Death By Water

by Damhaug, Torkil

  Jo was twelve years old and left completely on his own. He knew what I felt like.

  PART II

  1

  Sunday 14 December

  AS THE PLANE began its descent and the captain announced that they were approaching Oslo airport, Liss woke in the midst of an avalanche of thoughts. Two of them remained with her. Mailin is missing. I must find Mailin.

  Sunday afternoon. Just after four. She’d spent the night on a bench at Schiphol, hadn’t managed to find a seat on a plane until morning. Almost twenty-four hours had passed since she’d sat in the café in Haarlemmerdijk. Wouters was the name of the policeman who’d answered when she called Zako’s number. Could one ever forget such a name? It isn’t true that I last saw Zako a week ago. I was there that night. Just before he died … Enclose those thoughts in a room. Lock it. The name Wouters on a sign on the door. Not to be opened. Will it ever be possible to forget that there is something inside that room? Start with the name, Wouters, forget the policeman’s name. Forget his voice, and what he told her. Then it might also be possible to forget where she was on Saturday night. I must find Mailin. I don’t care a damn about anything else.

  The woman sitting next to her had finished reading VG. She handed it to Liss, even though Liss hadn’t asked for it.

  She flipped through without reading. A few pages in, she stopped and just stared at the headline above a big story: Missing woman (29) due to appear on Taboo. It was about Mailin. Her partner had mentioned this TV programme. VG called it ‘a scandal show’. A talk show hosted by Berger, she read, a name she associated with obsolete rock music. Now he was attracting huge audiences with this series on the subject of taboos. Yesterday’s show was apparently about sexuality. It had caught fire when Berger defended the idea that child sex might be okay. Liss struggled to put this into context. What could Mailin, always so careful about the views she sponsored, be doing on a TV show with someone like that? The 29-year-old psychologist never turned up at Channel Six’s studio in Nydalen. She had not been heard from since earlier that evening. Several times in the course of the show Berger claimed that she must have got cold feet. He now refuses to make any further comment.

  The woman beside her sat with eyes closed and held on tightly to the armrests. Liss wedged the paper down into her seat pocket, pressed her head against the window. The layer of cloud beneath them was thinning out. She could just see the fjord below and the fortress at the top of it. Leaving four years earlier, she had thought she would never be back.

  What’s to become of you, Liss?

  She had told the taxi driver Ekeberg Way, but not the number. As they got close, she asked him to stop. Paid with her credit card and got out.

  Up here on the hilltop above Oslo, it was biting cold. Liss was dressed for a mild day in Amsterdam; she’d fled to the airport without even thinking about going home and packing some clothes. The temperature on the dashboard read minus twelve. She buttoned the thin leather jacket all the way up to the neck, not that it helped, tried to stuff her hands down into the tiny pockets.

  She found the number, a large, bright yellow functionalist villa. The name on the letter box was right. The driveway was paved in red flagstones, so slippery that she had to tiptoe up with tiny steps, like an old woman. She rang the doorbell. Rang again, a bit too quickly because already she could hear sounds inside. A woman put her head out. Dark hair, bunched at the neck, nicely made up. She might be in her mid-thirties, some ten years older than Liss.

  – Judith van Ravens?

  The woman gave a little smile in response, as if she’d been sitting in the house waiting for a floral delivery. Liss noticed that she had a bundle in her arm, something wrapped in a crocheted blanket.

  – I must talk to you, she continued in Dutch, pointing to the hallway.

  A hostile look showed in the woman’s eyes. – What’s this about?

  Liss struggled to control herself. She was freezing from her toes and up through her back to the roots of her hair. She hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours. She had killed someone. All she could hold on to were the two thoughts: Mailin is missing. I must find Mailin.

  – Let me come inside for a moment and I’ll explain.

  The woman shook her head firmly and tucked at the bundle she was holding next to her body. She was on the point of closing the door. Liss put her foot across the threshold. She pulled the photo of her sister from her bag and held it up in front of the woman’s face. The woman blinked in confusion and released her hold on the door. Liss shoved it open and pushed her way past her and inside.

  The large room seemed almost empty. A suite of chairs that might have come from IKEA, a dining table in one corner, a large, pallid painting on the biggest wall.

  – We’re only living here temporarily, the woman excused herself. – My husband is working for Statoil. He spends most of the time in Stavanger, but I couldn’t live there.

  Her uncertainty evidently made her talkative. Unless this information about Statoil was offered up as a way of showing the intruder the powers that stood behind her. She held the bundle up to her shoulder. There was a pushchair bag on the sofa; perhaps she didn’t dare lay the sleeping child down.

  Liss remained standing in the middle of the room. The woman didn’t offer her a seat.

  – What is this about the photo?

  – You took it, Liss stated, as calmly as she could.

  – Did I?

  – It was sent from your phone to a recipient in Amsterdam.

  The woman drew a breath, and Liss readied herself. At any moment some great brute of a husband might turn up and throw her out. Maybe they’d call the police. But she was determined to stay put until she found out why these pictures of Mailin had been taken. A sudden vision of grabbing that bundled baby, threatening to beat its dark little head against the wall unless the woman told her what she knew.

