The Drowned Boy

by Karin Fossum

  “We have to choose an undertaker,” Pappa Zita said. “Not the biggest or most expensive; let’s use a smaller one. Sentrum,” he suggested, “I hear they’re very good, even though there are only two of them. When will we get Tommy back from the coroner?”

  Carmen and Nicolai looked at each other. Neither of them could answer, because they had forgotten to ask.

  “Well, I guess they have set procedures,” Zita said. “I’m sure it won’t take too long, and they know that we’re waiting. Has either of you thought about the funeral?”

  “He was our child,” Nicolai burst out. His voice was breaking up.

  “I’m sorry,” Zita said hastily. “I was only trying to help. I just thought we should make some decisions. And I thought that you might need someone to do that for you, as you have more than enough to deal with. How did the police treat you? Were they understanding? Did they treat you with respect?”

  “They poked around and asked lots of questions about all sorts of things,” Carmen said. “And Nicolai and I were kept in separate rooms, which I thought was horrible.”

  “But that’s just procedure,” Zita reassured her. “Rules that they have to follow in the event of sudden death and accidents. To find out exactly what happened.”

  “But we’d explained to them,” Carmen said sulkily. “In detail. And still they said that we might have to go in again. To answer more questions after the autopsy. But they won’t find anything. He was fit and healthy. He had that ear infection once but got over it quick enough. I told them that Tommy was healthy.”

  They sat in silence while eating Elsa’s food. Nicolai was hungry, but he let it gnaw at him and only took a couple of mouthfuls. Afterward Zita went out into the yard and wandered around aimlessly, not knowing what to do. If there was anything, anything at all that could soothe the pain, he thought. Again and again he berated himself for not having built a fence.

  Nicolai wanted them to leave, because he wanted to be alone. He wanted to grieve without onlookers. He left the house again around midnight and went back down to the pond. He sat at the end of the jetty and wept. He could barely resist the lure of the black water.

  9

  ELEVENTH OF AUGUST. Morning.

  “I dreamed about death,” she wailed. “He was right here in the room, and he was falling to pieces. All stained and rotten and messy, with long yellow nails. I’ve never seen anything so hideous in my life. He sat on the rug beside the bed all night, breathing. It was disgusting. I thought I could still smell him when I woke up—a kind of sweet, rotten smell. And something’s bitten me on the thigh. Look, it’s all red and starting to swell up.”

  “A wasp,” Nicolai said, exhausted. “There’s some lidocaine cream in the bathroom drawer. It should help a little.”

  “Haven’t you slept?”

  “No.”

  “Have you been drinking whiskey?”

  “Yes.”

  “More than one?”

  “Yes, and don’t worry. I can do what I like with my life. If I want to go to hell, I’ll go to hell.”

  Carmen stood there for a while, thinking she desperately wanted to say the right thing. She wanted to be good and to save him. Because that was what the situation called for. She had to put out the fire that was burning all around her. She saw the empty glass on the table and started to fret. To think that he was sitting here drinking on his own so early in the morning.

  “It won’t get any better if you’re tired and hungry,” she said. “It won’t get any better if you’re drunk. We don’t need to numb ourselves; we have to get through this. And there are things we need to organize. The funeral and lots of other things. Listen to me, I’m trying to help!”

  He didn’t answer. Just sat there and played with the fringe on the blanket. His eyes were swollen from crying and his hair was a mess. She stood looking at him, not knowing what to say. So she said nothing, went into the kitchen, and put on the kettle. She had a life to live, after all. She needed air in her lungs, blood in her arms and legs. Things had to keep working. He called to her from the living room.

  “Why do you think they want to examine the house?”

  She went back out and fell into a chair. She licked her finger and brushed it over the bite, because she thought that spit might soothe it. That was right, wasn’t it?

  “Don’t think about it anymore,” she said in a comforting voice. “It’s bad enough as it is, and you’re only making it worse sitting here brooding. I don’t know why they want to look at the house, but I guess they’ll do what they like.”

