memory stick!

  She went over to the desk and opened the Mac. While the machine started up, she went to the door and turned the key in the lock without quite knowing why. There was probably nothing on it. Even so her hands were shaking so violently that she had a hard time putting the stick in.

  She opened Finder, and NO NAME came up in the lower left corner. She clicked on it, and a light-blue folder appeared. Marte hesitated. One more click. Just one more click. She held her breath. Then she put the pointer on the folder. Double click. An image filled the screen. She felt how her whole body turned soft. She felt sick to her stomach. She leaned down and took hold of the wastebasket just as her dinner came back up.

  Tuesday, December 2

  56

  No traces had been found that could link the suspects with certainty to the killing. Verner Jacobsen had reviewed the reports from the house searches that had been done after Fredrik and Kristian had been charged. The list of confiscated belongings was not long, but a couple of things seemed interesting to Verner Jacobsen as he leaned back in the office chair. Marte’s boots. They had been in the hallway in Kristian’s apartment. He read the comment that followed. The boots had spots of black paint. And at Fredrik’s house, a spray can had been found. Everything was submitted for technical analysis, and they would soon find out if it was the same paint on the boots, the can, and the graffiti at the obelisk. I have a feeling this is not a coincidence, he thought as he stared out the window. It was sleep-inducing to watch the light snowfall in the morning darkness outside. Marte and Fredrik, what were they up to?

  Verner tried to focus his thoughts on what he knew. Kristian had explained in the interview that he had found one of his daughter’s boots at Linnea’s. And Fredrik had admitted having brought a paint can with him to the party. He also recalled that Erna Eriksen had called the police about these youths who smelled of paint. Who had used the spray can? Had Marte herself been involved and tagged? She must be brought in for an interview.

  The phone rang.

  «Hello, this is Verner Jacobsen.»

  «Hi, Verner, it’s Kurt at Forensics here. I thought you would like to know the results of what we’ve found so far. We’ve looked for fingerprints on the objects that were collected near the scene. On the liquor bottle that was found up on the road, there were good traces, and we also have a match for someone with a prior conviction, one Agnar Eriksen.»

  Verner stood up so abruptly that the chair behind him backed into the wall. He held his breath.

  Bitte Røed was his first thought.

  In another office a little further down the hallway, Bitte Røed was sitting with the results of the fur sample that the kennel had taken from Erna’s dog.

  «Agnar, you’re in trouble,» she said, getting up quickly and going out in the hall.

  Just then, another door opened, and Verner Jacobsen came rushing out into the hall.

  «Bitte Røed, I have to talk with you,» he almost shouted.

  A wave of discomfort filled her. His tone was so abrupt, as if she was going to be called to account for something.

  They remained standing a moment, each holding on to a half-open door. They looked like two kids who couldn’t decide whose house they would go to. Bitte let out a little laugh.

  «Your office or mine?» Verner asked, without moving.

  «Mine,» said Bitte Røed, picturing her colleague’s sterile room. It was more pleasant in hers. She had a bit more than the work schedule and the list of direct phone numbers for the department on her bulletin board. The two others she shared the office with also liked having framed pictures of family and pets on the wall over their desks.

  Verner Jacobsen followed her into the office, and just managed to catch her turning a frame on the desk so the picture side faced her.

  He disliked offices that were marred by personal effects. And here there was plenty of that. Her kids were hanging on the bul
letin board alongside a couple of children’s drawings. She had framed a little poster with a picture of a smiling monkey with a red cap and the text «If you think I talk too much, let me know. We can talk about it.»

  «I’ve found something interesting with regard to your case,» said Verner. He sat down on the vacant chair and tried to let himself be distracted by the monkey with bared teeth.

  «Me too,» Bitte Røed interrupted. She was unable to hide how excited she was about what she had just discovered.

  «Agnar Eriksen must have been in the area that evening,» she continued.

  «I know that,» said Verner.

  They stared at each other for a moment, like two synchronized swimmers, before they asked exactly the same question.

  «How did you know...?»

  «Fingerprints,» said Verner, showing her the picture of the vodka bottle lying by the side of the road. «This belonged to Agnar Eriksen.»

  «Then we have more evidence,» said Bitte Røed.

  «What have you found?»

  «Lilly, Erna Eriksen’s dog, was found with her coat soiled by blood. Now it turns out that the blood on the dog’s fur comes from Agnar.»

  «That increases the probability that he was there,» Verner concluded. «Obviously, someone may have planted the bottle, and he may have encountered the dog somewhere else, but Agnar Eriksen is in a bad way. A very bad way.»

  «I’ve also gone through the surveillance videos from the buses,» said Bitte. «The images are grainy, but the same person that was observed leaving the station area in Drammen, the one with the beard, took the bus to Lierskogen on Wednesday evening.»

  «So, how do we approach this?» Bitte suddenly became worried that she would be taken off this case too. Erna Eriksen had been killed. She wanted it. Wanted to solve the case. Get the recognition for having solved it. And for now, Agnar was the leading candidate for perpetrator.