Карин Фоссум - Hell Fire

People came and went in the graveyard at regular intervals, tending the graves. They brought watering cans, trowels, and plants. He noticed an elderly woman who came every day to the graves of the mother and child who had been killed up at Skarven. He watched her walk slowly between the graves, her head bowed and her back bent as she went out through the wrought-iron gates.

He was just getting ready to leave one day when a man drove up and parked beside him. He got out of the car and went down into the graveyard. Without knowing why, Woiciech sat and watched him. There was something about the way he walked. A heavy, slow man dressed all in black. He didn’t have anything with him either — no flowers or trowel or watering can. But he was not just out for a ramble; he definitely knew where he was going. Woiciech waited. When the man got to Bonnie’s and Simon’s graves, he just stood there and stared, as though he didn’t really know what to do with himself. A lot of people had visited their graves; they were presumably curious. The case was so gruesome that it had attracted attention beyond the country’s borders. Woiciech looked at the car that was parked beside his. He had read about the details in the newspapers, like everyone else. The man by the graves stood with his hands deep in his pockets and occasionally kicked at the soil. Eventually he turned back to the parking lot, got into his car, and drove off down the avenue of trees.

Woiciech went straight to the police station. He had nothing else to do; he had the time. He asked to speak to Sejer and was shown into a bright office, where he was greeted by Frank.

“I’ve got something to report,” he said shyly. “I’m working up at the church, painting the fence. People come and look at the graves. Of those two, I mean. And today a man came.”

“And he drew your attention?” Sejer said. “That’s why you’re here. What did you see?”

“He was big. Tall and solid. He stood there for a long time, and I sat in the car and watched.”

“Did he realize he was being watched?”

“I don’t think he noticed.”

“And what about his age? How old do you think he was?”

“Under thirty. No gray hair. Black top and boots. I thought it was strange to be wearing boots in this heat. His car was parked beside mine. I waited. Then he drove slowly off down the avenue.”

“In other words, you got a good look at the car, close up,” Sejer said. “This could be very important to us.”

“Yes,” Woiciech agreed. “The car was similar to the one I saw up by the farm. I had a close look before he came back.”

Sejer nodded. He couldn’t keep his hands still. He opened and folded them, and drummed his fingers on the world map that was on the desk in front of him.

“What kind of car was it, Woiciech?” he asked. Woiciech seemed to be pleased with himself.

“An Opel Omega wagon,” he said. “Red.”

Sejer knew that they would solve the case now. But he had known that all along. He felt neither joy nor triumph, just relief and satisfaction. He felt that it was something important, significant. For Henny and Henrik Hayden. For everyone who had been affected, for all the local community in Haugane. For the organization he was a part of, and for Bonnie and Simon. Woiciech got up and pulled his cell phone from the pocket of his green work pants. He tapped on some buttons and then put the phone down on the map, on Krakow.

“Here,” he said. “I took the plate number.”

Henny Hayden was quick, so she understood people. She picked up on details and nuances; she had intuition. And as soon as she saw the two detectives, she knew something significant had happened.

“What is it?” she asked.

“We’ll soon find out,” Sejer replied.

She showed them in. They told her about the car up at the church, that they had the plate number, that it was one of several red cars that had been seen in the area. And that via the plate number, they had found out who owned the car.

Henrik was home, sitting by the window in a red-and-blue-striped dressing gown. When they came in, he turned to look at them with a tentative smile. Like a child who doesn’t know what the adults want. He was pale and thin and vulnerable. The silk dressing gown had opened slightly at the top to reveal his chest, which was covered in fine white hairs. He had been muscular when he was younger, but this had now turned to fat. A transparent tube, as thin as a thread, disappeared into his ear, indicating that he used a hearing aid.

They sat down and then focused their attention on Henny.

“Do you know the name Malthe?” Sejer asked. “Thomasine Malthe?”

Henny looked at them, confused. She couldn’t believe what she’d just heard. Malthe? No, it couldn’t be true.

“We had expected it to be a man,” Sejer explained. “We couldn’t imagine that Bonnie and Simon had been killed by a woman. But perhaps Thomasine has a husband. Our witness saw a man up at the graveyard. He was relatively young, probably in his twenties.”

Henny was still confused. She shook her head every now and then, as if what was happening seemed unreal, that they were on the wrong trail. But something that came from way back in the past broke over her like a storm.

“Do you know Thomasine Malthe?” Sejer asked again.

“No, not really.”

“But you know who she is?”

“Yes.”

“Is there something that you’ve been keeping from us that you’d like to tell us now?”

“Do I have to?”

“Yes.”

“But it’s got nothing to do with the case.”

“Let me be the judge of that.”

“She has a son,” she said with trepidation.

“A son?”

“Yes, Thomasine Malthe has a son. He’s twenty-one.”

“And do you know anything about this son?”

“Yes, if it’s important.”

“It is important.”

“Should I have told you right away?”

“Yes.”

She couldn’t look at them anymore. She seemed to be disconsolate and ashamed, desperately trying to get out of the situation.

“Tell us about Thomasine and her son.”

She took a deep breath. “Bonnie had a boyfriend when she was fifteen. I think I’ve already told you about him. His name was Jørgen. We never got to meet him; she never brought him home because Henrik was so strict. He broke off their relationship after a few months and Bonnie was distraught. We couldn’t understand why she was taking it so badly. She wouldn’t have any trouble getting a new boyfriend because she was so pretty. She was more beautiful than any of the other girls. We thought it all very odd. Girls have boyfriends. I had five before I met Henrik.”

“But she didn’t get a new boyfriend?”

“No, and she didn’t try either. And a few weeks later, we realized why: he had gotten her pregnant. That was why he had broken it off; he didn’t want to have a child, the coward. We didn’t know how far gone she was.”

“Did you contact Jørgen?” Skarre asked.

“No, we didn’t even know his surname. She didn’t want us to know who he was. But she did want to have the child. It was almost as though she was doing it in defiance, maybe to punish him. And Henrik was furious that she wouldn’t tell us who he was. He swore that if he ever found out, he would wreak his revenge. Make mincemeat out of him, was what he said.”

“But he never did?”

“No.”

“So Bonnie went to term. And how was that?”

“It was embarrassing for us to have to tell the family that we didn’t know who the father was. As if there were several candidates, a line of them. To be honest, I was ashamed of Bonnie. She was no longer the daughter I knew; she was possessed. She ran around the house screaming and slamming doors. Buried herself in her bed, wouldn’t talk. Henrik was in shock, and we had no idea what the future held. Bonnie had so many plans. She wanted to study medicine. She wanted to work with geriatrics, and no one else wanted to do that.”