by Sara Blaedel
“I can’t stand talking about it all the time. It’s not going to hurt any less just because you keep putting words to it. At least not for me, anyway,” he said.
Louise watched him in silence and when he looked up at her, their eyes met.
“Suddenly I can’t stand her,” he said, still looking Louise in the eye. “She closes her eyes to the fact that our daughter had a life that she wasn’t involved in. Which is ridiculous and naïve. The girl was fifteen.”
Louise didn’t know what to say, so she didn’t say anything.
“Since that morning you came and told us what had happened, she’s been walking around pretending this doesn’t concern her. Sure, of course the pain and grief affect her. But she won’t hear a word about Ekstra Bladet, Samra’s diary, or the trips to Copenhagen. She doesn’t think that has anything to do with our daughter, and I just want to shake her.”
Louise was stunned, not so much because he was so incredibly irritated at his wife. She’d seen that before. It also wasn’t new to her that two parents could respond so differently to grief and that the response one of them had could really set the other one on edge. She just hadn’t thought it would be a problem for Anne and Henrik.
“The day after you came to our place, we had a visit from a journalist from Morgenavisen, who wanted to write an article about Dicta. We spent several hours talking to her, and that triggered something. Suddenly it became very apparent how differently we had perceived our family life and especially our daughter.”
Louise listened to these private reflections a bit uneasily. The man really should have been telling all this to a psychologist if he wanted to get anything out of it.
“Nor do I personally view it as the end of the world to see my daughter appear in Ekstra Bladet. She was a pretty girl, and we have no reason to be embarrassed. But Anne thinks she must have been forced into that, drugged or something,” he said with an awkward chuckle, and Louise smiled politely at his attempt to be funny.
“What about the funeral?” she asked.
He took a deep breath and said that he’d brought his dark suit with him when he left the house and wasn’t planning to go home before the funeral. He explained that he had a small room and a kitchenette here at the clinic and that that was where he was living for the time being.
Louise gave up on talking to him about the police turnout at the funeral and instead asked if his wife might have been out walking her dogs since she probably hadn’t gone anywhere without her car.
He looked at her with his zoned-out but friendly gaze and then shook his head.
“She put all the dogs into a kennel run by someone from the dog club. Even Charlie,” he added. “That’s how it is. She’s putting life on hold while I’m trying to get it to keep moving. That’s why we can’t be together right now.”
There still wasn’t any answer when Louise went back to the Møllers’ large home, but the bathroom window had been opened. After having walked around the house, Louise returned to the front door and left her finger on the bell for a while as she waited.
After ten minutes, something finally happened.
Louise instinctively took a step back when Anne opened the door. Dicta’s mother was in a thick red bathrobe and her pageboy hairdo hung wetly down over her ears; her eyes looked small without makeup and bore obvious signs of having cried themselves out of tears. The change was so pronounced that it was hard to believe that it had happened in such a short period of time. Louise wasn’t sure she would have recognized her on the street.
“Hi, Anne,” she said, stepping forward again.
Dicta’s mother looked at her but didn’t respond.
“Could I come in?” Louise asked, stepping forward, gripping Anne gently around the shoulders, and leading her into the laundry room. The flowers were still in their cellophane wrappers, the cards still unopened. There were cups, plates, and several empty wine bottles in the kitchen.
“I just went over to see Henrik. He thought you were probably still home even if you didn’t answer the door when I was here earlier.”
Louise was talking in an effort to bring some life to the room. She made herself at home and started a pot of coffee and followed Anne into the living room, where she sat down next to her on the sofa.
“How are you doing?” Louise asked. She tried to establish eye contact, but didn’t succeed.
Anne made a face. “What do you think?”
“Yes, well, good point,” Louise consented.
“My husband obviously thinks life goes on,” Anne said tersely, and Louise realized she shouldn’t have mentioned that she’d spoken to Henrik first.
“I don’t think it does,” Anne said.
“He’s not doing that well himself, either,” Louise said.