  He pulled off the blanket and sent her a dark look. His eyes, which she normally thought were kind, were suddenly accusing.

  “You didn’t think Tommy was good enough,” he said.

  Carmen didn’t recognize his voice. Again he showed a bitterness that only confused her.

  “I’ve known it the whole time. Ever since we were at the hospital and the doctors came into the room with the bad news. I remember your face, your expression when you realized the truth. You’d had a baby, and you made a face.”

  Carmen looked at him across the table and scratched the red, now irritated bite. She stepped into the bathroom to get the cream.

  “You weren’t exactly clapping with joy, either,” she countered. “And I can’t help my feelings. I am the way I am. But you can’t say that I didn’t love him. Because I did. I loved my little Tommy. More than you know.”

  She blinked away her tears, moved by her own words. It was strange to be sitting here early in the morning with Nicolai, without Tommy crying or making a fuss or needing something. It was bizarrely quiet, as though time had stopped. The new day lay ahead of her, aching with a new and welcome freedom.

  “They won’t give up,” Nicolai told her. “They’re going to keep asking questions, because that’s what they’re like. What we’ve done and not done, what we were thinking. Did we love him and how much are we grieving? How deep is your grief?” he asked, looking at her with his wet green eyes.

  She pulled herself up a bit and said she had told them all there was to tell. That she came out of the bathroom and saw that he wasn’t there. And yes, it had taken awhile. Enough time for Tommy to toddle out of the house and across the yard down to the water.

  “So,” she said, looking at his drawn face, “they can call me in for questioning as many times as they like. They can ask questions and poke around for as long as they like, but I’ve got nothing more to tell them. I’m done.”

  But most of all, in the midst of it all, she wanted to be good. She wanted him to be on her side, at any price. She stood up and went over to the sofa, sat down on his knee, and kissed his tense and pale cheek.

  “I know you don’t like me saying it,” she said, “but we can have another baby sooner or later. Maybe a little girl. Margrete or Maria. You can decide.”

  “I don’t want a little girl,” Nicolai wailed. “I want Tommy. Now, right now!”

  She stroked his hair with her delicate hand. “But you’ll never get him back. Now we only have memories. You were a good dad, so be proud of that.”

  “What were you doing in the bathroom?” he asked all of a sudden. “Why did you leave him?”

  She thought for a moment and then answered quickly. “Oh, I was just doing some washing. The door didn’t even cross my mind. I’m really sorry. I was away for about five minutes, maybe, and he can get quite far in that time. But I won’t let you blame me. And whether you like it or not, life goes on. We have to focus on the funeral now and make sure it’s beautiful in the church.”

  He didn’t want her on his lap. He pushed her off and down onto the sofa and ran his hands through his thin, straight hair.

  “You don’t leave a toddler on his own,” he retorted. “Especially not one like Tommy. You could have called for me; I could have watched him while you did the washing. You never learn! It wasn’t the first time he’d managed to get out of the house. So just admit you made a mistake and that you’re irresponsi
ble, because that’s what you are.”

  “The washing was just as important as your bikes. And in any case, I’m the one who does all the work. You just played with him in the evenings and had fun.”

  “Which of us is going to call the funeral people?” he asked.

  “Pappa Zita will do that,” she replied. “He’s going to call Sentrum. He’ll explain everything to them, that we have to wait for the body. That is, if you can’t face doing it yourself. It’s good we’ve got Dad. I don’t know how we would get through this without him. So, do you want a cup of tea? The water’s boiling; I can hear it.”

  He said no. Instead he went to the cupboard and got out a bottle of whiskey. He poured another dram, lifted the glass, and drank it down.

  “You can’t drink at seven in the morning,” she exclaimed, horrified.

  “I can do exactly what I want. No one is going to tell me how to grieve.”

