Cold Fear

by Mads Peder Nordbo

  Matthew stared into their shiny turquoise eyes.

  ‘Come on!’ Tupaarnaq hit his shoulder. ‘Let’s get Arnaq upstairs. What about the others?’

  ‘Malik and Viktor are lying in the kitchen,’ Matthew said, turning to Tupaarnaq. ‘Viktor is dead.’ He closed his eyes and shook his head. ‘Rakel…’ The saliva thickened in his throat and he was unable to speak.

  ‘The explosion?’

  He nodded.

  She pressed her lips together and carefully traced her fingertips along the scorched hair on the back of his head. Then she looked at his fingers, which were taped up. ‘I felt it. And I heard it.’ She hesitated. ‘Was it Rakel?’

  ‘It…’ His upper body convulsed. He exhaled a couple of times. ‘There’s nothing…left…she…’ He shook his head again. ‘Her children…’

  Tupaarnaq heaved a sigh. Then she squeezed his arm. ‘Come on, let’s get your sister and Malik out of here.’

  The rumble of the burning town was still so loud that it drowned out all other sounds when Matthew and Tupaarnaq got Arnaq up into the laundry. Although Arnaq was very weak, she was able to stay conscious long enough for them to support her up the narrow steps.

  ‘There’s someone outside,’ Tupaarnaq said in a low voice, and fell to her knees.

  Matthew ducked as instinctively as Tupaarnaq. He looked towards the broken windows. The noise and the smoke outside were intense.

  Tupaarnaq reached for a long piece of wood and held it close to her, ready to attack.

  ‘Wait,’ Matthew said, and still crouching he made his way to one of the windows that overlooked the plain. ‘I can see a blue Lynx helicopter…It must be from NATO Arctic Command.’ He went outside and saw soldiers and police officers standing near the old office block in the centre of the abandoned town. ‘Hey,’ he shouted, waving his arms. ‘Over here!’

  DEATH AND THE BOY

  52

  NUUK, WEST GREENLAND, 28 OCTOBER 2014

  The crucifix swung back and forth like a pendulum in front of his face. He held the chain in an outstretched arm and followed the crucifix’s monotonous journey. It had been his mother’s. She had given it to him when they had left. He didn’t know why, because she had been wearing it for as long as he could remember.

  She had given it to him soon after they had chained the new woman to the bed. His father had looked at his mother and said: ‘You’re free to move, woman. Get up, take your bed and walk.’ She had stayed where she was. She hadn’t even looked up. Yet Símin had felt her eyes rest on him and then she gave him the crucifix.

  Símin studied the granite ceiling in the abandoned cave. It was a big, cold room. Carved into the bedrock a long time ago. Kjeld said people had stored gunpowder in it in the old days. Símin’s hand with the crucifix fell to the ground. Kjeld had given his mother a green metal box when they left. Perhaps that was why she had given him the crucifix. Then suddenly there was smoke and everything had changed. Símin had to leave now, his father had said. They didn’t have time to find Kristina and Solva. Victims of the last few days, his father had called them. Símin didn’t know about the victims of the last days from the Bible, but his father had said that those who are afraid to leave their children in the hands of God deny the power of God. God is testing us, my son, and who are we to doubt his ways?

  His father would marry the new one. Símin knew that much. Kjeld would make sure of it.

  His mother was free.

  A smile spread across the pale, skinny man’s face. Arnaq was his. His father had said so. Kjeld had said they could have her. He stuck his hand into his bag and found Arnaq’s torn blouse. It smelt of her. He could feel her breasts through the smell. They were soft. They were warm. He began to pant. His penis hardened in his trousers and he pressed his hand against it, squeezing it hard. Arnaq was his. And his alone. When they came home, he would touch her again; he would bite her breasts, swallow them. His fingers clasped his penis so hard that it hurt. But first he needed to stay in the cave for a week. Kjeld had said so. He couldn’t come with them, Kjeld had said, and neither could he stay at home in the corridors, his father had said, and so he had ended up in the cave with water, food and blankets. Stay here, Kjeld had said. Don’t go outside. There are demons outside, his father had said. They’re all demons. His father’s eyes had been frenzied. The demons have set fire to our home, but Kjeld will catch the demons. We’ll kill them in revenge and in great and violent wrath. You wait here.

