The Weeping Girl

by Håkan Nesser

  ‘Booked herself into the youth hostel,’ said Moreno.

  Thank goodness I don’t have to pack my things, she thought.

  ‘And then?’

  ‘She took the bus into Lejnice and back. On Saturday evening.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I don’t know. Then she took the bus again on Sunday. Into town. And since then there’s been no sign of her.’

  Mikael nodded.

  ‘Any response to the Wanted notice?’

  ‘It only went out this morning,’ said Moreno. ‘If anybody’s seen her, the police ought to know by now. But Vegesack did say he’d ring . . .’

  Mikael looked at the clock.

  ‘Why don’t you ring and ask?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Moreno. ‘I’ve eaten too much.’

  It took quite a while to get through to Chief of Police Vrommel, since he was in the shower after an 8-kilometre jog.

  These details were in the recorded message on his answering machine, and twenty minutes later he responded. Newly scrubbed, fresh and fragrant, one could assume. And well stretched. Moreno came straight to the point and asked if the Wanted notice regarding Mikaela Lijphart had produced any results.

  ‘Negative,’ said Vrommel.

  ‘Do you mean nothing?’ Moreno wondered.

  ‘As I said,’ said Vrommel. ‘Negative.’

  ‘So didn’t anybody see her on Sunday?’

  ‘Nobody who has contacted us,’ said the chief of police. ‘Where I am it’s Saturday evening. Don’t you have anything better to do while you’re on leave, Inspector?’

  ‘Lots,’ said Moreno, and hung up.

  Forty-five minutes and one-and-a-half glasses of port later she telephoned Constable Vegesack.

  ‘I apologize for ringing so late,’ she began.

  ‘No problem,’ said Vegesack. ‘My girlfriend’s on a flight due into Emsbaden at half past two tomorrow morning. I’m going to collect her and have to keep awake until then.’

  ‘Glad to hear it,’ said Moreno. ‘We’ve just come home, my . . . boyfriend and I. I’d be very interested to hear what came of the Wanted notice. For Mikaela Lijphart, that is.’

  ‘I’m with you,’ said Vegesack. ‘No, nobody’s taken the bait. Not today, at least.’

  ‘Nothing at all?’

  ‘Well,’ said Vegesack, ‘there was a woman who turned up at the station this afternoon. She said she was responding to the Wanted notice, but it turned out that she had nothing of any value to contribute.’

  Moreno thought for a moment.

  ‘Nothing else?’

  ‘No,’ said Vegesack. ‘But tomorrow is another day.’

  ‘I hope so,’ said Moreno. ‘I wonder if I could ask a favour of you.’

  ‘You don’t say,’ said Vegesack. ‘What exactly?’

  ‘Well,’ said Moreno, ‘I’d like to take a look at the interrogation records of the Maager case. I assume you still have them?’

  ‘I assume so,’ said Vegesack. ‘There are loads of shelves full of files – I take it that what you are after is in one of them. Just call in and take a look.’

  Moreno waited for three seconds.

  ‘Another thing.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Could we do this without involving the chief of police? He doesn’t seem too pleased at the thought of my poking my nose into this case.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Vegesack, and she could hear from his tone of voice that if there was anything in this world that didn’t worry him in the slightest, it was going behind his boss’s back. She couldn’t help but sympathize with him.

  In any case, as it was a matter of Sunday morning (Vegesack pointed out) the chances of the chief of police turning up in the station were less than a thousand to one.

  So there was no problem at all if Inspector Moreno wanted to call in. Some time between eleven and twelve, Vegesack suggested, when he would be there anyway, sorting out various matters.

  ‘So early?’ Moreno wondered. ‘Will you really manage to get enough sleep if you’re going to collect your girlfriend at half past two tomorrow morning?’

  ‘We aren’t actually intending to sleep,’ said Vegesack.

  Moreno smiled. Thanked him and hung up.

  So that’s that, she thought. A shot in the dark. But a shot even so.

  That was another quotation, she was aware of that. She asked herself what the point was of all these set phrases that seemed to be imposing themselves on her thoughts.

  No point at all, she concluded.

  19

  ‘I must,’ said Sigrid Lijphart.

  Helmut folded up the newspaper.

  ‘I’ve no alternative to doing what I’m going to do, and I can’t give you any more details. You must trust me.’

  He took off his glasses, and made quite a play of putting them into the case.

  ‘I’ll explain everything for you afterwards. If anybody rings, tell them I’m just visiting a friend. And that I’ll get back to them.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Which of your lady friends will be honoured by your fake visit?’

  The ill-humoured irony in his voice was unmistakable. She noticed that his neck was red and blotchy, which is how it looked when his favourite football team was losing an important match. Or when Soerensen in the butcher’s had made some unusually preposterous remark.

  No wonder, she thought. No wonder that he was angry. She had excluded him from this whole business: perhaps that had been a mistake from the start, but it was too late to do anything about it now. Much too late.