  10

  SEJER LIKED TO have someone else breathing in the room, even if it was only a dog. Every now and then, Frank’s paws quivered as he ran across the fields of his dreams chasing his prey, a cat or a rabbit perhaps. Still alone, Sejer thought, and stretched his long, sinewy body. That’s what my life has become. It’s not what I had planned, but it’s what I got. He flipped the comforter to one side and put a foot down on the floor. He had often thought about getting a single bed, because that would have made more space in the already Spartan room. But thoughts had never led to action, because sometimes in his imagination Elise was still lying there sleeping beside him, silently in the empty space. This gave him gentle, if temporary, solace. But Elise had been entrusted to the earth and darkness, and that made him melancholy. He went over to the window and pulled the curtain to one side. He looked out at the sleeping town that would shortly wake up, a glittering bowl of light between the deep blue hills. Soon it would stir to life again, flare into action. The river was a leaden ribbon, stubbornly pushing its steady way to the sea. He gave Frank an affectionate pat on the head and went into the bathroom. He stared at himself in the mirror and met his own searching eyes. They were as gray as slate, Elise had once said when they were young. No, he wasn’t at all dizzy, not today. His head was crystal clear and his thoughts were free and light. It was, as he had long hoped, finally over. It had to be over now. What a fuss it had all been. Frank made his way into the kitchen and over to his water dish and sleepily slurped up some water left from the day before.

  “What do you reckon, Frank?” he asked the dog. “Do we have a murder on our hands? Something’s not right; I’d put my money on it. I bet you two pork chops. Even though you’re fat enough as it is.”

  Frank padded back to the bathroom and stopped on the threshold, studying his master standing there with a razor in his hand. On the walls, blue and white tiles with dolphins jumped. “Laughable” was his comment on the dolphins, but once upon a time they had been perfect, because there was something joyous about them, something inspiring.

  “Do you think they managed to sleep last night?” he asked the dog. “My guess is that she did and he didn’t. I hope Snorrason finds something definite. It’s possible, after all. Nothing gets by that man. Maybe his little body is full of toxins, who knows? We’ll get to the bottom of this, is that a deal? You’ve got a good nose and I’ve got my suspicions.” The dog grunted a reply and collapsed on the floor. Sejer finished his morning ablutions and got dressed, knotting his dark blue silk tie carefully. Many years ago, Elise had embroidered a small cherry with a green stalk on it. It was the sort of thing she had always liked to do.

  I’m sure they’ll be up by now, he thought. Wandering around in despair. Looking to the heavens, praying fervently to God, and cursing fate. But no matter where they look, they won’t find an answer or any soothing words. Carmen Zita is desperate, Nicolai silent and morose. That was how he imagined they would be. They were so different. We humans are put to so many tests, it doesn’t bear thinking about, he mused. Losing a child after only sixteen months. Having to haul the dead child out of the water, panic and fear tearing at your body. He put Frank on his leash and went out to greet the new day, crossing the parking lot to the small path through the woods. Other people and animals had been there before them and Frank sniffed around and searched for a trophy as always. As he walked, he enjoyed the strengthening light and lush vegetation. Bracken, thistles, and cow parsley, willow weed and mugwort, which sometimes made his eyes and nose run. Once the dog had done what he needed to, Sejer turned and walked back to the apartment building where he lived on the top floor. He picked up the paper that was lying on the mat and looked for the modest report, which he found at the back of the news section. Sixteen-month-old boy found drowned in Damtjern. Mouth-to-mouth was given immediately but any attempt to resuscitate failed, and the boy was declared dead after about an hour.

  He brushed his teeth, put on his leather jacket, and picked up his briefcase from the desk. So far there were only a couple of documents concerning Tommy’s death. He asked Frank if he wanted to go to work. The dog ran to the door and sat there whining.

  “We’re going out to Granfoss,” Sejer said, “and you’re coming with us.”

  Skarre swallowed a jelly bean. The sugar surged through his veins, making him more alert.