  He had his father’s old, black Bible with him. His mother’s crucifix. He rubbed his penis and pressed Arnaq’s blouse against his nose and mouth.

  ‘God created the harlot,’ he moaned, glancing at the Bible. ‘The virgin shall become fruitful.’

  There was a noise of something rummaging around outside the iron gate that led to the cave. Símin stopped rubbing his groin and his hand with the blouse sank towards the ground.

  He pressed himself against the raw rock wall and curled up on the ground when the noise returned, louder this time. There was someone at the gate. Someone alive. He stared at the Bible and his pale hand. He threw aside Arnaq’s blouse and grabbed his mother’s crucifix instead.

  ‘Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil,’ he whispered to himself, gripping the iron crucifix so hard that it cut into his skin. ‘For You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.’

  Now he could see the man who had entered. The man walked around in the light which came in with the open gate. The man was dirty. His clothes were threadbare and shabby. His face and hair were also filthy.

  The crucifix cut through the skin of Símin’s hand and into his flesh. He closed his eyes and moaned from pleasure. He squeezed it again. Once more the crucifix bit into the palm of his hand. ‘The Lord is my shepherd,’ he groaned very softly. Blood trickled down the palm of his hand. ‘My all in all; he has paid the wages of sin for me.’

  ‘Aluu?’ the man said in Greenlandic.

  Símin looked up abruptly. He stopped squeezing the crucifix. ‘Don’t look at me,’ he whispered slowly.

  The man stepped deeper into the darkness and spoke to him. He sounded like a demon. His words were strange and lisping to Símin’s ears. Símin’s eyes widened. Maybe the man’s tongue was forked? A lisping, filthy demon?

  The man carried on talking as he came towards him.

  ‘Don’t look at me,’ Símin said again, louder this time. He covered his mouth with his bloodstained hand.

  ‘Ah, you’re Danish,’ the demon said. ‘Didn’t think there were any homeless Danes.’

  ‘Don’t look at me,’ Símin said angrily, and stood up.

  ‘Are you high?’ the demon said. Its face contorted with laughter; its teeth were brown stumps.

  Símin took a step forwards and floored the man with a single blow. The man howled and squealed in his lisping, shrill demon language.

  Símin looked about him. Soon the whole cave would be filled with demons, given the way this one was screaming. He straddled the small man and sat on his chest. He grabbed the man’s head with his big hands, his fingers enclosing the skull. Except for his thumbs, which pushed their way into the man’s eyes. The man shrieked horribly in pain and kicked out his legs, but they couldn’t reach him, and Símin had a knee pressed against each of the man’s upper arms.

  ‘Don’t…Look…At…Me…Demon!’ Símin screamed. His thumbs kept digging into the man’s eyes until they could go no further.

  53

  NUUK, WEST GREENLAND, 29 OCTOBER 2014

  The many beautiful national costumes sparkled in an abundance of colours. Every woman wore red and sealskin, while the broad pearl collars from their necks to their chests were unique to each of them.

  The white coffin was carried by six police officers. Paneeraq walked in front of the coffin, holding a tall, white crucifix.

  Matthew looked at the mourners. Most men in the funeral procession wore a white anorak and black trousers, but many were wearing
their everyday clothes, as he was.

  They had to walk closely together on the sloping gravel path leading away from the church. Much more closely than Matthew would have liked. Many people had come to say goodbye to Jakob, which had surprised Matthew, given that Jakob had fled Nuuk over forty years ago. Even so, the church had been packed to the rafters.

  Before the funeral service started many of the women, including Paneeraq and Else, had walked past Jakob’s coffin to give it a single kiss.

  Matthew had sat next to Arnaq and Else inside the church. They had picked up Arnaq from the hospital. Physically she had recovered well after being given saline and food.

  Things had moved fast after they had been flown back from Færingehavn to Nuuk by helicopter, and when the dust finally began to settle, Matthew had taken twenty-four hours to himself. Tupaarnaq had been staying with Paneeraq in Jakob’s house and Arnaq had been at the hospital. As had Malik.