Finally something that got a response out of Anne. “Well, then, he’s doing a fucking crappy job at showing it. It’s like he has no reaction at all,” she said in a more neutral tone.
Louise decided not to explain that that was also a type of reaction, and in the subsequent silence it seemed as if Anne Møller had slipped back into her own world. Her voice sounded frail when she spoke again.
“I only had one child, and she only had one life. I can’t accept that it has all ended this way. And I don’t want to hear any talk about moving on. I have no desire to move on. Not ever. It isn’t fair. She’s not even buried yet. No one can tell me to pull myself together. Why should I?”
“I noticed that your dogs aren’t here,” Louise said, to get the woman thinking about something else.
Anne nodded. “I’m boarding them. They don’t understand that I feel violated every time they wag their tails or jump up happily to get me to play. They don’t understand that we don’t do those things anymore, so it was better to send them away.”
“Maybe it would’ve been good for you to have some kind of distraction,” Louise suggested.
“I don’t want to be distracted. I’m doing everything I can to hold my thoughts together.”
Her voice was starting to sound shrill.
Louise stood up. “Isn’t there anyone you’d like to have here with you?” she asked as she went to get the coffee and poured it into a thermos before setting it with a clean cup in front of Anne in the living room.
Anne Møller absentmindedly shook her head.
“Or someone you could stay with for a few days?” Louise tried again, but Anne just shook her head.
After Louise said good-bye, she stood out on the street for a second looking around at all the fashionable homes. It made her sad that Anne was so alone with her grief.
When she got back to the police station, Storm came rushing in and pulled her out into the hall.
“You have to hear this,” he said and led her into the room where the National Police interpreter was listening to the wiretap recording from the al-Abd family’s landline.
“Let’s go back. Rick needs to hear this sequence from the beginning.”
The interpreter nodded briefly at Louise and was about to start reading from a piece of paper when Storm interrupted him to explain that this was a conversation that had just taken place over dinner.
“Ahmad called Sada,” the interpreter explained. He adjusted his glasses and started translating the conversation.
“‘I’ve told the police now.’” The interpreter looked up at her and made it clear that Ahmad had said that to Samra’s mother.
“Then she asks, ‘What did you tell them?’”
“‘How it’s connected.’”
“Here, there’s a long pause on the tape,” the interpreter noted before he read more.
“Sada says that he’s a sick man, and that he shouldn’t ruin her whole family with his wickedness.”
Louise had taken a seat on a chair, and she jumped forward a little involuntarily when the interpreter described Ahmad’s reaction.
“He says: ‘You already ruined the girl with all that freedom and you’re ruining the rest of our family. Samra’s was
only one life. We have a whole family to think about. I will not walk around feeling ashamed for the rest of my life because you couldn’t control your daughter.’ Sada sobs intensely and says that he has every possible reason to be ashamed, and that she’s going to talk to the police too,” the interpreter continued, addressing Louise, before he read yet another of Ahmad’s outbursts and explained that the voices were very heated here.
The interpreter lowered the piece of paper and said, “At this point, Sada hangs up, and there hasn’t been any activity at the number since then.”
Louise let the words sink in for a moment.
“We need to bring the mother in now and get her to tell us what she knows,” Storm said.
36
THE FRONT DOOR WAS OPEN WHEN LOUISE AND MlK ARRIVED AT Dysseparken 16B. Mik went in first and waved for Louise to join him. They stood in the doorway to the kitchen, looking at the three people.
Sada was sitting there, ready, with her coat on. She was still crying, and her face was swollen and wet. The two little ones were sitting on the floor with a roll of crackers, which they’d spread out, so they were surrounded by crumbs and bits of cracker.
“Hi,” Mik said, walking over to the table where Sada was sitting. “We would really like to talk to you. Is there someone who could look after the kids while you come down to the police station with us?”
Sada nodded and said that she had already called her sister. Samra’s mother had her purse in her lap and was holding it with both hands.