  “You’ve got no shame,” he said with a smile.

  “I’m not going to harass them,” Sejer said. “Just a follow-up call to show that we care. To hear how they coped with the first terrible night. There are some upsetting aspects to the job, I agree. But if little Tommy was thrown in the pond on purpose, then someone is going to pay.”

  “Absolutely,” Skarre agreed. “If I know you, you won’t let it go. Why are you so certain something is wrong?”

  “Well,” Sejer began, “strictly speaking it was you who started it all, and I’m just following up on what you told me when we were standing down there by the pond. But Carmen Zita is obviously nervous. And she is not overwhelmed by grief. Her tears feel more like anxiety about what might lie in store.”

  “I refused to let them do an autopsy,” Sejer said, once they were in the car. “I mean, when Elise died. Couldn’t bear the thought of it. I didn’t want those images in my head. It’s so brutal, opening up the body and emptying out all the organs.”

  “You refused?” Skarre repeated in surprise. “Can you do that?”

  “Yes,” Sejer said. “In many cases you can. The body belongs to the family. But not in the event of a suspicious death. Then it’s we who decide. But you know how it happened. It wasn’t exactly a secret that she died of liver cancer.”

  His openness astonished Skarre. Sejer was not usually generous when it came to talking about personal things, particularly when it came to his late wife, Elise, or anything to do with her tragic death. Even though it was a long time ago now. Skarre knew to value this intimacy and thought that it meant something—trust, for instance. They had known each other for many years, after all. They could confide in each other. The older and the younger, a kind of warm, sociable partnership that had borne fruit in the form of numerous solved cases. The two men were famous in the district for their style and integrity.

  “It’s early,” he said. “They might not be up yet.”

  “They probably haven’t slept,” Sejer replied. “It wouldn’t surprise me if they were sitting there waiting. The fate of a liar, you know, expecting to be caught at any moment.”

  Carmen Zita was wearing tiny denim shorts and a top with Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs on the front, thus confirming Sejer’s impression that she was still a child. When she saw both of them on the steps outside, she backed up a bit and put a hand to her head.

  “Why are you here?” she asked. “Is there any news about Tommy? Already, after only one night?”

  Sejer held out his hand and she took it, but her handshake was reluctant and without force.

  “Are you going to ask us in?” Sejer suggested calmly. Carmen reversed into the hall.

  “Yes, of course. Come o
n in. Dad will be here soon,” she added, as if she wanted to say that her time was limited and they were not particularly welcome. It was rather inconvenient in fact, and she really wanted them to leave. They could feel her reluctance, and she kept her distance.

  “He’s going to help us with the funeral,” she explained. “We don’t have much money. We’ve got practically nothing,” she sighed, and shrugged with her palms up. “Dad’s trying to find someone to cover for us at Zita Quick. We can’t exactly work now, either of us, can we? After what’s happened. Follow me; let’s go into the kitchen. Let’s get this over and done with. It’s starting to bother me.”

  She walked in front of them through the house. She sat down at the kitchen table and pointed to the empty chairs beside Nicolai with a resigned expression. Then she put her hand to her eyes to wipe away a tear, as they had started to fall again.

  “Where is he now?” she asked. “Have they finished the autopsy? Is he lying in a drawer in the morgue?”

  Sejer nodded. “Yes, yes, he is. And it will no doubt take some time before everything is sorted.”

  “But we want to have the funeral as soon as possible,” Nicolai said, clearly anxious. “How long do you think we’ll have to wait?”

  “That depends on the autopsy,” Skarre explained. “And on if they find anything. We promise to keep you informed.”

  “But can we start planning?” Carmen asked. “There’s so much that has to be decided. Music and flowers and all sorts of things. He’s going to be buried at Møller Church. Can we choose a plot? There are some lovely birch trees on the slope up there. And we’ve got a plot there from before. Or will we be allocated something randomly?”