Death By Water

by Damhaug, Torkil

  – Do you and Mailin own this house? she asked, though she knew the circumstances of how they came to be living there.

  – Rent it cheaply, Viljam told her. – A friend of Linne’s working in the US on an open-ended contract. Not even certain he’ll come back. If he doesn’t, then it’s possible we’ll buy it.

  He called her Linne. Liss had done the same when she was younger.

  He took her upstairs and showed her around. The bedroom was in bright colours, with a solid double bed made of oak. There was a spare bed in an office. Liss tried to work out what was Mailin in the house. The bed and the dark brown leather furniture, the orchids on the windowsill in the living room, the painting, the piano.

  Afterwards they sat in the kitchen, at a surface that stuck out from the wall and divided the room in two.

  Viljam poured coffee from a cafetière.

  – Keep expecting every moment that she’ll come in the front door, he said. – Kick the snow off on the threshold.

  He sipped at his cup, looked away. Liss studied his hands. The fingers were long and thin. She glanced up at his profiled face against the afternoon light from the window. Thought of what Tage had said about Ragnhild’s reaction; that there was something about Viljam that gave her mother a funny feeling … These funny feelings of hers always filled the room with something floating and invisible; back home they used to swim in them all the time. Liss recalled why it was she had left, and would never come back.

  – Mailin says you’re studying law. And that you also work.

  He nodded. – The Justice Bus. Free legal aid for people who can’t afford to pay.

  Was he trying to hide something? According to Tage, Viljam had been at work with some other students when Mailin disappeared. And the rest of that evening and night and the following day at the house in Lørenskog.

  She swallowed some coffee. It was black and strong, just the way she liked it. – On the phone that day, you said that Mailin was going to call me.

  Even in the light from the window his eyes were dark blue. She still didn’t know what she thought of him. Other than that he was good looking in an almost feminine way. As was usually the case with Mailin’s men.

  – She said there was something she wanted to talk to you about. Don’t know what it was. Then she went out to the cabin.

  – Just for one day? Liss could hear the scepticism in her own voice.

  – She’s been spending a lot of time there recently. Working on a very demanding project. Part of her PhD. Says she thinks better out there. Nothing to disturb her. And on Thursday of course she was supposed to take part in Taboo.

  Lisa could see her, sitting by the large French windows in the room at the cabin. View of a stretch of Morr Water between the trees.

  – So that old rock-preacher Berger has turned himself into a talk show host, she remarked.

  – You’ve never seen Taboo? Everybody’s talking about it.

  – It’s years since I saw a Norwegian TV programme. I gather I’m missing something.

  Viljam drained his coffee cup, poured them both refills.

  – Read about it in a newspaper on the plane, she added. – Every week he discusses a new taboo which he claims we should get rid of. Smart guy.

  Viljam took the bait. – Berger is an unscrupulous bastard who has discovered how much attention he can get just by digging in the dirt.

  Liss wasn’t sure whether he sounded irritated or not.

  – In the beginning he was untouchable, ostracised. Now he’s cool. Everyone who’s famous for being famous turns up on his show and yaps away with him.

  – You mean Mailin?

  He shook his head. – I was extremely surprised when she accepted the invitation. Then I realised it was for a reason. She wrote a piece for the newspapers about his show.

  He pulled down a cutting from the cork noticeboard, Berger – a hero for our times. From Aftenposten, 1 December. – She discusses his project and shows what a narrow-minded idiot he really is.

  Liss read the opening paragraph. Mailin could be absolutely ruthless when it came to something she disapproved of.

  – She’s been working on incest and abuse and so on for years, Viljam continued. – You know that’s what her doctoral thesis is about? In Thursday’s programme Berger revealed that as a child he had had a relationship with an older man. It didn’t harm him in the slightest. Far from it: a relationship like that could actually be good for a child.

  – I saw that in VG. A lot of very angry responses.

  – He got in touch with Mailin a few weeks ago. She’s had several meetings with him. He claims that the taboo on paedophilia is against one of life’s natural expressions. He tries to promote himself as a kind of saviour. Everyone knows that he’s making a fortune out of the fact that people can never get enough of scandal. The more outraged viewers and Christians who threaten to boycott the channel – and best of all, the death threats – the better it is for his image and for the viewing figures.

  Viljam got up and took a packet out of the freezer in the top of the fridge. – I’ll heat some rolls for us.

  – Mailin would never let herself be used by a guy like that, said Liss. – She’s much too savvy.

  Viljam opened the bag with a thin, curved knife. – Agreed. She was the one who was going to use him.

  He put the rolls into the microwave. – She’s very careful about the oath of confidentiality and all that. But the day before she was due to go on Taboo, she mentioned something … something she’d found out. Something she was going to reveal in the programme. I’m not quite sure what.

  He didn’t say any more.

  – And Berger didn’t know about this? asked Liss.

  – She told me she would give him a fair chance. She was going to arrange another meeting with him. Talk to him just before the broadcast. Give him the choice of whether to cancel it or not.

  – But he didn’t cancel.

  – On the contrary. He made fun of the fact that she’d withdrawn. Got a lot of bullshit off his chest. Not a word of explanation for why she wasn’t there.

