The Drowned Boy (4 page)

“How long have you and Nicolai been living together?” he asked in a calm voice.

“Two years,” she replied. “But we’ve been together for four. I was only fifteen when we met. I had a boyfriend before him, but it only lasted for a month, because I couldn’t trust him. So it’s always been us. We work well together. Even though we’re very different, there’s no denying it.”

“Different in what way?”

“Nicolai is slow and methodical,” she said, “whereas I’m fast and impulsive, if you see what I mean.”

“Was he a good father?”

“Oh yes, the best. Much more patient than me. He never gets desperate or angry and he’s always kind. He’s not particularly quick. He’s more the careful kind, but he’s totally dependable.”

“And did he try to give first aid as well?”

“Yes, we both did. But we could see it was too late; we could see that he was blue. It was horrible. And Nicolai had to call for the ambulance because I was completely hysterical and couldn’t do anything. Can we refuse to have an autopsy?” she asked abruptly. “Sorry for asking, but it’s just such a horrible thought, because I know what they do, I’ve read about it in the papers. And I don’t want anyone poking around in Tommy’s body.”

Sejer noted her use of the phrase “poking around” and her aversion to closer examinations, but did not draw any conclusions. He had come across the problem before, often in relation to suicides or crib deaths. People wanted to bury their loved ones whole, which was perfectly understandable.

“But the autopsy will be very important,” he said. “It might give us lots of answers.”

“But I found him in the water,” she countered. “He drowned. The cause of death is obvious, so I don’t see the point.”

“Carmen,” Sejer said patiently, “this is what we call a sudden and unexpected death. And it is routine to do an autopsy. Take my word for it, he will be treated with the utmost care.”

This made her less willing to talk. She clammed up again and avoided catching his eye as she sat there twiddling a silver ring with a red stone around her finger. Maybe she was tired, or maybe she was nervous; it was hard to tell. Sejer, who was now more prone to suspect, started to push her a bit. There were no doubt far too many child murders that had never been proven and so wrongly filed as accidents. Children, as the most vulnerable in society, have a right to justice, he thought, once again touching on his childhood ideals. Everything that his father had taught him: law, truth, and justice.

“Can I call my dad?” she asked. “I have to call him and explain. They’ve only got me,” she added. “And Tommy is their only grandchild.”

Then she started crying again, bitter tears.

“I did have a sister, but she’s dead,” she explained. “And this will be too much for them. Dad’s got a bad heart and Mom’s just really nervous.”

“Carmen,” Sejer said in a calm voice, “you do have rights, and I’m not going to deny you any of them. But you must prepare yourself for some very difficult conversations. That’s just the way it is, but it is all done with the best intentions. Don’t be afraid; I’m sure we’ll manage to work this out together.”

She glanced over at Frank, who was still asleep on his blanket. And then she looked straight at Sejer again. Her eyes were fraught with doubt.

“Am I suspected of something?”

Sejer let her stew in uncertainty for a while. He had the same feeling as Skarre, that something was amiss. Her behavior was odd, given the tragedy, and this made him push her more.

“As I said, we need to find out exactly what happened,” he told her. “An officer will examine your house, but, again, it is simply a matter of routine. So you don’t need to worry.”

Carmen stared at him. “What? The house? He died in the pond. I don’t understand!” She burst into tears again and brushed a lock of hair from her face. “There’s nothing to see in the house,” she continued. “I don’t understand how you’re even allowed to do that. Examine the house! To look for what?”

Sejer got up from the chair, moving it so they were sitting face to face. Being confronted in this way made her even more uncertain and upset.

“Well, I mean, I don’t want to make a fuss,” she said. “I just think it’s all so weird. It’s hard to take in. Is it you who’s going to talk to Nicolai?”

“Yes, I will talk to Nicolai. To hear his version and see if it corresponds with yours. You do understand that’s how we have to work, don’t you?”

“But it does correspond,” she said hastily, about to start crying again. “You don’t think I’m sitting here lying, do you?”

ON THE PORCH
, some jackets and coats on a row of hooks. Two pairs of hiking boots, a pair of rain boots, some shoes on a shoe rack. A knotted plastic bag, presumably with garbage in it to be taken down to the garbage can along the road. A door down to the cellar with its mysterious murkiness. Inside, a dresser and mirror in the hallway, a lonely jacket with reflective stripes on the arms. To the right, a small living room with a sofa and coffee table. The room was dominated by a flat-screen TV, maybe fifty inches wide. Two armchairs, one with a footstool. Lots of books on the bookshelves, including some large ones about animals and birds. Next to the living room, a dining room with a table and four chairs, and a desk with a Mac desktop on it.

