I Will Miss You Tomorrow

by Heine Bakkeid

  ‘What on …’ The body is left lying on its back directly in front of me and then begins to slide down the slick bedrock towards the water. In the end it rolls over the edge and flops down. Soon the torso breaks the surface again between the clumps of seaweed to settle face down with arms dangling at the sides.

  Gasping, I take a deep breath before launching myself on my stomach over the rock to the water’s edge, eyes peeled for further waves. I inch my way forward, supported by shells and barnacles on the stone, until I am so near that my fingertips can touch the body. Soon I am able to haul it towards me and up on to dry land. I get to my feet and start to tow it behind me across the rocks to the boathouse.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ I pant, out of breath, when I finally come to a standstill and drop the body. ‘It’s not Rasmus.’ Wet and exhausted, I sink to the ground beside the cold corpse. ‘It’s not even a man.’

  CHAPTER 18

  ‘Bjørkang,’ the voice answers at the other end with a mixture of curiosity and exaggerated authority. Bjørkang sounds intoxicated. In the background, someone is playing an accordion.

  ‘Thorkild Aske here. Did I interrupt something?’

  ‘It’s Saturday, a meeting at the accordion club.’ He stops for a second before adding: ‘Who did you say you were?’

  ‘The private investigator.’ I can hear the local police chief talking to someone in an undertone, and the accordion music stops. I block my other ear with a finger to shut out the wind. ‘I’m out at the lighthouse—’

  ‘But what the hell are you doing, still out there? Haven’t you seen the weather forecast? There’s going to be a gale tonight.’

  ‘Yes, I know, but—’

  ‘Are you on your own?’

  ‘No,’ I reply, standing up. I begin to skirt around the corpse on the ground in front of me, all the while struggling to get my circulation pumping and keep the cold from capturing my body.

  ‘That’s fine, then,’ he says, exhaling loudly. ‘Make sure you both get away from there as fast as fuck before the storm gets hold of you.’

  ‘I found a body,’ I start to say. ‘In the sea.’

  ‘The Danish bloke?’ I can hear whoever is with him stop mumbling, and they both fall totally silent.

  ‘Is there anyone else reported missing up here?’

  ‘No—’ Bjørkang begins to say.

  ‘It’s not Rasmus,’ I interrupt. ‘It’s a woman.’

  ‘Can you say that again? You found what in the sea?’

  ‘A woman. She looks as if she’s been stuck on the seabed for some time.’

  There is a lengthy pause, broken only when the local police chief’s deep voice resumes. ‘Are you sure?’ While I stand there phone in hand listening to the policeman’s heavy, rasping breath, my eyes survey the dead woman beside me.

  Her body is bloated, distended like a beach ball in human clothing. The corpse has no face, just mid-length hair and scalp left after the time spent underwater. One arm is torn off at the elbow joint and the entire lower jaw is replaced by a dark hole where the white cartilage rings of the windpipe and pink oesophagus protrude. The grey tongue muscle hangs between her breasts like a necktie under the grotesque hood of flesh encircling the skull.

  She looks young, and is wearing a flimsy nightdress and a T-shirt on top, with a picture of a horse emblazoned on the front. Blood has collected in her legs, all the way up to the knees as well as in her neck, which is deep purple. Her arm and arm stump, in addition to the upper part of her chest, are marked by bronze post-mortem lividity. The bobbled, leathery skin resembles goose flesh.

  ‘Hello, Aske! Are you there?’ The voice at the other end sounds hollow and crackles as a deeper bass tone mingles with it when the two men I am speaking to raise their voices, sounding jittery.

  ‘Yes, I’m here.’

  ‘Are you sure that—’

  ‘Can’t you just come here, Bjørkang?’ I insist, feeling irritated. ‘This place gets under your skin and I want to be out of here. Come as fast as you can, for fuck’s sake!’

  ‘OK. I’ll requisition a boat right away and then I’ll phone you back very soon. Agreed?’

  ‘Agreed.’ A crackling noise, and then he hangs up.