  – Presumably because he didn’t know that before the programme went out?

  Viljam shrugged.

  – At first I thought she’d changed her mind. That she’d decided after all not to give Berger cred by appearing on his show. But anyone who knows Mailin knows she’s not the type to drop out like that.

  The rolls were thawed and ready; he took them out of the microwave, put them on a plate. Put out cheese and jam.

  – After Taboo was over, I was certain she’d show up in Lørenskog. We sat there and waited, Tage, Ragnhild and I. Then we started ringing round. Later on that night we called the police. There was nothing they could do. Not until I called again the next day. They asked me to come in and give a statement.

  Liss leaned forward across the table. – Did you tell them this about Berger and the meeting she was supposed to have with him?

  Viljam sat back down in his chair. – Naturally. But they were more interested in hearing what I had been up to over the last twenty-four hours.

  What she saw in his eyes then was fear. The partner is always the first to be suspected, she thought. Was Viljam the type of guy who could do something like that? What was like that? Suddenly she realised she was staring back at him with the same look of fear in her eyes. She excused herself, pushed aside the plate with the fresh warm roll, went out into the hallway and up the stairs.

  As she bent double over the toilet bowl, she saw an image of Mailin’s naked body in the dark.

  – She’s dead, she murmured. – Mailin is dead.

  5

  SHE FOLLOWED SANNER Street in towards the city centre. The traffic approaching from the opposite direction created a film of dust and noise around her. She turned away by the bridge, took the path that ran alongside the river. Stopped and sat down on a bench. Light snow was falling, and in the dead grass two boys were chasing around after a ball. A woman in a turquoise outfi
t with her head covered in a shawl shouted something to them, something sharp and high pitched in a language Liss didn’t understand. The boys ignored her and raced off in the direction of the riverbank.

  What was it about Viljam that gave Ragnhild her funny feeling? Was it anything other than jealousy because Mailin had chosen him? Viljam is more than just despairing, she thought. More than just afraid. Or was she imagining that? At times she was certain she could tell when people were lying to her. Wasn’t that just her imagination too?

  As she walked on, it stopped snowing. Columns of light passed swiftly between the clouds, as though the sun were hurrying away. She carried on up to Our Saviour’s cemetery. She felt her phone vibrating. She saw it was Rikke and took the call.

  – Liss, where are you? I’ve been trying to get hold of you for days.

  – I’m in Oslo.

  Before Rikke could ask, she told her about Mailin. Just a few words. Silence at the other end.

  – I had to come home.

  – First Zako and now your sister. It’s crazy.

  – Have they got a cause of death for him yet?

  – I was called in for an interview. Zako was at my flat directly before he went home that night.

  She was probably afraid Liss was going to ask what they had been doing there.

  – It’s okay, Rikke, you don’t have to tell me everything.

  A wail from the other end. – I’ve been a real bitch, Liss. I understand if you’re mad at me.

  – I’m not mad at you. What did the police say?

  – They questioned me about everything. When he left, what we’d taken. If we’d had sex. If I went back to his place with him afterwards. It was pretty creepy. Is it my fault if he took too much? They asked about you too.

  – What did you say?

  – What could I say? I mean, you hadn’t seen him for over a week. That’s right, isn’t it?

  – Yes.

  – When are you coming back?

  – Don’t know.

  – I understand.

  – What?

  – How terrible it must be.

  The main street entrance was locked. She looked down the list of names on the doorbells, found Mailin’s. Beneath it, another name she recognised. As the connection dawned on her, she turned, about to walk away. Waited a few seconds and then changed her mind and rang one of the other bells, marked T. Gabrielsen. A woman’s voice over the intercom asked who it was. Liss told her; there was a buzzing from the lock.

  The stairwell smelt mouldy. The woodwork was worn and the paint flaking. A woman appeared from a door on the first floor.

  – So you’re Liss. Mailin has told me about you. I’m Torunn. This is so awful. Not you coming here, of course. You know what I mean.

  Liss didn’t answer. This Torunn, presumably surnamed Gabrielsen, was in her thirties. She came up to Liss’s chin. She was quite chubby. Her hair was shoulder length and pitch black, but in the roots its true grey was visible.

  – Mailin’s office is on the second floor. Have you got a key? I’m expecting a client. Just say if there’s anything I can do to help.

  As Liss was halfway up the stairs she continued: – Are you looking for anything in particular? The police have already been here. She shuddered, took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes.

  – No, nothing special, said Liss. – Just want to see her office.

  Just want to look for her, she might have said. The woman nodded as though she understood.

  On the second floor, Liss let herself into a room furnished as a waiting room. A sofa, some chairs, a radio on a table in the corner, poster art on the walls. Two doors leading out of it. Pål Øvreby – Psychologist, it said on one of them. Again she felt an urge to leave the place. A vague pain in the stomach, spreading down into her groin. Pål Øvreby isn’t going to decide what I do or don’t do, she thought, and turned away from his door.

