Hakan Nesser - The Weeping Girl

‘I went to that home and met my father. It was. . it was so odd, so horrific to enter a room and see a complete stranger who was in fact my dad. I’d thought about it and tried to imagine it, of course, but even so it felt much stranger that I could ever have believed. He was so small and alien and so. . ill. I thought he looked like a bird. This is my bird daddy, I thought. But nevertheless I knew that it was him the moment I clapped eyes on him, it was somehow so obvious, I can’t explain it.’

Her voice was a little steadier now, Moreno noticed, once she’d got going.

‘Go on,’ she said.

‘You know. . the background?’

Moreno nodded.

‘I didn’t tell you everything I knew on the train; I think I was a bit ashamed. My dad had an affair with a schoolgirl who was only sixteen — when I was two. It happened, and there’s nothing I can do to change it. The girl died, and he was found guilty of having killed her. But it’s wrong. That’s not what happened. He told me that day that it wasn’t him who pushed Winnie Maas down on to the railway line. It took him two hours to tell me. He gave me a letter he’d written, and it said the same thing. He was with the girl, but he didn’t kill her. . He was ashamed something awful when he tried to talk to me about it, but I forced him to do it. He’s not strong, my dad: he’s like a bird. A sick bird. I feel so sorry for him. .’

She paused, and looked enquiringly at Moreno, who encouraged her to continue.

‘I was crying when I left. I went to the youth hostel, but it was completely full and I very nearly didn’t get a bed — but it turned out okay in the end. I didn’t really know what to do next, but I believed my dad when he said that he was innocent of the girl’s death and so after I’d thought things over for a while, I decided to try to trace the girl’s mother — if she was still in Lejnice — and tell her what I’d discovered. And maybe ask her a few questions as well. And that’s what I did, without any real problems. I met her on the Sunday — she wasn’t very nice: a bit of a drunk, I think. She even showed me a revolver she kept in order to defend herself — goodness only knows what she needed to defend herself against. . I’m quite sure she didn’t believe me when I said my dad had been wrongly convicted. She called him a disgusting creep and a murderer and plenty more besides, and claimed that he had ruined her life. Obviously I felt sorry for her as well: it must be awful if your child dies in such a horrible way. .’

The meal was served, but Mikaela didn’t seem to want to stop, now that she was under way.

‘As I sat there in fru Maas’s disgusting flat, I started thinking seriously about what had really happened when her daughter died — all my dad told me is that it wasn’t him who killed her — and it occurred to me that maybe I ought to try to talk to some more local people about it all, seeing as I was at the scene, after all. I regret ever having such an idea — my God, how I regret that. .’

‘Did it ever occur to you that the girl might have jumped off the viaduct rather than being pushed?’ Moreno wondered.

Mikaela shook her head.

‘I thought about that, but my dad didn’t think she had, and nor did fru Maas when I spoke to her.’

‘I see. Anyway, what did you do?’

‘I got a couple of names from fru Maas. People who had known her daughter, she claimed — I don’t really know why she gave me them. Most of the time she sat there going on about how I was the despicable child of a murderer, and how I ought to be ashamed of showing myself in public, and lots more along those lines.’

‘I can imagine,’ said Moreno. ‘I’ve also met her.’

‘Have you really?’

Mikaela looked guilty for a moment — as if she were worried about having caused any trouble. Moreno urged her to continue.

‘Anyway,’ she said, ‘I went to a woman called Vera Something. .’

‘Sauger?’

‘Yes, that’s it. Vera Sauger. She had known Winnie Maas quite well, and had my dad as a teacher, it seems. I told her I believed that my dad was innocent, and then. . well, then she sort of shut up. Withdrew into her shell. I had the impression. . No, I don’t really know.’

‘Go on,’ said Moreno.

‘I had the impression that she’d known that was the case all along. That he was not guilty. No, I don’t mean that she actually knew, just that I had that impression at the time, when I was at her house. Do you follow me?’

Moreno said that she did.

‘Well, this Vera Sauger gave me a couple of new names, people I ought to talk to. There was one whose name I’ve forgotten, and the other was Tim Van Rippe. God, but I wish I’d never been given those names. .’

‘I understand,’ said Moreno. She was actually beginning to understand. At last. ‘How did that go?’ she asked.

Mikaela took another deep breath. Picked up her knife and fork, but then laid them down again on the table.

‘It was so awful,’ she said. ‘So horrendously awful, I’ll never be able to forget it. . Never, never ever. I’ve dreamt about it every single night since it happened. Several times every night, as soon as I fall asleep. . All the time, nonstop, it seems like.’

For a moment it looked as if the girl was going to burst into tears, but she gritted her teeth and continued instead.

‘I phoned him. Tim Van Rippe, that is. I told him who I was and asked if he had time for a little chat. He sounded a bit odd, but I didn’t think so much about that. . He said he was busy until that evening, and we agreed to meet at a certain spot on the beach at nine o’clock.’

‘Nine o’clock in the evening?’

‘Yes. On the beach. I asked if he couldn’t make it a bit earlier, but he said he couldn’t. So I went along with nine o’clock. I checked the train times and there was one at ten to eleven, so I’d be able to get home anyway. Then I tried to get in touch with that other person. . Ah yes, Bitowski his name was: but no luck. So I spent all the afternoon lying on the beach. It was lovely weather.’

With a stab of self-reproach Moreno recalled that she had also spent the same afternoon on the same beach. A few kilometres further north, but still. . It was that first Sunday, she was a bit hungover, on holiday and happy.

‘That evening I sat there waiting for him from about half past eight onwards. In the place we’d agreed on, quite close to that pier, whatever it’s called. Frieder’s Pier, I think. There weren’t many people on the beach, but it wasn’t dark yet. He came at about ten to nine, and we started walking slowly along the beach, northwards. I did the talking and he just listened. After a while we sat down — I thought it was unnecessary to walk, and my rucksack was quite heavy. I took it off and there was something wrong with it. One of the metal rods that make it more stable had started to come loose and was poking out from the pleat that was supposed to keep it in place. I took it out altogether in order to try and put it back in properly — or just throw it away, I didn’t really know which. . By that time I’d almost finished talking, but I hadn’t said anything about my dad being innocent. I said so now, and that’s when it happened.’

She bit her lip. Moreno waited.

‘I said: “I know my dad didn’t kill Winnie Maas.” Those were my exact words. He stood up while I was messing around with my rucksack. And when I looked up at him I suddenly realized what had really happened. It all came to me as quick as lightning. He was the one who did it. It was Tim Van Rippe who murdered Winnie Maas. I knew it in a flash, and he must have realized that I knew. I’ve thought about it a thousand times since then, and that’s how it must have sounded in his ears when I said that it wasn’t my dad who was guilty. He thought I was accusing him of having done it. . And I could see that he intended to do the same to me. He took a step towards me and raised his arms and I could see in his face that he intended to kill me as well. He intended to kill me right there on the beach. .’