  I continue to stand with the mobile phone in my hand, without taking my eyes off the faceless woman. The snow has formed a white cobweb film across her, making her look like a morbid version of a snow angel, with only one and a half wings.

  I walk over to the pile of materials between the main building and the boathouse and start to carry roof tiles and scrap metal over to place in a circle around the dead body. Afterwards, stepping inside the foyer in the main building, I tear off the plastic sheeting in front of the restaurant door and bring it outside.

  I wrap the corpse in the plastic, before placing the tiles and metal on top. Soon I have finished and head off up to the lighthouse again.

  I jog breathlessly up the steps and close the door behind me before continuing up the internal staircase all the way to the top, where I resume my seat by the window. Not long afterwards, my phone rings again. It’s Bjørkang’s colleague, Sergeant Arnt Eriksen, sounding out of breath.

  ‘Aske, is that you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Bjørkang just called,’ he begins. I can hear that he is outdoors. I hear gravel crunching as he walks, and in the background a woman’s voice speaking on another phone.

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘On my way down from Sørøytoppen. My girlfriend and I were making our way up to the cabin there when Bjørkang phoned.’

  ‘Are you coming to fetch me?’

  ‘Yes,’ Arnt says. ‘Just take it easy. I’ll pick up Bjørkang from his house as soon as we get down. He’s sent the accordion club boys home and put the cognac back on the shelf. Ha!’ His laughter sounded artificial and forced.

  ‘Why are you phoning me?’

  ‘I just wondered …’ he begins to answer.

  ‘Wondered what?’

  ‘Well, Bjørkang said you had found something in the sea. A … woman?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘What does she look like?’

  ‘What do you mean? Do you know who she is?’

  ‘What? No,’ the sergeant groans. The female voice at his side is speaking more quietly now, as if she too is inquisitive about why Arnt is phoning me. ‘I just had to check whether he had heard right. I mean, we’re not missing anyone apart from the Danish guy here, so—’

  ‘So what, then?’

  ‘No, forget it. Just take it easy, we’re coming.’

  Arnt Eriksen hangs up and my gaze returns to the little island. Far below on the shore I see the plastic bundle with the dark bulk inside, as snow flurries pass just above. My cheek is throbbing and I tear two OxyNorm capsules from the blister pack. I certainly have no wish to stay out here in the storm on my own. The thought of the woman beneath the tarpaulin, Rasmus, the bar, this lighthouse and this whole island gives me a sudden overwhelming urge to retch. ‘I should never have come here,’ I whisper to myself, tossing the capsules down my throat. ‘This isn’t going to end well, that’s for sure.’

  CHAPTER 19

  ‘I thought it was her – Frei,’ I say when Ulf finally picks up the phone. I’ve been waiting up here at the top of the lighthouse for ages, without seeing or hearing any sign of Bjørkang, Arnt or the boat they are supposed to bring to fetch me.

  ‘Where are you?’ Ulf asks, lighting a cigarette before exhaling noisily.

  ‘I’m on that island, the one belonging to the Danish guy. I’ve just hauled a woman out of the sea. When I saw her in amongst the clumps of seaweed, I thought for a minute it was Frei.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why? What the fuck do you mean, didn’t you hear what I said? I just found a woman with no face in the water!’

  ‘Yes, I hear you,’ Ulf answers. ‘But you must have come across dead bodies before, haven’t you?’ I can hear the tension in his voice, even though he’s try
ing to hide it.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ I reply, taking a deep breath. ‘I just wasn’t prepared for it.’

  ‘Who is she?’

  ‘Don’t know. It’s a young woman, maybe early twenties. No idea who she might be. The local police chief says there’s no one reported missing.’

  ‘Is she with you right now?’

  ‘No. I wrapped her up in plastic sheeting and left her lying down there on the rocks.’

  ‘Fine.’ Ulf sucks hard on his cigarette, purring in rapture between puffs. ‘What if we talk about something entirely different while you’re waiting to be picked up? Because you’ll be picked up soon, won’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve alerted the local police. They’re on their way.’

  ‘Great. Why not start by telling me why you thought it was Frei? After all, she’s buried in a churchyard out in Tananger.’