  It was as though this threat from some dark and closed place deep down inside her materialised itself, moved through the room and touched something in Judith van Ravens. She picked up the pushchair bag and headed for the door.

  – Just going to put her down. Be right back.

  Liss imagined her ringing her husband, if he wasn’t at home, or the neighbours, or the emergency number. It didn’t bother her at all. She knew she had come to the right house.

  A few moments later, Judith van Ravens was back again.

  – You’re right, she blurted out before Liss had a chance to say anything. – I did take that picture, but I don’t see why that gives you any reason at all to come barging in here. My daughter needs changing and feeding very soon, I’ve got hundreds of things to do, I’m expecting guests …

  – The woman you took that picture of has gone missing.

  Judith van Ravens stared at her. – What do you mean?

  Liss took out the VG she had pocketed on the way out of the plane, opened it to the page and spread it on the table. Judith van Ravens read, looked at her, read again.

  – How do you know that …?

  – My sister, Liss answered dully. – It’s my sister that’s gone missing. And before I leave here, you’re going to tell me everything about these pictures. After that I’m going to the police.

  – The police? Is that necessary?

  – That’s for me to decide, Liss said firmly.

  Judith van Ravens stood over by the window. – I haven’t done anything wrong, she said, suddenly sounding like a child who’s been dragged in to see the headmaster. – It’s just that I don’t want my husband to know anything about this.

  She glanced across at Liss. – It’s true. I sent some pictures of that woman to Amsterdam, to someone I know.

  – Zako.

  – You know who he is?

  Liss shrugged her shoulders. – Why did you do it?

  Judith van Ravens rubbed her hands along her cheeks, pulling her entire face backwards.

  – I’ve … known Zako some years. We’re friends.

  Liss almost interrup
ted, but stopped herself. Zako doesn’t have women friends, she was going to say, and at the same instant saw him in her mind’s eye, lying on the sofa with vomit round his mouth. She could hear the voice of the policeman named Wouters, the one who was waiting for her to come and tell him what had happened that night.

  – Sometimes we speak on the phone, Judith van Ravens continued, – and sometimes when I’m in Amsterdam we meet.

  She was slender, a little below medium height, round hips and breasts not too big, even though she was probably breastfeeding. Not a typical Zako woman, Liss thought.

  – And your husband’s not supposed to know about this, she noted with a touch of contempt.

  – Actually nothing happens when Zako and I meet, Judith van Ravens assured her. – Not much, anyway, she corrected herself, – but my husband doesn’t have to know everything I do. He’s the suspicious type.

  – What about the photo?

  Judith van Ravens again stroked her cheeks, the movement continuing on up through her lustrous hair. – Zako called a few weeks ago. Asked for a favour. He wanted to surprise someone he knew, just for fun. I suppose that was probably you?

  – Keep going.

  – I was to take some pictures of a woman without her knowing it. I was given the name and address of an office. Waited outside in the car until she showed up. Followed her to a tram stop. She was with a man … It was a joke!

  – When was this?

  Judith van Ravens looked to be thinking about it. – Maybe three weeks ago. The end of last month. We flew to Houston the week after.

  Three weeks fitted with the date Liss had noted in Zako’s flat.

  – How long were you in the USA?

  – We came back on Friday evening. I’m still a bit jet-lagged. Judith van Ravens closed her eyes. – I owed him a favour. The disappearance of this woman, your sister, can’t have anything at all to do with those pictures. Zako and I went to the film academy together. He’s strange, and he gets up to some weird things, but he isn’t involved in kidnapping or anything like that.

  – Zako is dead.

  The woman at the window stiffened. The colour drained from the already pale cheeks.

  – It was an accident, Liss went on. It felt comforting, saying it like that. Something she might end up believing herself, if she repeated it often enough.

  – How …?

  Liss sat in one of the chairs by the coffee table.

  – Overdose. A mixture of things. He fell asleep, vomited and choked.

  Judith van Ravens slumped down into the sofa. – That’s not possible. Zako isn’t like that. He always has control.

  Liss didn’t respond. For a few moments they sat in silence. In another room, a mobile phone began to ring. Judith van Ravens didn’t react. Sat hunched forward, legs crossed, staring at the tabletop. Suddenly she said:

  – We have to go to the police. It’ll be a nightmare for me, but we have to.

  – Why?

  She didn’t raise her eyes. – It can’t be coincidental, this business with the pictures. If Zako has got himself mixed up in something or other, and someone has made this look like an accident …

  Liss interrupted: – I’m sure you were right when you said it was only meant as a joke.

  Judith van Ravens looked up. – Are you?

  Liss nodded firmly. – Having spoken to you, it figures.

  – Did you two … have a relationship?

  Liss ignored the question. – It’s like you say. Zako wanted to surprise me. He didn’t mean any harm. It’s just a coincidence that my sister went missing directly after you took those pictures.

  A moment’s relief: regardless of what had happened to Mailin, it wasn’t because of anything she, Liss, had done. It lasted for a few seconds, and then the doubt returned.