  Matthew looked at the angular white church, which sat on a rock in the middle of Nuuk. Right below the path leading to the church was the pub, Mutten, and next to that the office where Briggs worked. Across the street lay the large, rust-brown TelePost building, along with a café and the blue community hall.

  A man shouted out something in Greenlandic down by the pub, but it wasn’t aimed at the mourners.

  The glossy varnish of the coffin gleamed in the sharp rays of the noontime sun. Jakob’s funeral had been held up while they waited for forensic pathologists to arrive from Denmark, but now the time had come.

  Tears had rolled down Matthew’s cheeks during most of the service, especially during the hymns. The next funeral would be Rakel’s, and Matthew could already imagine her children standing by their mother’s coffin.

  Someone grabbed Matthew’s arm.

  ‘We need a more detailed feature,’ his editor said.

  Matthew nodded slowly.

  ‘And I’ve been thinking…Well, you know me, Matthew. I’ve been thinking that you’re the best man for the job, so I’ve been putting it on hold because I couldn’t contact you yesterday.’

  ‘No, I…’ Matthew hesitated. ‘I needed some time out.’

  His editor nodded. ‘I don’t blame you. You see, we’ve written about Rakel and all that, but we would like a big article about the underground bunker you discovered.’

  Matthew’s gaze slipped from the six pallbearers and the coffin in front of them and down onto the narrow path. A hearse was waiting to take the coffin to the cemetery in Nuussuaq, where it would be buried in what little earth was out there. ‘That crucifix Paneeraq is carrying,’ Matthew said. ‘Is that to be placed on his grave?’

  ‘Eh?’ His editor looked perplexed, first at the coffin and then at the crucifix moving slowly down in front of them. ‘Yes, the crucifix… Yes, it’s a local custom.’

  Matthew turned his attention back to his editor. ‘I would like to take a look at it.’

  His editor looked back, nonplussed. ‘The crucifix?’

  ‘The article and everything down in Færingehavn.’

  ‘Oh, good…I’m really pleased to hear that. That’s the way to go…You’ll also write about Solva and Kristina, won’t you? The two crazy women they dragged out of the tunnels. Have you seen them?’

  Matthew raised both eyebrows. ‘Yes, I’ve seen them, but first I need to speak to Ottesen when he gets back. Abelsen, Bárdur and his son managed to get away, as far as I know, and I’m not sure what we’re allowed to write about an ongoing investigation.’

  ‘Okay,’ his editor said, and then he added: ‘Except I don’t think the son got very far.’

  ‘So I saw,’ Matthew said. ‘On your homepage.’

  ‘Yes, we managed to upload that story quickly,’ his editor said, looking pleased. ‘It’s not every day a vagrant is found staggering around and screaming his head off in an old industrial area after his eyes have been punched out of his head by some pale guy with white hair ranting about demons.’

  ‘That would be Símin,’ Matthew said.

  ‘Símin? Is his name Símin? The police said they couldn’t confirm it yet.’

  Matthew shook his head. ‘Then forget I said it.’

  ‘Hang on.’ His editor turned to one side. ‘I just want to grab Bjørn…We need to get an official quote from him.’

  Matthew saw his boss make his way diagonally backwards in the procession until he reached the chief of police.

  Most of the mourners had halted now. The coffin was being slid into the hearse, and Paneeraq placed the crucifix alongside it.

  ‘Hello…’

  Matthew recognised the deep voice immediately. ‘Hello, Briggs.’

  ‘A funeral always gets you thinking, doesn’t it?’ the tall, broad man mused. ‘Especially a killing like this one; so pointless, don’t you think?’

  ‘Yes,’ Matthew said slowly. ‘I’m guessing Jakob was killed because of his past, but it makes no sense to kill an eighty-three-year-old man, whatever the reason.’

  ‘True,’ Briggs said, his eyes now on the hearse. ‘One should never go digging up the past.’

  ‘That…’ Matthew shook his head. He didn’t have the energy to explain to Briggs what he meant.

  ‘Have you heard anything from Tom since we last spoke?’ Briggs said. ‘We would very much like to talk to him and, after all, I did promise him a long time ago that I would help you, should you turn up one day and need something.’

