The Keeper of Lost Causes

by Jussi Adler-Olsen

  “He likes to watch the cormorants. Don’t you, Uffe?” she said, pointing at a colony of prehistoric-looking birds perched in clusters of semidead trees covered with bird shit.

  “I’ve brought something that I’d like to show Uffe,” said Carl.

  She looked with alert interest at the Playmobil figures and car that he pulled out of a plastic bag. She was quick on the uptake—he’d noticed that the first time—but maybe not quite as accommodating as he’d hoped.

  She placed her hand on her nurse’s badge, presumably to give her words added weight. “I know about the episode that Karen Mortensen described. I don’t think it would be a good idea to repeat it.”

  “Why not?”

  “You want to try to replay the accident while he watches, right? You’re hoping it will open something up in him.”

  “Yes.”

  She nodded. “I thought so. But to be honest, I don’t know if I should let you.” She made a motion to get up, but then hesitated.

  Carl cautiously placed his hand on Uffe’s shoulder and squatted down next to him. Uffe’s eyes shone happily in the reflection from the waves, and Carl understood him. Who wouldn’t want to disappear into this beautiful clear and blue March day?

  Then Carl set the Playmobil car on the grass in front of Uffe and one by one put the figures in the car seats. The father and mother in front, the daughter and son in back.

  The nurse closely watched every move Carl made. He might have to come back another day and repeat the experiment. But right now he wanted to convince her that at least he knew enough not to abuse her trust. That he regarded her as an ally.

  “Vroooom,” he said warily, driving the car back and forth in front of Uffe on the grass, to the great distress of a couple of bumblebees flitting among the flowers.

  Carl smiled at Uffe and smoothed out the tracks left by the car. That was clearly what interested Uffe most. The flat-pressed grass that sprang back up.

  “Now we’re going out driving with Merete and Mum and Dad, Uffe. Oh, look at this, we’re all together. Look, we’re driving through the woods! Look how lovely it is.”

  Carl glanced at the woman in the white uniform. She looked nervous, the lines around her mouth showing traces of doubt. He had to be careful not to go too far. If he shouted, she would flinch. She was much more into the game than Uffe, who was just sitting there with the sun glinting in his eyes, letting everything around him mind its own business.

  “Look out, Dad,” warned Carl, imitating a woman’s voice. “It’s slippery, you might skid.” He gave the car a little jolt. “Watch out for the other car—it’s skidding too. Help, we’re going to crash into it.”

  He made the sound of a car braking and metal scraping the undercarriage of the car. Now Uffe was watching. Then Carl tipped the car over, and the figures tumbled out on to the ground. “Look out, Merete! Look out, Uffe!” he shouted in a high voice. The nurse leaned toward Carl and put her hand on his shoulder.

  “I don’t think . . .” she said, shaking her head. In a second she would take Uffe by the arm and pull him to his feet.

  “Bam!” Carl said and made the car roll along the grass, but Uffe didn’t react.

  “I don’t think he’s really here,” said Carl, assuring the nurse with a wave of his hand that the performance was over. “I have a photograph that I’d like to show to Uffe,” he went on. “Is that OK? Then I promise to leave you in peace.”

  “A photograph?” she asked, as Carl pulled all the pictures out of his plastic bag. Then he took the photos of Dennis Knudsen that he’d borrowed from his sister and lay them on the grass while he held up the brochure from Daniel Hale’s company in front of Uffe.

  It was clear that Uffe was curious. He was like a monkey in a cage, who, after looking at thousands of humans making faces, finally sees something new.

  “Do you know this man, Uffe?” asked Carl, studying his face attentively. The slightest twitch might be the only signal he’d get. If there was any possible response from Uffe’s sluggish mind, Carl had to make sure he saw it.

  “Did he come to your house in Magleby, Uffe? Was this the man who brought the letter to you and Helle? Do you remember him?” Carl pointed to Daniel Hale’s bright eyes and blond hair. “Was this the man?”

