Karin Fossum - The Drowned Boy

“Yes, I’ll do all I can to help, and I need the money. It’s just awful. I don’t know what to say, really. To think that things like this happen, it’s horrible.”

“Have you ever looked after him? Babysat or anything like that?”

“Yes, actually,” she said. “Just once. I went to their house up at Damtjern. It was Pappa Zita’s fiftieth and they were having a big party for him at that place at Granfoss. They thought it would be best if Tommy didn’t go. There was a band and all that, and they thought that maybe there would be too much noise for him.”

Sejer sat for a while thinking.

“What’s your name?” he asked after a pause.

“Elisabeth,” she replied.

“Elisabeth. Right. Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?”

“Of course. I’m OK with that,” she said with a slight smile. She adjusted her hairnet and folded her hands on the table, waiting like a schoolgirl.

“Do you have children?”

“No, I don’t have children. I don’t even have a boyfriend.”

Skarre looked at her intently. “You mean right now, today, you don’t have a boyfriend?”

“Yes, because we broke up on Friday,” she said and let out a light, tinkling laugh. Her laughter was cheering in the midst of all the sadness.

“But,” Sejer pushed, “if you were expecting a baby, that is, you and a possible partner — which you don’t have at the moment, but still, a boyfriend — and the doctor did an amnio, as they do on some women these days when they think there is a risk. Imagine that you were told that the baby you were carrying had Down syndrome. Would you have an abortion? Or would you choose to have the baby? Sorry to be so intrusive, and I understand if you don’t want to answer. I’m just curious.”

Elisabeth was silent. They could see that she really was pondering it. It was a difficult question.

“Be honest,” Skarre interjected. “I mean, be as honest as you can. We’re not going to judge you, you can be sure of that.”

“I hope I never have to make that choice,” she said in the end. “And I know it’s awful, but I think I would have an abortion. I mean, it’s a choice that affects the rest of your life.”

Sejer and Skarre nodded.

“What about Carmen and Nicolai. Did they know that Tommy had Down syndrome beforehand?”

“No, I’m fairly sure they didn’t. If they did, they kept it secret, but we would have been able to tell. No one talked about it after he was born either; it was only after a while that it started to come out. But Pappa Zita was really upset about it. He was worried about Carmen, which is understandable. Because they only have her now. They lost her twin sister nineteen years ago, if you didn’t already know. And I’m sure all that’s coming up again now. Jesus, I can’t imagine all that tragedy.” She wrapped the chain and pendant around her fingers and looked very dejected.

“Thank you, Elisabeth,” Sejer said. “And now we’d like you to make a burger for us as we haven’t eaten since breakfast. And we’d like you to do it with love, because then it always tastes better.”

She laughed and pushed back the chair. Then she disappeared behind the counter again. Perhaps she was relieved that the conversation was over, but they both noticed a wrinkle on her forehead, as though she was worried about something she’d said. In case she had weakened someone’s case. If there was a case. While she made the food, Sejer went over to look at all the certificates hanging on the wall. The town’s best burger 2006, the town’s best burger 2007. And so on, in a long line. And then a brass plaque: OPEN 24 HOURS.

“What would you have done?” Skarre asked him, while they waited for their burgers. “With a baby like that.”

Sejer thought about it. The smell of burgers wafted into the room.

“I would have had to listen to Elise and taken her feelings into consideration. No matter what we say about equality, it’s the mother who’s closest. But deep down, I think I would have hoped she’d have an abortion. Oh yes — now you’re going to give me a hard time, but to be fair it gives me a taste of my own medicine. And yes, I think choices like that are horrendous. And we have to make so many in life. By nature we tend to die before our children, and it must be so hard to know you’re going to die before a child that will always need help. What about you? Would you see it as God’s will and therefore feel obliged to keep a child with Down syndrome?”

“Good question,” Skarre said. “You don’t make it any easier for me. And ultimately, I think I would also choose not to have the child. But not without an ocean of bad conscience.”

Fourteenth of August. Morning.

The summer heat continued, but a powerful thunderstorm was brewing, and heavy black clouds loomed in the sky. Sejer liked a good storm, the intense drama of nature, and he was sick and tired of the heat that had dominated the summer. It was stifling and made him heavy-headed. He longed for something fresher, like lower temperatures and a cleansing downpour.

The pathologist, Bardy Snorrason, had worked in the institute for more than thirty years. He spoke Norwegian with a wonderful accent and the rolling sharp consonants so characteristic of Icelanders. He was a handsome red-haired chap who commanded considerable authority and was very thorough. Sejer had often put his trust in his intricate and revealing finds in both major and less important cases. In short, Snorrason was the best and always to be found in his office. There he was, hunched over a pile of papers in deep concentration, his glasses perched on the end of his nose. He was interested in the small boy’s body and had written a very detailed report. He could never get used to it. A small dead child was tragic every time, and a melancholy had settled on him that could last a long while.

“No point in being modest in this profession,” Sejer said somberly. “So here I am, hoping to get an answer. And I know you normally prioritize in order of conscience. Women and children first, isn’t that so?”

Snorrason pointed to a chair. “Yes, I’ve been busy. And already we can ascertain that he was alive when he fell in the pond. There is a lot of water in his lungs, and dear God, the poor little mite fought against death. He’d drawn lots of water down into his lungs in a panic. I have also done a number of tests. But I’m afraid you’ll just have to be patient and wait for those results, as there are plenty in line ahead of us. What about you, have you found anything? Have you got any more out of the parents?

“No,” Sejer said. “They just repeat the same story. Carmen Zita is insistent when it comes to the sequence of events. But she’s uncertain and a bit vague in her explanation. She says, “Yes, I’m not sure, but I think I was cleaning the fish,” which has since proved to be true. But I still feel uneasy. You know how it is, intuition, and I felt it from the outset. She likes to perform and is pretty artificial to begin with, so it’s easy to take what she says with a grain of salt anyway. But you know, it’s almost like a smell or a particular mood. And over the years, like you, I’ve become a wily old fox.”

Snorrason took off his glasses and popped them on his knee. He rubbed his eyes as though he was tired. And perhaps he was; he wasn’t getting any younger. But retiring was out of the question, even though he was well over sixty. The greater part of his time was spent teaching younger minds who would eventually take over from him when he did step back. He got up and walked over to the green filing cabinet, took out the preliminary report, and started to read.

“Tommy Nicolai Zita. Age, sixteen months. Well-nourished and apparently healthy in every possible way, with the obvious exception of Down syndrome. The syndrome is a genetic disorder, not an illness, which results in secondary complications and deficiencies over time. But he had no heart problems, as a good many people with Down syndrome do; he was fit and healthy. And there is no reason to believe that he would not have done well in life, despite his disabilities. No visible traumas to the body. No wounds, no breaks, no bruises, no internal bleeding. Toxins? Don’t know, too early to say. Samples have been taken and sent to the lab, so we’re waiting for answers.”