  ‘I haven’t heard a word,’ Matthew said quickly. ‘He seems to have drawn in his horns again.’

  ‘Really, are you sure? Never mind, he’ll turn up, you’ll see.’ Briggs patted Matthew’s shoulder lightly. ‘He was a good guy, your father, before it all went wrong. My best friend back in Portland at the dawn of time.’

  Matthew nodded grimly. He was going to Ittoqqortoormiit to warn his father about Abelsen and Bárdur, but there was no need to share that information with Briggs. It was clear that Briggs and the US military were also very keen to get their hands on Tom, but Matthew would like to meet the man first. Given the messages he was hearing from all sides, his father could easily end up serving a very long prison sentence in the US.

  54

  ‘Would you like a lift to the cemetery?’ Paneeraq asked Matthew. ‘I’m going in the car with Karlo’s cousin and there’s room for more.’

  ‘No, thank you.’ Matthew cleared his throat and looked at the hearse as it slowly pulled away from the square and turned down the road to the junction between Brugseni and the Hotel Hans Egede. ‘I’ve promised to take Arnaq home straight after the funeral so she doesn’t spend too much time outside. But I’ll join you shortly. I have Malik’s car parked outside my flat.’

  Behind them the flag flying by the church had gone from half-mast to flapping at the top of the tall pole.

  His editor came up from behind and said to Matthew in passing: ‘See you at the office tomorrow, right?’

  ‘Yes, I’ll be there,’ Matthew said. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Briggs offering his condolences to Paneeraq. In a few days they would be back here again when it was Rakel’s turn. Would they be offering their condolences to her children? How do you offer your condolences to a child? I’m sorry for taking your mum to meet a couple of crazed idiots who blew her to smithereens, so there’s nothing even to put in a coffin or to say goodbye to?

  Matthew’s temples were pounding and the throbbing continued right into the broken finger hidden behind the blue plastic brace. Viktor’s funeral would be taking place here too, but he hadn’t known him very well. It was Rakel who hurt. Her death had ripped open old wounds which had only just started to heal.

  ‘Matt?’ Arnaq called out to him. ‘Time to go?’

  ‘Yes, let’s get you home.’

  Her face had grown very gaunt during the week she had been held captive. Her eyes had changed as well. He offered her his arm so that she could lean on it.

  ‘I can walk on my own,’ she said, looking around the many mourners still gathered at the f
ar end of the church car park. ‘Where’s Tupaarnaq?’

  ‘She’s at Jakob’s…at his house, I mean. I don’t think she likes funerals or people.’

  Arnaq looked down at the tarmac. ‘Neither do I now, but she’s hardcore…’

  They crossed the road. Matthew’s own flat was only a short walk from where they were, but they were going up the steps behind the community hall to Else’s flat in the low housing blocks at the top of Radiofjeldet.

  They had only just reached the wide pavement on the other side when a tall, slim man in a grey hoodie shoved Matthew hard in the chest.

  ‘Hey,’ Matthew cried out. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

  ‘Are you an idiot or something?’ Arnaq added. ‘Watch where you’re going.’

  Matthew raised a hand to silence her. The man’s face was half-concealed by the hood, but the pale skin and the turquoise eyes made Matthew’s blood run cold.

  The man reached out for Arnaq’s arm, and when she saw his face she started to scream.

  He pulled out a knife, pressed it against her throat and started dragging her with him towards the community hall.

  ‘She’s mine,’ he said in a furious, snarling voice. ‘Mine! Kjeld said so…This place is filthy. You’ll ruin her.’

  He kept on moving backwards.

  ‘Símin!’ Matthew ran up to them. ‘It’s not love when you force someone to be with you; they have to be free to choose.’

  ‘Demon,’ Símin sneered. The knife was pressed so hard against Arnaq’s throat that Matthew could see a trickle of blood run down her skin. ‘All of you people here must be struck down and sacrificed to God,’ Símin ranted.

  Arnaq stumbled and Símin had to steady her. The tears were streaming down her cheeks.

  ‘Have no fear,’ Símin whispered close to her ear. ‘For I am with you…I will support you with the strength of my God.’