Karin Fossum - The Drowned Boy

“Girls that age don’t drink whiskey,” Skarre said.

“No, you’re probably right,” Sejer agreed. “So far Carmen is telling the truth then. But I have to admit, she does seem a bit confused regarding the sequence of events. Call me if you find anything else. In the meantime, I’ll speak to Nicolai, and we’ll see if they say the same thing.”

“So what are your thoughts?” Skarre asked.

“Well, the usual, I suppose, that one of them might be lying. And if that’s the case, then the guilty party is not going to get away with it.”

“It was too late,” Nicolai Brandt said. “He was all blue. That is, his nails and lips were blue, and otherwise he was white as a sheet. I could see that it was Tommy, but he looked so alien. I realized that he was dead, and Carmen was completely hysterical. It was impossible to think. It was all wrong, what I did. I’m useless,” he said melodramatically as he dried a tear.

“Where were you when she shouted for help?” Sejer asked.

“In the cellar,” Nicolai replied. “I was repairing a bike. I earn a bit of money doing little jobs like that. It was a friend’s bike. I had changed and oiled the chain, so it was fixed.”

“So,” Sejer said patiently, “you were bent over the bicycle. What did you think when you heard Carmen shout?”

“She wasn’t shouting; she was screaming,” Nicolai said. “I knew right away that Tommy was in the water. I’ve always hated that pond and worried about it all the time. Tommy’s all over the place, because he’s just learned to walk, and he couldn’t get enough. So I let go of the bike and ran as fast as I could down to the pond. Carmen had managed to get him out of the water and onto the grass. We did everything we could to revive him, but nothing worked. He didn’t react. I called for an ambulance and they came as fast as they could, but I realized after only a few minutes that it was already too late. They tried to resuscitate him too, but didn’t manage either — even though they were better at it than us and had done it loads of times. We could tell that they were professionals and had probably saved many lives. So I kept hoping. Waiting for him to wake and cough up some water. For him to get the color back in his face and to start breathing again.”

Nicolai was extremely pale despite the long summer, and his eyes were dark pools of grief and despair. It was perhaps the first time he had seen death up close. He was only twenty, after all. And everyone’s first experience of death is traumatic.

“So,” Sejer started after a pause, “had Tommy walked down to the pond before? It’s not that far really, only about one hundred and sixty feet. Or had he gone outside onto the grass by himself before or anything like that? Can you remember any episodes?”

Nicolai clenched his hands in his lap. He was also of slight build, like Carmen, so they were well matched, these two unhappy souls. He had thin hair that was slicked back and long at the neck. There was a small tattoo that looked like a Japanese character on one hand.

“What does your tattoo mean?” Sejer asked out of curiosity.

“Courage,” Nicolai told him.

“Does it work?”

“No, not at all. I’ve always been a coward. Could we be charged with negligence?”

Sejer ignored the question.

“Why do you say that you’re a coward?” he asked. “Who says you’re a coward?”

“I do. I know I am; you don’t need to humor me. Because I don’t deserve it.”

“All right then,” Sejer said, wanting to move on. “Tommy. Had he ever gone out of the house on his own before? Out into the garden?”

“Yes, a couple of times. When he got to the steps, he’d crawl. I’ve told Carmen to keep all the doors shut, because he’s so quick. But it was a warm day and the doors were wide open.”

“Can you tell me what Carmen was doing when Tommy disappeared? Do you know?”

He thought about it, running his tattooed hand through his hair.

“I don’t know. She was doing the housework, I guess. Or making supper. She enjoys it, just puttering around doing things. She likes making food; she’s very domestic.”

“And where do you work, Nicolai?”

“I work with Pappa Zita in the center of town. At Zita Quick, the fast-food place on Torggata.”

“And do you like working for your father-in-law?”

“Yes, he’s really nice. But he had a major heart attack a couple of years ago, so he has to take things easy now. Carmen and I help him as much as we can. We don’t earn very much, but we get by on what we’ve got. Carmen’s still on maternity leave, but she’ll start working again, once Tommy—”

He stopped abruptly, remembering everything. Frank got up from where he had been sleeping and went over to him. He stood licking Nicolai’s hand with his warm tongue.

“Do you like dogs?” Sejer asked to distract him.

He nodded and stroked Frank’s wrinkly head. “Yes, Carmen does too. But we didn’t get one because of Tommy. I mean, we’d thought of waiting until he was three or four. I realize now it’s stupid to put things off. Suddenly life is over,” he said, “and it’s too late. The house will be so empty now. We’re used to hearing him laugh and cry; I don’t know how we’ll manage!” He burst into tears. Sitting helplessly in his chair, he tried to dry his eyes.

“You’ll be offered support from a psychologist,” Sejer assured him. “Do you think you’ll take it?”

“No, I don’t believe in talking. I just want to be left alone,” he said. “Will we be able to go home soon? I don’t understand all these questions, and they’re upsetting me.”

“Yes, you’ll be able to go home soon. We’ll contact you again once we’ve got the results from the autopsy.”

Nicolai shook his head despondently. “But there’s nothing to find,” he said. “Can we not be spared that?”

“I’m sorry,” Sejer said firmly, “but the circumstances make it necessary. And even if you don’t understand why we need to do an autopsy, I can assure you that it’s in Tommy’s interests. We have procedures that need to be followed; can you trust me on this one?”

“I just think it’s so awful,” he mumbled. “I can’t bear the thought of it, opening up his little body and emptying out the contents.”

“You won’t be able to tell afterward, I promise you that,” Sejer said. “Rest assured that you will be able to see him for a last time without being upset. Talk to the funeral directors about it. They can help you with things like that.”

Nicolai sat in silence for a long time, lifting his gaze to look out of the window, while Sejer thought about Carmen. What would her motive have been, if she had in fact thrown Tommy in the pond on purpose? That she couldn’t take any more? That he wasn’t a wanted child, as she claimed he was? That he tied her down? That having a child who was different felt like a burden — an overwhelming, lifelong, all-encompassing, and exhausting obligation that was simply too much? And so today, of all days, on Wednesday, August 10, she had done what she could to get rid of him once and for all? Simply because he was different. Could that really be true? Or was it none of the above. Just a tragic accident of the kind they saw too many of, where no one was to blame?

It was six o’clock in the evening when he let them go. Skarre drove them back to the house. He stood outside and looked around. It was a long way to the nearest neighbors; there were no houses in the immediate vicinity. Something criminal could easily have happened down at the pond that day without another living soul seeing anything.

Frank did not try to say hello — Holthemann was not interested — and the dog slunk off obediently to lie in the corner. There was no affection to be had from the chief superintendent, the dog knew this. Holthemann looked up at Sejer, his pale eyes peering from behind his thick and not particularly clean spectacles. His stick, which was leaning against the wall in a corner, had a silver head on which an old coat of arms was engraved. Holthemann had a gimpy leg, a very gimpy leg. His circulation was appalling; the veins clogged right up to his groin. The leg might have to be amputated just above the knee. The very thought sickened his stomach and had resulted in many a sleepless night. He often woke up after only a couple of hours, dripping in sweat, with the image of a bleeding, sawed-off stump. He didn’t want a false leg, no matter what. He had no time for spare parts; he was a proud man. But his leg was discolored from the ankle up and when he pressed his fleshy calf with a finger, it left a dent that stayed there for a long time. It terrified him.