“Were you on your way out?” Louise asked, stepping into the kitchen as well, so Sada could see her.
The slender woman glanced up at her and nodded. She opened her purse and pulled out a few pieces of white paper. Louise saw with surprise that they must be the pages that had been ripped out of Samra’s diary.
Just then, there was a soft knock on the front door and a woman walked in. Aida leapt up from the floor and flung herself at her aunt with a squeal. The woman held the child pressed up against her, but nothing was said. The two women just exchanged a glance.
“Will you stay with them? Or could they go with you?” Mik asked the sister.
“I’ll take them home with me,” the woman said briefly.
Sada stood up and closed her purse. Then she stepped over and picked Jamal up off the floor and kissed him affectionately before she placed him in her sister’s arms. After that, she stroked Aida’s hair, kissed her forehead, and said something Louise couldn’t understand. On the way out the door, the girl blew her mother a quick kiss and blinked her long, dark eyelashes vigorously so the tears stopped before they could truly be seen.
At the police station, several minutes passed before Sada al-Abd got her crying under control enough that she could start talking. As she set down her coat, Louise took a seat across from her to read the pages that had been missing from Samra’s diary, and Mik stepped out to inform Storm. Louise had been prepared for the pages she was holding to hurt deep down in her soul, but when she started reading them, she felt a sense of powerlessness so great that something inside her broke.
“My life isn’t worth anything anymore. I’m dirty and contaminated and can never be washed clean. He says that if I tell Mother and Father, he will tell what I’ve done and the family won’t be able to live with that. I don’t dare sleep. I can hear him coming and feel his arms. If I scream, he’ll tell Father.”
Louise could picture the young woman. She almost felt like she could hear the words on the page coming out of her mouth, but the only sound in the small, dark office was Sada’s quiet sobs.
“He says that he just happened to see us, but I know that’s not true. He must have been following me. I hate him and wish I’d never been born. If I ever have to go to Benløse again, I’ll drown myself in the sound.
“I can’t take any more. He should kill me rather than letting this continue. I miss Grandma and home. Dear God, I pray that Mother and Father understand.”
Louise glanced over at Sada to see if she was following along with Louise as she read, but the woman was sitting frozen in place with her head bowed, staring at her clasped hands. Only an occasional twitch of her shoulders and the faint sound of deep despair revealed what was going on in her body. Louise had a hard time understanding how Samra’s mother could have contained her knowledge of the enormous pain that had filled her daughter at the end of her life.
“I found the pages in her jewelry box after she died,” Sada said quietly, without raising her eyes. “Where she kept her jewelry and private things.”
Mik Rasmussen came in the door and stood there for a second, obviously struck by the mood in the small room. Without a sound, he walked over and sat down.
Louise continued to watch Sada.
“Tell me what happened,” Louise pleaded. “What was your daughter subjected to and why did you cover up something that hurt her so much?”
She spoke calmly. It was as if all the tension had left the room, leaving a heavy calm. In a way, something had been put behind them, even though they hadn’t really started yet, Louise thought, looking expectantly at Samra’s mother.
“Who is your daughter writing about?”
The woman was silent. Louise thought about Storm and Ruth, who were sitting in the command room, knowing that she was working on something that could resolve the case. She was afraid of being too aggressive with her questioning, or pushing too hard. Piecing together the rest of what happened could very easily depend on how Louise handled the mother, and what she said would have to be able to stand up in court later. In other words, right now it was not so much about getting Sada to confess and sign a statement, because she could recant that once she was facing a jury. That kind of thing happened. Louise knew she had to get Sada to take responsibility for the pain she was feeling right now, to make her feel that, instead of protecting the men in her family, she needed to stick up for her daughter, who had had a right to live.
Louise looked over at Mik quickly, but ignored the feeling that ran through her when he returned her glance. Then once again she turned her full attention back to the woman.
