Karin Fossum - The Drowned Boy

“Mm,” was Skarre’s response. “Can you stop here by the kiosk? My blood sugar is low. I need candy.”

Sejer swung to the side and parked the car but left the engine running. Then he sat and waited for his younger colleague. He hadn’t felt dizzy for a long time; that was a good sign. Maybe it’s passed, he thought hopefully. After all, some things do just pass. Small everyday miracles, false alarms. A little girl on a yellow bicycle rolled into the square in front of the kiosk, and he sat and watched her. She leaned her bike up against the wall and disappeared through the door, probably to buy candy. Children were insatiable when it came to candy. He wondered why. Then Skarre came out and got into the car, and they drove back onto the road. Skarre opened the bag and mumbled to himself.

“Oh damn,” he said. “I meant to get jelly beans.”

Sejer glanced over and saw some colorful jelly figures through the plastic.

“And is that not what you’ve got there?”

Skarre shook his head. “No, these are sour monsters. And that’s not what I wanted. I took the wrong bag.”

“But they’re jelly as well?” Sejer suggested. “They certainly look like they’re jelly. Is it a problem? Should I turn around?”

“No, heavens. I’ll just have to live with it this once.”

They drove on for a while in silence, and Skarre popped a sour jelly-bean substitute in his mouth. He smacked his lips and made a face. “Well, they’re certainly sour. I’ve never tasted anything quite like it.”

“Have you always believed in God?” Sejer asked, changing gears.

Skarre held the bag out to him, but Sejer shook his head. “Oh yes,” Skarre replied. “Remember, my father was a priest. It’s in my blood. What about you? Have you always been godless?”

“You make it sound like a swear word,” Sejer commented. “But yes, no one in my house believed in anything at all. Sorry to be nosy, but I’m just curious. When little toddlers drown in a pond, it’s hard to believe there’s a meaning. That’s all really. And according to your faith, everything has a meaning; isn’t that right? That’s what I’ve always struggled to understand.”

He rummaged in the center console for his sunglasses. He found them and put them on, and turned on his right blinker.

Skarre took another sour monster and chewed it slowly.

“Yes, it’s not easy, I have to admit. And to be honest, I sometimes falter too. But doubt is an important part of faith; that’s all there is to it. And unlike you, I at least have somewhere to go with my complaints. Others flail around without focus, but I couldn’t take that. I need a wailing wall.”

“Fair enough,” Sejer said. “You’ve got a point.”

He stopped at a red light and they waited.

“So, you’ve complained to God about the loss of Tommy? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Yes, I have,” Skarre said. “I’ve had my say.”

The light changed to green and Sejer drove through the intersection, the Volvo engine purring.

“And do you believe in eternal life?”

Skarre looked over at the detective inspector, and a grin spread across his face. “So, is this an interrogation?”

“Sorry,” Sejer said as he turned on his left blinker. “I’m just curious. When I think of all the catastrophes, it’s difficult not to ask questions. Drought, war, and lack of food. Natural disasters and disease, pain and desperation. Mothers who kill their children,” he said and gave Skarre a stern look.

“Yes,” Skarre replied, “they’re the usual arguments. I struggle with those things too, if you want to know.”

Then there was silence in the car again. After a while Skarre spoke.

“That was quite an outfit she was wearing. Carmen, I mean. I’ve never seen such a short dress in my life. And she could barely walk on those heels. But she’s good at crying; I’ll give her that. Your phone’s ringing,” he added. “Is your hearing getting bad?”

Sejer pulled to the side and answered, recognizing Snorrason’s Icelandic accent on the other end.

“We’re just on our way back from the funeral,” he explained. “On our way to the station. Sorry? You’ve got the results?”

“Yes, I’ve got the results,” Snorrason said. “And you’re probably dealing with a murder case. The mother will have difficulties explaining this away. Is she good at explaining things?”

“Not bad,” Sejer said. “We’ll have to wait and see. What have you found?”

Snorrason told him, trying hard to minimize the terminology. And when he had finished, Sejer gave a quiet whistle and looked over at Skarre.

“I’ll take them in for questioning then,” he said brusquely. “Both of them. But we’ll give them a couple of days. The boy’s not long in the ground. Yes, thank you. I’ll keep you posted.”

He finished the call and pulled out onto the road again.

“It’s as we feared,” he said to Skarre. “Tommy presumably had some help in reaching heaven, or at least it certainly looks like it. You can send another complaint in to God.”

He walked slowly through the empty rooms and listened. Tommy’s absence was deafening. No more hiccupping laughter, no more sobbing tears. The child was dead and buried, and over time the body would decompose, disintegrate, and become dust. But the bones would remain. A fragile, tiny skeleton in the black earth.

“It’s all just empty words,” he said. “‘Until you return to the ground, for out of it were you taken.’ It’s just garbage. To be honest, I feel ashamed.”

Carmen wriggled out of the black dress, threw it down on the bed, and put on some everyday clothes. “The priest was nice, wasn’t she?” she commented. She was now wearing jeans and a T-shirt. “Should we just take his crib down now? I mean, we don’t need it anymore and it takes up quite a lot of space. We could put it in the cellar until we have another baby.”

Nicolai gasped. To be saying that now — what was she thinking?

“Jesus, you’re in a rush to get rid of any traces,” he said, upset.

She pushed past him and went out into the kitchen. She opened a cupboard, took out a glass, and turned on the faucet. She drank water in greedy gulps until she was sated. Some water trickled down over her chin and between her breasts.

“I don’t need all these reminders,” she said. “It just makes things worse, going to bed at night with the empty crib staring at us. That’s just the way I am; I want to forget it. I don’t want to be upset by memories.”

He walked into the living room and sat down on the sofa. He felt so tired, like he’d shifted down a gear. Everything that normally happened in his body was now so slow, and he felt cold, despite the late summer heat. The warmth of the sun pressed in against the windows and glittered on the surface of the vile pond with its single water lily.

“Maybe we should move,” Carmen called from the kitchen. “Get away from it all. Start again somewhere else. I can talk to Dad. Because if I want a new house, he’ll get me a new house.”

Nicolai protested. He felt they had to stay in the neighborhood, close to the church and the boy. Tommy should be within easy reach, and the grave by Møller Church was only twenty minutes away. He was up between the birch trees beside Louisa.

Carmen had come into the living room. She stood there with the glass of water in her hand. He saw her nipples stiffen under her T-shirt, despite the heat. He had never seen a girl with such small breasts as Carmen; she could almost be a boy.

“If we dismantle the crib, it will take less room,” she said. “And there’s so much junk in the cellar already.”

Junk, Nicolai thought. So she thinks Tommy’s bed is junk.