  And without doubt the wrong time to stand here feeling sorry for him. They would have to put right whatever was still capable of being put right when the time came. Afterwards. If he really was a rock, now was the time for him to live up to it.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m treating you unfairly, but I have no choice. Try to understand, if you can. Trust me.’

  He looked at her with eyes of stone. Hard, but not malicious. Unswervingly rock-like. But also vacant, in some strange way, so that one might be justified in wondering if they expressed anything at all . . .

  ‘Trust me,’ she said again. ‘I’m off now. I’ll phone.’

  He didn’t answer, but she hesitated for another moment.

  ‘Is there anything you want to say?’

  He put the newspaper down. Put his elbows on the table and rested his head on his hands. His eyes were still rock-like.

  ‘Find her,’ he said. ‘What I want is for you to bring her home.’

  She stroked his cheek, and left him.

  The first hour in the car was almost like a nightmare. Dusk was falling and it was raining, the traffic was dense and spasmodic. She was a poor driver in normal circumstances, she was the first to admit that, but on an evening like this everything was seven times as bad.

  I mustn’t have a crash, she thought, gripping the steering wheel so tightly that her knuckles turned white. That would be too much. Nothing must happen, I really must bring this off.

  Then everything fell to pieces. Tears came welling up as if from a hot geyser, and she was forced to drive onto the verge and stop. That was a risky manoeuvre, of course, but it would have been even more risky to continue. She switched on the hazard warning lights, and started sobbing. Might as well let it all come out, she thought.

  It took a long time, and when she set off again she wasn’t at all sure that she felt any better than she had done to start with.

  For the second time in just a few days, she prayed to God, and for the second time she doubted very much if there was anybody listening. When she finally joined the motorway at Loewingen, she made a deal instead.

  If we come out of this unscathed, I’ll thank You on my bare knees.

  Did you hear that, God? It’s a promise.

  He was standing waiting at the crossroads, as agreed. When she caught sight of him in the combined light of the streetlamp and her headlights, she
felt dizzy for a moment.

  What’s happening? she thought.

  Am I dreaming?

  Why does it feel as if I’m falling down through space?

  Then she gritted her teeth, slowed down and signalled to him with her headlights.

  For the first half-hour he didn’t say a word.

  Neither did she. They sat next to each other in the front seats like two strangers who know from the start that they have nothing to say to one another. Not even a common language in which they can exchange politeness phrases.

  Perhaps it was just as well. She hadn’t thought about whether they would have anything to talk about, but now that she began to think about it, it soon felt like an impossibility. After all those years there was nothing to add.

  Time passed had made no difference. That’s the way it was, full stop.

  Just as it had been that night in July sixteen years ago. Immovable and fixed, once and for all.

  We hardly ever made love after our daughter was born, she suddenly thought. I didn’t want to. I don’t think I ever wanted him. Strange.

  But then, life was strange. Sometimes like a wind blowing through a birch wood in the spring, sometimes like a hurricane. Sometimes like a sick, emaciated animal that wanted nothing more than to hide away and die in peace . . . Strange thoughts, she didn’t recognize them. As if they were somehow being generated by him, by the man who was sitting beside her again, the man she had excluded from her life so long ago, and who had no possibility of finding a way back again.

  No way. And when she glanced at the thin, shrunken figure on the passenger seat beside her she regretted not having told him to sit in the back instead. It struck her that his wretchedness had become a part of him. Oozed out from inside him, and now it was obvious to everybody what kind of a man he was. She wished it had been as obvious as this many years ago.

  In that case perhaps things wouldn’t have developed as they had done.

  But then, if she had realized from the start what kind of a man he was, she would never have become involved with him. And if she hadn’t become involved with him, Mikaela would never have been born. That was a fact of life she could do nothing about, she was well aware of that. Mikaela had his blood inside her, and when all was said and done, that was something she had to acknowledge. Without him her daughter wouldn’t have existed and the image of the wind and the sick animal came into her mind once again . . . Only to be replaced by something he had said once.

  I like the silence between us.

  Those were his exact words. The silence between them? It had been good, he maintained. She was the first girl he had ever been able to be silent with.

  Good Lord, she thought. Surely he isn’t sitting here imagining that there is something good about this bloody failure to communicate?

  But she didn’t ask. Just increased her speed somewhat: the rain had eased off and would soon stop.

  Shortly after Saaren she pulled into a petrol station to fill up, and just as she was getting behind the wheel again and fastening her seat belt, he spoke for the first time.

  ‘Where are we going?’ he asked.

  His voice was reminiscent of an autumn leaf falling to the ground. She didn’t answer.

  20

  Interrogation of Paula Ruth Emmerich, 19.7.1983.

  Location: Lejnice police station.

  Interrogator: Inspector Walevski.

  Also present: Chief Inspector Vrommel, Chief of Police; Soc. Asst. Bluume.

  Interrogation transcript: Inspector Walevski.

  Walevski: Your name is Paula Emmerich?

  Emmerich: Yes.

  W Born on 22 May 1967, here in Lejnice?

  E Yes.

  W Until 17 June you attended Voellerskolan here in Lejnice?

  E Yes.