“Something had happened around the beginning of summer vacation that had turned Samra’s life upside down. Something that caused her to be quiet and withdrawn,” Sada said. “When Samra was home, she mostly stayed in her room with the door closed. She went to school, did her homework, and did her chores at home.
“But she avoided her father and wouldn’t join us when the family was together,” Sada continued, her breathing ragged.
The weekend before Samra died, Sada had found her lying on the bathroom floor. She was half unconscious; the acetaminophen pills hadn’t totally knocked her out yet.
“I knew what she’d tried to do and got her to throw up all the pills,” Sada said, trying to dry her eyes. “I gave her tea and a blanket and had my sister come take the kids.”
Sada took a deep breath and Louise fidgeted a little in her chair, aware of how difficult it must be for Sada to tell this story. Mik sat completely motionless, listening along.
“Since spring, Samra had had a Danish friend, whom she saw in secret,” Sada began, taking a deep breath before she could continue. “She didn’t tell anyone about it, not even her girlfriends. But Ahmad found out, and he did something to her that she didn’t dare tell us about.”
Finally Sada looked up at Louise and there was something in the darkness of the glance that pleaded for understanding and patience.
Louise nodded weakly in return.
“He raped her,” Sada finally said. “Several times.”
Sada struggled to keep her voice under control.
“She couldn’t tell anyone that, because then he would reveal her secret, that she’d been seeing someone.”
Louise closed her eyes for a second. “But seeing a Danish boy could never be as bad as being raped by her uncle and having him threaten her,” Louise said quietly.
Sada nodded.
“Samra knew that he would spread the rumor
about what she was doing, and how bad we were at keeping her in line. So it was better to say nothing.”
There was total silence in the office. Sada’s words still lingered in the air, but Louise and Mik tried to understand what had held Samra back.
“It is a much more serious crime for an adult man to rape a girl than for her to be seeing a boy her own age,” Louise tried again.
Sada made a strange motion with her head, which could have been interpreted as both a yes and a no.
“That’s not the case where we come from,” she finally said. “It’s worse for a girl to be disobedient, because then she herself is to blame for what happens to her.”
Louise was going to object, but held back.
“When a woman is raped, it’s her own fault. She brings it on herself,” Sada attempted to explain. “Ahmad says that if she can have sex with a Danish boy, then she can have sex with him too.”
Here was a cultural difference that was so impossible to understand that Louise decided not to even try. They had to just let the mother tell her story, and they could go back in later and respond to what she’d said. The autopsy report had not said anything about whether Samra’s hymen had been intact, because that wasn’t part of the routine exam, unless there was a suspicion of rape. Louise hadn’t requested that they do that examination since there hadn’t been anything to suggest a sex crime.
“What did you do when your daughter told you what had happened?” Louise asked to bring them back on topic.
“At first she refused to let me tell her father. But I explained to her that my husband would understand. I would no longer consider my husband’s brother as family, and if Ibrahim didn’t understand, I would leave him and take the kids with me.”
She paused for a moment.
“We told him Monday afternoon when he came home from the boat early. At first he wouldn’t believe it and got very angry. He hit Samra and said she was trying to break up his family and ruin things for him. He’s a very proud man, and he wouldn’t have anyone believing that he couldn’t look after his family. She showed him the big marks that she still had on her body, and he blamed her for them, said her Danish boyfriend had made them. But she told him exactly what had happened in her uncle’s bathroom in Benløse, and in the end he had to believe her. Several times, my husband’s brother had brought our daughter in there and raped her on the changing table by their bathtub, and each time she took it without screaming even though her aunt and small cousins were just outside the door in the living room.” Louise understood from Sada’s explanation that what had convinced Ibrahim, his daughter was telling the truth was her description of a scar his brother had in his groin area. It was from an accident that had taken place when the two brothers were little and had been playing in the river. Ibrahim had accidentally stabbed Ahmad with a sharp knife that their father used to clean fish. The blood had been gushing and Ahmad was practically unconscious before they managed to stop the bleeding. The scar was in a place that could pretty much only be seen when his penis was exposed.