  Uffe stared at the picture with a blank expression. Then his eyes shifted downward until he was looking at the photos on the grass in front of him.

  Carl followed his gaze and noted how Uffe’s pupils suddenly contracted as his lips parted. The reaction was very clear. Just as real and visible as if someone had dropped a carjack on his toes.

  “What about this man? Have you seen him before, Uffe?” asked Carl, quickly moving the silver anniversary photo of Dennis Knudsen’s family close to Uffe’s face. “Have you?” Carl noticed that the nurse was standing behind him now, but he didn’t care. He wanted to see Uffe’s pupils contract again. It was like having a key in his hand and knowing that it was the right one, but not which lock it would open.

  But now Uffe was looking straight ahead, quite calm, and his eyes had glazed over.

  “I think we should stop now,” said the nurse as she tentatively touched Uffe’s shoulder. Maybe all Carl needed was twenty seconds more. Maybe he would have been able to reach him if only they’d been alone.

  “Didn’t you see his reaction?” Carl asked.

  She shook her head.

  Damn it.

  Then he put the framed photo back on the ground next to the other one he’d borrowed in Skævinge.

  At that instant a jolt passed through Uffe’s body. First in his torso, where his chest sucked in, then his right arm, which jerked up at an angle in front of his stomach.

  The nurse tried to calm Uffe, but he paid no attention to her. He started taking short, shallow breaths. Both the nurse and Carl heard it, and she began to protest loudly. But Carl and Uffe were alone together at that moment. Uffe in his own world, on his way into Carl’s. Carl saw his eyes slowly grow bigger. Like a shutter in an old-style camera, they widened, pulling in everything around them.

  Uffe looked down again, and this time Carl followed his gaze toward the grass. Uffe was very much present now.

  “So you do recognize him?” asked Carl, picking up the picture of Dennis Knudsen on his parents’ silver wedding anniversary again and holding it up. But Uffe swept it aside like a sulky child and began uttering noises that didn’t sound like a normal kid’s whimpering; it was more like an asthmatic who couldn’t get enough air. His breathing was almost a wheezing, and the nurse shouted for Carl to leave.

  He followed Uffe’s eyes again, and this time there was no doubt. They were fixed on the other photograph Carl had brought. The picture of Dennis Knudsen with his friend Atomos, standing behind, leaning against Dennis’s shoulder.

  “Is this how he should look instead?” asked Carl, pointing at the young Dennis in his go-kart outfit.

  But Uffe was looking at the boy behind Dennis. Never before had Carl seen a person’s eyes so riveted on something. It was as if the boy in the picture had taken possession of Uffe’s innermost soul, as if these eyes in an old photograph were burning Uffe like fire, even as they also gave him life.

  And then Uffe screamed. He screamed so loud that the nurse shoved Carl down on the grass and took Uffe in her arms. He screamed so loud that Egely’s tenants began howling as well.

  He screamed so loud masses of cormorants lifted off from the trees, leaving everything deserted.

  30

  2005–2006

  It had taken Merete three days to wiggle the tooth loose, three nightmarish days and nights in hell. Every time she placed the jaws of the tongs around the throbbing beast and the blast waves of infection sucked all strength out of her, she had to muster her courage again. A slight nudge to one side and her entire organism shut down. Then a few seconds of heart-pounding fear before the next twist of the tongs, and thus the process continued without end. Several times she tried to yank hard, but her strength and courag
e failed her the moment the rusty metal clinked against the tooth.

  When she finally reached the moment when pus began steadily streaming out of the gum and the pressure eased for a moment, she collapsed in tears of gratitude.

  She knew they were watching her out there. The one they called Lasse hadn’t yet arrived, and the button on the intercom was still stuck. They didn’t say anything to each other, but she could hear them moving around and breathing. The more she suffered, the harder they breathed, almost as if it excited them sexually, and her hatred toward them grew. Once she got the tooth out, she’d be able to look to the future. Yes, she would exact her revenge, but first she had to be able to think.

