Karin Fossum - The Drowned Boy

Twelfth of October. Morning.

What sad times, he thought. The leaves are falling from the trees and rotting on the ground. Nature is freezing over and Nicolai is dead. As a rule, he only met his own eyes fleetingly when he looked in the mirror. There was an odd shyness; even though he was handsome, it didn’t make much difference. But now, today, the twelfth, he stood and studied himself with renewed interest. He stared at himself, searching for signs of weakness. And he certainly found them. The lines by the corners of his mouth were more marked. But how could I have prevented it, he asked himself. When someone has decided on it, it’s not easy to prevent death; it’s not easy to stop them falling out of time. And yet he was weighed down by sorrow at Nicolai’s death. No way back, once you’re hanging from the noose. A strong nylon rope was enough. But now perhaps he was reunited with Tommy, even though he didn’t believe that either. Death was cold and final, the cessation of life and nothing else.

When he had finished shaving, which he did with extra care given the day’s plans, he went out into the kitchen. He put on the coffee and buttered a piece of bread. Frank padded over to his water bowl for a drink, knowing that he would get his morning walk if he was patient. Following this simple breakfast, Sejer went into the hall and clipped on the leash. Together they walked down the stairs and came out into the parking lot. The morning sky was gray with mist and it was drizzling. There’s nearly always guilt, in some form or other, attached to death, he thought. There was always something you could have done differently and better. Carmen would now be feeling guilty, as was Marian Zita. Just like I’m feeling guilty, he thought. He pulled at the leash, struggling to get the dog to follow him. Something had been there before them, a bitch perhaps. Now it was too late and Nicolai’s death tormented him. But his thoughts drifted on to other things. Frank had found a pinecone. He carried it proudly in his mouth and lifted his leg as dogs are wont to do. A quarter of an hour later, he turned and walked back to the apartment.

Well, he thought when he had driven into the center, I’m about to get my final verdict now. No matter what, he’d take it like a man, even if it was perhaps terminal. He had always been balanced by nature: patient, calm, and rational. No one lived forever. He parked the car and went into the medical practice. There were others waiting. He dutifully took a pair of blue shoe covers from the basket and put them on. They looked ridiculous and none of the others in the waiting room had done the same.

While he waited, he read a medical journal. He believed that his health was generally very good, even though he was prone to melancholy and was a worrier by nature. He had managed well in life so far. Through the grief and loss of Elise, through unrelenting murder cases. Yes, he had been strong and stubborn and robust all his life. Dedicated and almost self-sacrificing in relation to the people he served. And here he was reading about five-year-old American children on antidepressants and toddlers taking sleeping pills, incredible. He himself had never taken anything other than acetaminophen, on the rare occasion that he got a headache. But there was nothing that helped for dizziness, other than keeping as still as possible until it passed.

He waited for nearly an hour, his body restless and on edge. Finally a nurse came to the door and called his name. The plastic shoe covers rustled as he walked across the scrubbed floor.

The doctor was alarmingly young, but Sejer felt he was given the best care. He was asked how long he had had this dizziness that came and went, which so often threw him off balance and to the floor. When he answered, he was embarrassed and awkward.

“I’d rather not answer that,” he said. “Not without my lawyer here.”

The doctor, Hannah Chen, smiled with white teeth and looked at him indulgently. “I see,” she said. “I take it that it’s been some time since your last visit. You’re certainly not part of the furniture here.”

“I’m sorry; I never make an appointment unless it’s urgent,” he said. “I’m a cautious man.”

She referred him to Oslo University Hospital for an MRI, and he realized there was no getting away from it; the bugger was going to be caught once and for all. Then she started to ask him about all kinds of things, and he answered as best he could. No, there’s no history of cancer in my family. My father had a bad heart, and my mother died of kidney failure; she was born with only one kidney and then it got inflamed. Both of them lived to a good age though. My wife died of liver cancer, some years ago now. She was only forty. No, I don’t drink much. Just a whiskey in the evening. Although, to be honest, it’s quite a generous dram. And I smoke one single cigarette every day and have for years. But I believe in moderation. Otherwise I lead a healthy life. My diet is rather Spartan; I keep fit. I’m never ill. Never. This is a new experience in my very orderly life, whatever it is that’s bothering me. And yes, I’m a bit anxious. So what do you think? Will I live until Christmas?

Dr. Chen made some short notes. Her black hair was swept up into a tight, shiny bun on the top of her head.

“I’m guessing you will,” she said calmly. “But we have to take this seriously. You’re not getting any younger, I’m sorry to say. None of us are. The human body is an intricate thing, and it’s amazing that so many manage to get by without mishap well into old age. People have never lived as long as we do now. And you’ll live to be old too, just you wait and see. So, I’m going to ask you to go to the lab and get some blood tests, and then you can go home safe in the knowledge that things have been set in motion. The hospital will send you a letter about your appointment. Try not to worry. You really are in very good shape.”

He tried to calm his nerves and push the thoughts from his mind. In the afternoon, he drove over to Pappa Zita’s house. Carmen opened the door, came onto the front step, and held out her hand with a brave smile. She said nothing at first, as if she had gotten stuck, but then she composed herself and managed to speak.

“Oh, have you come to bother us again?” she said with a dark, defiant flash.

She walked into the hall and then closed the door behind him with a slam.

“No,” Sejer replied. “I haven’t come to bother you. I just wanted to give my condolences, because this is all so terribly sad. I feel it too. And you have experienced more tragedy than anyone deserves. That was all I wanted to say, that my thoughts are with you.”

“It would be nice if you came to the funeral,” she said. “Because he liked you a lot. He said so. Dad isn’t at home. He had to go to Zita Quick for a meeting. The business is growing, so we have to employ more people. I’m going to start working again soon, because I’ve been at home for so long now. You can bring the dog in if he’s out in the car. But to be honest, I think it’s time you left me alone now.”

The words just poured out. It was as if she feared silence, because it would reveal something. Because when nothing is said, your body can betray you with a thousand small signals — nervous hands, a twitch of the mouth — even though she was doing all she could to be relaxed. He declined the offer and said that Frank was fine in the car; he was used to waiting. Was she not going to talk about Nicolai? How could she ignore his death? He couldn’t understand what she was thinking.

“Is it true that they break their neck?” she asked, suddenly looking at him directly. “Is it quick?”

He looked her in the eye and thought for a moment before answering.