  – Do you still have those pictures?

  Judith van Ravens stood up, went into the next room, came back with a mobile phone.

  – I didn’t delete them, she said, and showed Liss the screen. – Had forgotten all about the whole business.

  Just then the baby began screaming in the next room.

  – So you don’t think there’s any need for me to go to the police?

  Liss waited a few seconds before answering. – As far as I know, no one believes Zako’s death was anything but accidental.

  2

  SHE NEEDED TO walk. Followed Kongs Way down towards town. It had snowed quite a lot, and the pavements hadn’t been cleared. Her thin boots were stiff with cold, and she slipped on icy bumps. Her phone began to ring. She thought of the detective inspector, Wouters. Sooner or later they’re going to find out, Liss. That someone else was there that night. That it was a woman in her mid-twenties, above average height, much too thin, with long reddish hair. No need to send out an alert. Anyone who knew Zako could point her out …

  It was Rikke who’d called. Shortly afterwards, a text: Where are you? Have to talk to you.

  It took almost an hour to reach Harald Hardrådes Square. She popped into a kiosk, bought a pack of Marlboros and a bottle of water, lit up the moment she was outside. Further up on Schweigaards Street was the commune where she’d been living just before she left. It probably still existed. Others would have moved in. Catrine still sent her messages at intervals; she’d even been out to Amsterdam to visit a couple of times. Maybe the closest thing to a best friend Liss had had.

  She got her phone out to call her. At the moment Catrine was living in student accommodation. She’d also stopped throwing stones and bottles at walls of policemen with helmets and shields. Two years ago she’d started studying political science at Blindern and claimed to have found a better way to display her opposition. For Liss, it hadn’t been enough to move to the other side of town. She’d had to get far away.

  When her call wasn’t picked up at once, she put the phone back in her bag, carried on towards Grønlandsleiret, and down to the church. There she stopped. Turned and looked up at the concrete block of the Oslo police headquarters. At the back were the security cells where she’d spent quite a few hours. No feeling worse than the sound of the door closing behind you. Being shut in. No knowing how long for … To the right of the station, the driveway leading up to the prison. What was the sentence for murder? Manslaughter, if they chose to believe her? She would be extradited to appear in court in Holland. Were the sentences longer there? Five years? Ten or fifteen? She might be over forty by the time she got out again … Locked up. Not for a few hours or a night, but for months, years. The only thing that scared her. Not to be able to go out the door when she felt she needed to. Pacing restlessly around in a tiny locked room. Shaking the bars, scratching at the walls. Waiting for the steps in the corridor, the rattling of keys. The appointed hour for exercise. Knowing that this is what it will be like until you’re old. This isn’t about you, Liss, she tried to tell herself. All that matters is to find Mailin. Nothing else is important.

  She trudged up to the entrance to the police headquarters. What would you have said, Mailin? She tried to conjure up her sister’s voice. No one can make your choices for you, Liss. That wasn’t much help. She tried again. I don’t want you to get hurt, Liss. There is nothing in the world I care about more than you.

  She pulled at the heavy door. Didn’t budge. It’s a sign, she thought, they won’t let you in. But the one beside it slid open and she stepped into the large hallway.

  A girl about her own age in a Securitas uniform in the security booth. Two thin, pale braids hanging over the collar of her shirt. She looked as if she’d learnt to put make-up on in a children’s theatre.

  – Can I help you? she said sullenly.

  Liss peered up at the galleries around the hall. Different departments looked to be colour coded in red, blue and yellow.

  – I’m here because of my sister. She’s gone missing.

  – Okay, said the blonde without altering her facial expression. – You want to report a missing person?

  Liss shook her head. – You’v
e been looking for her for four days.

  She didn’t want to tell any more to this creature slouched there chewing gum. – The detectives in charge of the case probably want to talk to me.

  – What is your sister’s name?

  – Mailin. Mailin Synnøve Bjerke.

  – Sit down over there and wait.

  A couple of minutes later, Liss was summoned back to the counter.

  – None of the detectives can talk to you at the moment. Write your name and telephone number on this piece of paper and they’ll get in touch with you.

  3

  Monday 15 December

  THE TAXI DRIVER handed Liss’s credit card back to her. She’d been living on it for a while now. Wasn’t sure how much more she could squeeze out of it; didn’t want to find out. She stepped out into the slushy snow. The weather had turned milder during the night. She’d spent most of it in the hotel room in Parkveien looking out the window at the rain.

  She stepped experimentally through the puddles in the driveway. It was something like four years since she’d last been there.

  Almost as soon as she rang, the door was cautiously opened. Tage’s head appeared.

  – Liss, he exclaimed, and put his hand to his forehead. He had grown a beard since she last saw him, short and grey. There was hardly a wisp of hair left on his head. And the eyes seemed smaller behind the round spectacles. She felt almost relieved to see him. Perhaps because it wasn’t her mother who had opened the door.

  For a moment it looked as though he was going to embrace her, but fortunately he decided against it.

  – What in the world? But come in, come in. He shouted back into the house: – Ragnhild!