Karin Fossum - Bad Intentions

‘I am.’

‘That’s enough evidence for me,’ Sejer said. ‘Dead people don’t throw themselves into lakes. What about his identity? Tell me you know who he is.’

‘The man’s identity is clear and that’s something at least,’ Snorrason said contentedly. ‘Or rather, the lad’s, because he was only seventeen years old. He lived in Norway with his mother from the age of eight. They’re from Vietnam. He disappeared in the middle of December and the circumstances surrounding his disappearance are unclear.’

‘His name?’ Sejer said.

‘Van Chau,’ Snorrason said. ‘Kim Van Chau.’

‘Could you repeat that, please?’

‘Kim Van Chau,’ Snorrason said.

Sejer noted it down on a pad. There was something familiar about that name and he racked his brains. Van Chau, he thought, Van Chau from Vietnam. Finally it surfaced in his memory, a missing person case from December, and the moment he remembered that, he caught a glimpse of something bigger, the breakthrough he had been waiting for and which had been there the whole time. Kim Van Chau had been reported missing after a party. After several extensive searches, they had given up on finding the young man. He seemed to have vanished without a trace. And Frimann, Reilly and Moreno had been involved. They had been brought in for routine questioning, but there had been no grounds for suspecting anything criminal. Now, many months later, his body had been found in Glitter Lake. Then another thought struck Sejer. His gaze swept across his desk to the rag doll with the blue overalls. Jon’s doll from Ladegården, whose name was Kim.

Dear diary ,

I like everything here at Ladegården .

My room and my bed and Hanna Wigert. I like my medication, which suppresses my anxiety. I like the structure and the routines, that there are always voices and sounds in the big building. I like the food we eat together at the long table in the dining hall. I like Dagny who works in the kitchen and Ruth, the night nurse, who looks in every hour during the night. The feeling of being cared for like a child. And perhaps that is what I am, a child still clinging to its mother’s petticoats. At the same time being here is also tough because I realise now that there is no magic solution, no cure that will fix everything in a fortnight. They expect that I will work with them by opening up, by revealing my innermost thoughts. But if I do that I’ll expose other people, and I don’t feel that I have the right to do that. Should I save myself and let others go down? When I talk about these things to Hanna, it doesn’t seem as though she understands the gravity. She says ‘but you want to get through this, don’t you, you want to change, don’t you?’ And, of course, I do because I can’t live with myself. I’m Jon the Coward. I tell myself that over and over .

Jon the Coward, Jon the Coward, Jon the Coward .

Often when I wander up and down the corridor I am amazed that people smile and greet me as if I were a decent guy who deserves kindness. Can’t they see that it’s Jon the Coward? Don’t they see the swarm of flies buzzing around my head? Don’t they notice the trail of filth after me? So I walk on my own mostly or I go for walks with Molly. She is not like the others. She doesn’t want to talk about things that are painful either, but I know she has an older brother whom she hates. She doesn’t want to talk about him. She doesn’t want to tell me his name, even, which makes me wonder what could have happened. Molly and I have become friends for life. We have never told each other, but we both know it, and when I see her, I feel all fizzy inside, like carbonated water. Yesterday I was in Hanna Wigert’s office. I go there every day between eleven and twelve, and I sit on the blue sofa. I was holding one of the dolls in my lap as I always do. Sometimes I torture it a little. I pull its hair and pinch its feet, and it makes me feel better. I don’t know if Hanna notices or if she understands why I do it, but I like torturing the doll. I have nowhere else to direct my rage. Towards the end of the session Hanna fell silent. She rolled her chair towards the sofa where I was sitting .

‘What are you scared of, Jon?’ she asked .

I got terribly agitated because I felt she was putting pressure on me, so I pulled the doll and the seams came apart. But I also wanted to be a good patient and give as much of an accurate and truthful answer as I could .

‘Condemnation,’ I whispered .

‘Condemnation?’

She rolled even closer and she did not take her eyes off me .

‘Who would condemn you?’ she asked .

‘People,’ I said .

‘People? All of them?’

‘Yes. All of them.’

‘Is your offence that great?’

‘Yes, it’s enormous.’

‘Do you know every single person on the planet, Jon? Or just a few?’

‘Just a few.’

‘I see. A few. And you think they would condemn you?’

‘Any decent person would,’ I said .

‘So you don’t think there are any compassionate, understanding or forgiving people? Have you thought about it?’

‘There aren’t many of them,’ I said. ‘You’ll condemn me too, you just don’t know it yet.’

‘You might be wrong,’ she said .

‘I’m not wrong. I might have been wrong on other occasions, most people have been. But this time I’m right.’

That was our conversation. After the session I felt wretched. Compassion? Forgiveness? We’ll never get either of those. Not so long as we live .

I am on the horns of a dilemma. If I continue to keep my mouth shut then I’m a coward. And if I talk, Axel and Reilly will hate me .

‘What have you done?’ Ingerid Moreno screamed.

She was standing in the door glaring at Axel, and she was incandescent with rage.

‘Tell me what you did. Tell me now!’

Her cheeks were flushed as though she had been running and indeed she had been. She had run from the car to the block of flats where he lived, she had run from the lift to his door. She entered the room and slammed the door behind her. Her hair was standing straight up.

‘Tell me what you did!’

Axel retreated. As usual his hand cupped his jaw. He paled at the sight of Ingerid Moreno. His brain worked frantically to catch up with the situation. He had anticipated that she might turn up, but he had expected a supplicant woman, not a fury.

‘Answer me!’ she screamed. ‘I know that something happened, I’ve read Jon’s diary. You did something and you’re going to tell me what it was! And don’t you dare lie to me, Axel, or I’ll beat you senseless. And you can laugh at me, but you don’t know how strong I am, I’ll tear you to pieces if you don’t give me an answer!’

Axel could not help but stare at her nails which were long and painted red. He forced his astonishment to the back of his mind, concentrated and finally regained the eloquence which always saved him.

‘Ingerid,’ he said gently. ‘Come inside, please. Don’t stand there screaming.’

He walked towards her with open arms, but she stepped back. In response he turned, crossed the floor and straightened up a little so his broad shoulders would come into full view. That way she would see that he was big, strong and self-assured, that it was he who decided what the truth was.

‘Sit down,’ he said kindly.

She perched on the edge of a chair. The red claws settled in her lap and she never once took her eyes off him.