  ‘I just … I’m stressed out,’ I finally tell him, taking a deep breath. ‘I just took two of the Oxys, and they haven’t started working yet.’

  ‘Soon,’ Ulf intones, without a trace of anxiety, obviously enjoying his cigarette. ‘Very soon, you’ll see.’

  ‘No,’ I complain, as my eyes are drawn to the grey-black cloud cover above me. ‘Nothing works up here. Even the sky is shut behind a wall of darkness and snow.’

  ‘The sky?’ Ulf pulls up short. I can hear him holding the smoke inside before exhaling steadily again. ‘What is it about the sky, Thorkild?’

  ‘Nothing,’ I answer crossly. I know I’ve said too much. ‘I spoke to Liz, as you wanted me to,’ I add in an effort to change the subject.

  ‘That’s good,’ Ulf responds quietly and mechanically. He lets me gabble on, waiting for a gap in the conversation, when he can twist the dialogue in a direction I don’t want it to take. ‘Did that go well?’

  ‘I punched Arvid.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He’s a scumbag.’

  ‘Undoubtedly. Did it help?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘OK, Thorkild. Did you get time to have a chat about your mother and father?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, maybe another time.’

  ‘Christ.’ I grit my teeth so ferociously that the pain in my cheek shoots all the way up to my eyeballs. I squeeze my eyelids tight shut and try to conjure up the medications that can help me away from this ice-cold, pain-filled space, into somewhere else. ‘She doesn’t want to come,’ I sob, clutching my mobile. ‘Not in this weather. Nothing works, I’ve already told you. I can’t even take a shit up here.’

  ‘Listen to me, Thorkild. What if we just take a breather now, you and me, calm down and have a conversation while you’re waiting for the effects to kick in? Then you can buy something for your stomach when you arrive back on dry land. Duphalac. OK? Can you do that? Will you?’

  ‘Yes,’ I sigh. ‘I can do that.’

  ‘Brilliant. I’ll light a cigarette and we can start all over again? OK? Is that fine?’

  ‘Fine.’

  Ulf lights a cigarette and inhales: I can hear the crackling down the phone line. He is holding his cigarette, filling his lungs right down to the deepest reaches of his bronchial tubes, until he breathes out with sheer enjoyment, heaves a sigh of contentment, and whispers: ‘OK, Thorkild, let’s talk.’

  The snowflakes drifting past outside dance up and down on the air currents: sometimes they come to a virtual standstill, as if poised in free fall until another gust of wind catches and chases them on through the night. Heavy waves pound at the island from every direction. ‘Have I told you about when I met her again?’ I ask, resting my cheek on the cold glass where the vibration is stronger.

  ‘Many times, Thorkild. Many times.’

  ‘All of a sudden she was standing there in the jets of water.’ I feel an impulse to laugh, even though my body is trembling with cold. At the same time, I notice something give way inside me. Threads slipping away from one another. Nerve pathways and muscles stretching out to their full extent, led by tiny white snowflakes dancing around in my belly, bringing oxycodone with them, lifting it up through my blood vessels to my head and the pain receptors waiting in there. Every particle settles in the right slot and puts me back together inside, fragment by fragment. ‘It was her, but all the same not her, do you understand? Her, the way she is now. That was why I knew it wasn’t a dream.’

  ‘Tell me instead about why you went down to the showers, Thorkild. Tell me about your meeting with Robert, Arne Villmyr’s boyfriend. I know he visited you in prison, that you had a conversation that day. What was it he said to you?’

  ‘I knew her at once,’ I plough on, ignoring his questions. It is snowing, not only outside, but also inside. Not scudding and driving like a raging storm, but strands of soft crystals, big as goose down, floating down over me in a perfect sensory experience such as will only occur in a properly joined-up brain.

  ‘He told you about Frei, and someone else?’

  ‘No,’ I break in. Some sort of imbalance is beginning to spread through my body, and I feel anger building up inside. ‘I don’t want to talk about that now,’ I say in annoyance.