  On the other door, Mailin’s name was printed on a brass plate. Liss looked through the spare bunch of keys Viljam had given her, selected the largest one and let herself in. The office wasn’t big, but the ceiling was high, as was probably the case with all the rooms in an old city-centre building like this. Here too the paint had begun to flake off, but the run-down effect was partly relieved by a woven rug on one of the walls, two children reaching out towards the sun. And the thick reddish carpet was soft to walk on. Liss recognised the desk, something inherited from their grandmother. It was in heavy, dark wood and was much too big and distinguished for the office. Behind the desk were three shelves housing books and folders.

  She sat in the swivel chair and leaned across the desk. A glimpse of the street down below, the tram wires, the traffic lights. She remained sitting for a long time. Mailin’s voice was somewhere inside that empty office. If she closed her eyes and tried hard, she could hear it.

  What’s to become of you, Liss?

  Mailin had decided to help those who needed help the most. She took care of people who had known the worst they could know. Abuse. Violence. Incest. People with real reasons for their suffering, thought Liss. Not like me, who had chances but wasted them. She let her gaze wander over the folders on the shelves, Mailin had noted on the spines what the contents were. On the backs of the books she saw a few familiar names. Freud, Jung, Reich. Others who she’d never heard of: Igra, Bion, Ferenczi, Kohout. Now and then Liss had felt the same kind of curiosity as her sister. To understand how the world adds up. How language shapes us. How we collect memories and dispose of them. But she had never had Mailin’s patience. Could never sit for hours with a book. Had to interrupt herself, every time. Fill her thoughts with something other than letters. Sounds and pictures, something that moved.

  There was a cork noticeboard next to the shelves. Two newspaper cuttings pinned to the top of it, one of them an interview with Berger. Liss switched on the desktop lamp, read something Mailin had underlined: Nothing bores me more than watching the way a shoal of cunts move. There was also a postcard hanging there. It was from Amsterdam, Bloemenmarket. Liss recognised it. She’d sent it a long time ago, at least a year, and Mailin still kept it up on her noticeboard. Below the card she discovered a Post-it note with something scribbled on it. Liss angled the lamp so that she could make the writing out. One of the few things she was better at than her sister was writing neatly. Ask him about death by water, she read in Mailin’s untidy scrawl.

  She turned back towards the desk. It had been tidied. A few documents in a file. She opened the top drawer, found a stapler, some pens and a packet of paperclips. The drawer below it was locked. She managed to open it with the smallest key in the bunch. Inside was a small bound book with a wine-red cover in some kind of soft, plush material. She ran her fingers across it. Mailin S. Bjerke was written inside. Apart from that the pages were empty. What were you going to fill them with, Mailin? Write about your patients? Or your own thoughts? Liss shoved the book into her shoulder bag.

  Further back in the drawer, she found a diary. The daily planners were covered in initials and appointment times, obviously patients her sister was treating. Six or seven every day, sometimes eight. They all came to her with their stories. Everything she had to listen to, take care of, cure them of. Dense with initials; on the hour, every hour someone crossing her threshold to unburden themselves, and Mailin was supposed to sit there and take it all in, swallow it until she felt she was going dizzy … Liss flipped through the diary, toward the end of the year. Thursday 11 December was blank, but below the listing of hours she had written: 17.00 JH. And at the bottom of the page BERGER – Channel Six, Nydalen, 8 o’clock, and something about a jacket.

  She had to pee, went out into the corridor. At the end of it she found a tiny loo with a washbasin. After she’d locked herself in and sat down, she heard a door go, and then footsteps. They disappeared, obviously into the waiting room. In an instant, this thought: Pål Øvreby comes striding down the corridor, tears open the door and finds her sitting on the toilet … She finished, hurri
ed back to the office. The door was ajar. A man was leaning over Mailin’s desk, turned round on hearing her.

  – I’m looking for someone, he said, and glanced round in confusion. – Mailin still works here, right?

  Liss stayed in the doorway. – She isn’t here.

  The guy couldn’t have been much older than her. He was thin and bony, wearing a dark blue reefer jacket with the collar turned up and a motif on the breast pocket, an anchor.

  – I can see that, he said. – That she’s not here. Who are you?

  Liss didn’t think that was any of his business. She closed the door behind her.

  – Do you have an appointment? she countered.

  The man peered out the window. The black curly hair was gelled up and hung in a thick wave down one side of his forehead.

  – Not actually today. I’ve been here before, some time ago. I dropped out. Been trying to get in touch with Mailin to make an appointment, but she doesn’t answer. Thought I might as well just call in. Will she be along later today?

  Liss studied him. The eyes were dark and restless. He was rubbing his hands together and obviously trying to keep them still. Abstinent, she thought.

  – I don’t know when she’ll be back, she answered. If she’ll be back, she should have said. Mailin won’t be coming any more. – I’ll make a note that you were here. What’s your name?

  The man’s gaze flickered around her, over to the rug on the wall, out the window again. He had so much gel in his hair, it put her in mind of the feathers on a seabird mired in oil.

  – Doesn’t matter, he mumbled. – I’ll try again later.

  He squeezed past her on his way out.

  – I’m looking for Mailin too, said Liss.

  He stopped. Stood there, rocked a moment on the threshold. – Are you here waiting for her?

  She closed her eyes. That’s what I’m doing.