  So once again she placed the foul-tasting metal jaws around the tooth and wiggled it, never doubting that she had to get the job done. That tooth had caused her enough damage; now the pain had to end.

  She eventually pulled it out one night when she was alone. It was hours since she’d last heard any sign of life from outside, so the relieved laughter that slipped out in the echoing space was hers and hers alone. The taste of the infection was refreshing. The throbbing that caused the blood to flow freely in her mouth was like a caress.

  She spat on her hand every few seconds and smeared the bloody mass on the mirrored panes, first one, then the other. And when the blood no longer flowed, her work was done. A small square, eight by eight inches, on one of the portholes was all that remained unbloodied. Now she’d robbed them of their pleasure in watching her whenever they felt like it. Finally she was in control of when she would appear in their field of vision.

  When they put the food in the hatch the next morning, the woman’s curses woke her up.

  “The little slut has covered the windows with filth. Look at that! She’s smeared shit over the whole thing, that pig.”

  She heard the man say that it looked more like blood, and the woman snarled, “So that’s the gratitude we get for giving you the tongs? So you could smear your filthy blood all over everything? If that’s your way of saying thank you, then you’re going to have to pay for it. We’re turning off the lights. Let’s see what you say to that, bitch. Maybe then you’ll wipe off that mess. And until you do, you’re not getting any more food.”

  She heard them make a move to take back the food bucket in the airlock, but she ran over and stuck the tongs into the carousel. They weren’t going to cheat her out of this last portion. So she pulled out the food bucket at the last second, right before the hydraulic mechanism let go of the tongs. The mechanism spun around with a whistling sound, and then the hatch door closed.

  “That trick may have worked today, but it won’t work tomorrow!” yelled the woman outside. The fury in her voice was consoling. “I’ll give you spoiled food until you wipe off the windowpanes. Do you hear me?” And then the fluorescent lights in the ceiling went out.

  Merete sat still for a while, staring at the faint brown stains on the mirrored panes and the small clear patch that was slightly brighter. She noticed that the woman tried to reach it so she could look in, but Merete had deliberately placed it too high. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d felt such joyous triumph stream through her body. It wouldn’t last long—that much she knew—but under the circumstances, such moments were the only things she had to live for.

  That, plus visions of revenge, dreams of freedom, and to stand face to face with Uffe again one day.

  That night she switched on the flashlight for the last time. She went over to the little blank space on the pane and shone the light inside her mouth. The hole in her gum was enormous, but it looked all right, at least as far as she could tell. The tip of her tongue agreed. The healing process had already begun.

  After a few minutes the light of the flashlight grew fainter, so she got down on her knees to examine the closing mechanism around the airlock door. She’d seen it thousands of times before, but now she might have to memorize exactly how it looked. Who knew whether the ceiling lights would ever be turned on again?

  The airlock door was convex and presumably conical, so it could make a tight seal to close off the space. The lower section, which was the hatch in the door, was about thirty inches high, and here too it was almost impossible to feel where the sections joined. A metal peg had been welded on the front, at the bottom, so the hatch door would stop in a fully open position. She examined it thoroughly until the light from the flashlight died out.

  Afterward she sat in the dark, considering what she could do.

  There were three things she wanted to control. First, what other people could see of her; that was something she’d already dealt with. A long, long time ago, right after she’d been kidnapped, she’d meticulously searched all the surfaces and walls for the tiniest suggestion of a camera, but there was nothing. The monsters who were holding her prisoner had put their faith in the mirrored panes. They shouldn’t have done that. It was the reason that she could now move about unobserved.