  ‘We haven’t talked about it yet,’ Ulf purrs with equanimity, still puffing on his cigarette. ‘Maybe this would be an opportune moment to examine it together while we’re waiting for that boat?’

  ‘No!’ I snap into the receiver.

  ‘OK, Thorkild, I didn’t mean to push you.’

  Outside, it will soon be completely dark. Thin streaks of pale light dart down through the snowstorm, striking the island and the sea at chosen points, and the rest is blue-black, white or shapeless and grey. ‘Shh.’ I place my hand over the microphone. My gaze is fixed on something all the way down there beside the jetty.

  ‘What is it?’ I can just hear Ulf’s voice through my fingers. The light sways to the beat of the ocean’s surface around the jetty, where a human figure is pulling itself up out of the waves. As soon as he is out, he stops to look around, pausing, his hands on his knees, as if catching his breath.

  ‘I have to go,’ I whisper just as the figure stands up to its full height and sets off towards the boathouse, where the body of the faceless woman lies rolled up in plastic. ‘Someone’s here.’

  CHAPTER 20

  I gather up my belongings and hurry downstairs to the base of the lighthouse. Outside, a gale is blowing. The wind has grabbed a torn-down radio mast and is tugging and tearing at it, to and fro across the concrete foundations. The grind of metal on concrete is ear-splitting.

  I see no one, and no boat down by the jetty where black shadows twist and turn in the wind, while the snowstorm rages, imprisoning us on this grey, fog-bound rock. A fresh snow squall rolls in over the island as I take hold of the railings and start to haul myself down the concrete steps towards the conference centre and the boathouse.

  The corpse is no longer where I left it. Only an impression in almost transparent slush shows where the head and torso had recently lain. While I stand there looking down at the imprint of an angel with only one wing, there is suddenly a splintering crack from the jetty.

  I turn and see surging breakers sweeping in across the island. The rotten jetty structure swings noisily up and down with the waves. All at once I catch sight of the figure again in the middle of the jetty where metre-high waves are soaring high in the air and crashing down again. It is a man whose body blends almost completely into the dark background and the blizzard rampaging between us. He is wearing a diver’s suit and mask and seems to be dragging the body of the faceless woman behind him to the edge of the jetty.

  ‘Hey!’ I wave my arms as I take a few steps forward. ‘Wait for me!’

  The man stops momentarily and looks up at me through the driving snow. He stands gazing at me and then adjusts his grip and continues to drag her onwards.

  ‘Wait, for God’s sake!’ I start to jog down to the jetty. I can see they have reached the edge. He crouches forward and looks down at the water as if considering jumping in
.

  Once again I hear the pier columns crack. The whole jetty is rocking violently as it creaks and bangs against the metal underpinnings. The man in the diver’s suit is now standing at the far edge of the jetty with the body of the faceless woman in his arms. Motionless, they just stand completely still as the seawater lashes over them.

  Yet again the foaming surf comes crashing over the teetering jetty. The water surges into the air and over the structure, followed by fresh grinding from the foundation pillars. The next time I look at the place where they’d been standing, they are gone.

  ‘No!’ I cry, and totter shakily forward before stopping again. The jetty is about to tear loose from the bedrock. The very next minute, still more strident cracking noises issue from the pier foundations before the whole jetty lifts right out of the water. All the time, there are groaning noises as timber fractures, brackets snap and reinforcing irons break off. The construction rises vertically out of the water before flopping heavily on to its back and starting to slide away from the rocks, out into the dark depths of the ocean.

  Suddenly I glimpse them again, not far from the broken jetty. The water is shallower there, paler than farther out, and I can see two shadows, one floating head down so that only a tiny part of the back breaks the water, while the other floats just below the surface, as if watching me through the murky layer.

  I linger there for a few seconds before breaking into a run across the rocks to the shore. At the same time, the man lugs the dead body away from the island.

  ‘Hey, where are you going?’ I yell in desperation. ‘Where’s the boat?’

  But now I skid and lose my footing on the slimy ground. I crash down and smack my cheek and head on hard stone, ending up half wedged between two rocks no more than half a metre from the water’s edge.