  W You were in the same class as a girl by the name of Winnie Ludmilla Maas for six years. Is that correct?

  E Yes.

  W Would you say that you knew Winnie Maas well?

  E Yes. Although we weren’t such close friends as we used to be.

  W But you socialized now and again?

  E Yes.

  W You know what happened to Winnie, and why we want to talk to you?

  E Yes.

  W To what extent are you acquainted with Arnold Maager?

  E He was our teacher in Social Studies and History.

  W At Voellerskolan?

  E Yes.

  W How long did you have him as your teacher?

  E Two years. In class eight and nine.

  W How did you rate him as a teacher?

  E Not bad. Quite good, I think.

  W Can you describe him in a bit more detail?

  E /No answer/

  W Was he liked by the other pupils in your class?

  E Yes. He was good. Handsome.

  W Handsome?

  E For a teacher.

  W I see. Do you know if Winnie Maas thought the same about him as you did? That Arnold Maager was a good teacher. And handsome?

  E Yes, she did.

  W Are you sure? I’m talking about the time before the disco.

  E She liked him.

  W Did you talk about that?

  E Maybe. I can’t remember.

  W But she never said that she was in love with him, for instance?

  E No. Not to me, at any rate.

  W Were there any other pupils in your class who knew Winnie better than you did?

  E I don’t think so. No.

  W So if Winnie had wanted to confide in anybody, she would have chosen you?

  E Yes. Although she was a bit more private recently.

  W What do you mean?

  E She didn’t talk so much, sort of.

  W I see. Do you know if she had a boyfriend?

  E Not now. Not then, in May-June, I mean. I don’t think so at least.

  W But she had had boyfriends previously?

  E Of course.

  W Lots of them?

  E Quite a few, but not at the end of class nine.

  W Can you tell us what happened at the disco on 10 June?

  E What do you want to know?

  W What it was like. Who you were with. If you know what Winnie was up to.

  E It was the same as usual.

  W The same as usual?

  E We had a few drinks on the beach first.

  W Who’s ‘we’?

  E A few pupils from our class. And other classes.

  W How many?

  E Fifteen or so.

  W Was Winnie Maas there?

  E Yes.

  W And then?

  E We went on to the disco at about half past nine or thereabouts.

  W And then?

  E We danced and chatted and so on.

  W Were you aware of what Winnie Maas was doing during the evening?

  E Yes.

  W Let’s hear it.

  E She was a bit drunk. She danced quite a lot, like she usually did. She danced cheek-to-cheek with Maager.

  W Are you telling me that Winnie Maas danced cheek-to-cheek with Arnold Maager, her teacher in Social Studies and History?

  E Yes. I thought it was a bit of a joke. Some of the other girls danced with other teachers as well.

  W How many dances?

  E Winnie or the others?

  W Winnie.

  E I don’t know. Quite a lot.

  W With other teachers as well?

  E I don’t know. I think it was just with him.

  W Did you talk about it? You and your friends?

  E I don’t really remember. Yes, probably.

  W Didn’t you all think it was odd that Winnie danced such a lot with just one teacher?

  E I don’t remember.

  W Why don’t you remember?

  E I don’t know. I suppose I was a bit drunk. It was a bit of a blur.

  W Let’s move on to what happened later on in the evening. Can you tell us a bit about that?

  E We went down to the beach again, after the disco was over.


  W We?

  E A group of us. Eight or ten.

  W Was Winnie Maas with you?

  E Yes.

  W What did you do?

  E Nothing special.

  W Nothing special?

  E No.

  W But you must have done something?

  E I suppose so.

  W What, for instance.

  E What the hell do you want me to say? That we drank, smoked, did some necking?

  W Is that what you did in fact?

  E I suppose so. Chatted as well. One of the lads did some skinny-dipping.

  W Really? Did you talk to Winnie at all?

  E I don’t think so. Not especially. For Christ’s sake, we were all together.

  W You didn’t talk about her dancing so much with Arnold Maager?

  E I suppose we did.

  W Do you recall anything she said?

  E Yes, one thing.

  W What?

  E She said Maager really turned her on.

  W Maager really turned her on? You’re sure about that? That Winnie Maas said that?

  E Yes.

  W Did you believe her?

  E Why shouldn’t I? Why shouldn’t she get turned on by whoever she wanted?

  W All right. What did you do after you’d been on the beach?

  E We went back up to town again.

  W Winnie Maas as well?

  E Of course. For God’s sake . . .

  W Go on.

  E Somebody had heard that they were all at Gollum’s house, having a party.

  W Who’s Gollum?

  E Our handicrafts teacher. His real name is Gollumsen.

  W Who exactly were partying at his house?

  E All the ones who’d been supervising the disco.

  W The teachers.

  E Yes.

  W Including Maager?

  E Yes, including Maager.

  W And you knew that those teachers were going to be at Gollumsen’s house?

  E Yes.

  W How?

  E I don’t know. Somebody had heard about it.

  W Somebody?

  E I don’t know who, for God’s sake.

  W Was it Winnie Maas who knew?