  Second, she was determined to make sure she didn’t lose her mind. There had been days and nights when she’d disappeared inside herself, and there had been weeks when her thoughts had run in circles, but she had never allowed her brain to stop. When she’d realized where that might lead, she forced herself to think about others who had endured similar situations. People who had been condemned to solitary confinement for decades without being convicted of any crime. There were plenty of examples in world history and in literature. Papillon, the Count of Monte Cristo, and so many others. If they could do it, so could she. She had forcibly directed her thoughts to books and films and the best memories of her life, and she’d snapped out of it again.

  Because she would continue to be herself, Merete Lynggaard, until the day she left this place. That was a promise, and she was determined to keep it.

  And when that day finally arrived, she would be in control of how she would die. That was the third thing. The woman outside had said before that it was Lasse who made the decisions, but if the situation arose, the she-wolf could easily take matters into her own hands. Hatred had seized control of the woman before, and it could happen again. Only a second of insanity was necessary in order for her to open the airlock and equalize the pressure. That moment was very likely to come.

  For almost four years Merete had sat in this cage, but the woman had also been marked by the passing of time. Maybe her eyes had sunk deeper, maybe there was something in her voice. In these circumstances it was hard to tell how old the woman was, but she was old enough to fear what life might have in store. And that made her dangerous.

  In the meantime, it didn’t seem as if the two people out there knew much about technical matters. They couldn’t even fix a button that was stuck, so they probably couldn’t equalize the pressure by any other method than opening the airlock; at least that was what Merete hoped. So if she made sure that they couldn’t open the hatch door unless she allowed them to, she would have enough time to commit suicide. The tongs would serve as her instrument. She could grip her arteries with the tongs and tear them apart if those two people outside suddenly decided to release the pressure inside the room. She didn’t really know what would happen then, but the woman’s comment that Merete would explode from inside was terrifying. No death could be worse. Which was why she wanted to decide when and how it would happen.

  If this Lasse happened to return and had other plans for her, she would not have any naive illusions. Of course the room must have means of equalizing pressure other than through the hatch door. Maybe the ventilation system could also be used. She had no idea why this room had originally been built, but it must have been expensive. So she assumed that whatever it was originally intended to house must have had a certain value or importance. Which meant there had to be some kind of device in case of emergency. She’d caught a glimpse of small metal nozzles up under the light fixture on the ceiling. Not much bigger than her little finger, but surely that would be enough. Maybe that was how fresh air was pumped into the space, or maybe the nozzles c
ould be used to equalize the pressure. But one thing was certain: If this Lasse wanted to harm her, he undoubtedly knew which buttons to push.

  Until then, she would just try to concentrate on countering the threats that seemed most imminent. So she unscrewed the cap on the bottom of the flashlight, took out the batteries, and noted with satisfaction how hard and strong and sharp the metal of the flashlight was. The distance from the edge of the hatch door to the floor was only about an inch, so if she dug a hole right below the peg that had been welded on to stop the hatch door when it opened, she’d be able to position the flashlight in the hole to prevent the door from opening.

  She hugged the flashlight to her chest. Here was a tool that gave her the feeling she could control something in her life, and that was an indescribably welcome sensation. Like the first time she took birth-control pills. Like the time she defied their foster family and took off, hauling Uffe along with her.

  Digging into the concrete floor was much, much harder than she had imagined. The first couple of days passed quickly, since she still had food and water, but when the bucket with the good food was empty, the strength in her fingers swiftly gave out. She knew that she had very few energy reserves, but the food that had been delivered over the past few days had been completely inedible. They were really taking their revenge. The stench alone kept her from eating anything in the buckets. The food reeked like the rotting carcasses of diseased animals. Every night she spent five or six hours using the edges of the flashlight to scrape at the floor under the door, and that took its toll on her too. At the same time, it would be no use if she made a sloppy job of it; that was the problem. The hole had to be just the right size to hold the flashlight tightly, and since the flashlight itself was her digging tool, she had to keep twisting it into the hole to make sure it had the proper diameter and then carefully scrape off the concrete in paper-thin layers.