Skarre went from room to room, paying attention to all the details. Shriveled potted plants, magazines on the table. A remote control and an empty Coke can, a blanket with red fringe on the sofa. A play blanket on the floor with pockets and bells. On the wall, a black-and-white photograph of a child, taken by a good amateur photographer—perhaps Nicolai. The Down syndrome was obvious in his eyes and his short, stocky body and square hands. He was standing in a field full of daisies and dandelions, wearing nothing but a diaper. It had indeed been a hot summer. Every man and his dog had shed all the clothes they could. He stood looking at the photograph for a long time and was filled with sorrow as he stared at the little boy. He eventually pulled himself together and moved on to the bedroom. He paused in the doorway and felt that he was entering somewhere private. He always felt like this, like a voyeur, stomping around in someone else’s life, but he had to do it. So he shook off the feeling, went into the room, and walked over to the window. The pond could not be seen from this side of the house, and he looked out onto a cluster of trees. There were no other houses nearby. Two single beds had been pushed together to make a double. One of the bedside tables was tidy and neat, the other full of stuff: an alarm clock, nasal spray, tissues, a glass of water. A watch, a hairbrush, and a bottle of acetaminophen in case of a temperature or headache. The bed linen was blue with white clouds, no doubt from Ikea. An old worn teddy bear lay on the bed, staring blindly at him with black glass eyes. And in the corner was the boy’s white crib with a mobile above it, four flying birds with red feathers. There was also a teddy bear here, but it was new and looked expensive. Maybe a present from his grandparents. Whereas the old worn one had been abandoned, relegated to the grown-up bed. From there, into the bathroom. Some socks hanging up to dry. Otherwise little of interest. He went back into the living room, sat down on the sofa, and dialed Sejer’s number.

“Nothing of any note,” he said. “No great discoveries. Just normal, everyday mess.”

“Where are you now?”

“In the living room.”

“Well, go into the kitchen,” Sejer instructed, “and I expect you’ll find a fish there. Is there anything else on the counter, the makings of supper?”

Skarre went and looked around the tidy kitchen.

“Yep, looks like salmon, and it’s partially cleaned. Happy now? Otherwise nothing. Socks drying in the bathroom, some mess by the bed, just day-to-day things. An empty whiskey bottle on the counter so one of them drinks, presumably Nicolai.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Girls that age don’t drink whiskey,” Skarre said.

“No, you’re probably right,” Sejer agreed. “So far Carmen is telling the truth then. But I have to admit, she does seem a bit confused regarding the sequence of events. Call me if you find anything else. In the meantime, I’ll speak to Nicolai, and we’ll see if they say the same thing.”

“So what are your thoughts?” Skarre asked.

“Well, the usual, I suppose, that one of them might be lying. And if that’s the case, then the guilty party is not going to get away with it.”

“
IT WAS TOO
late,” Nicolai Brandt said. “He was all blue. That is, his nails and lips were blue, and otherwise he was white as a sheet. I could see that it was Tommy, but he looked so alien. I realized that he was dead, and Carmen was completely hysterical. It was impossible to think. It was all wrong, what I did. I’m useless,” he said melodramatically as he dried a tear.

“Where were you when she shouted for help?” Sejer asked.

“In the cellar,” Nicolai replied. “I was repairing a bike. I earn a bit of money doing little jobs like that. It was a friend’s bike. I had changed and oiled the chain, so it was fixed.”

“So,” Sejer said patiently, “you were bent over the bicycle. What did you think when you heard Carmen shout?”

“She wasn’t shouting; she was screaming,” Nicolai said. “I knew right away that Tommy was in the water. I’ve always hated that pond and worried about it all the time. Tommy’s all over the place, because he’s just learned to walk, and he couldn’t get enough. So I let go of the bike and ran as fast as I could down to the pond. Carmen had managed to get him out of the water and onto the grass. We did everything we could to revive him, but nothing worked. He didn’t react. I called for an ambulance and they came as fast as they could, but I realized after only a few minutes that it was already too late. They tried to resuscitate him too, but didn’t manage either—even though they were better at it than us and had done it loads of times. We could tell that they were professionals and had probably saved many lives. So I kept hoping. Waiting for him to wake and cough up some water. For him to get the color back in his face and to start breathing again.”

Nicolai was extremely pale despite the long summer, and his eyes were dark pools of grief and despair. It was perhaps the first time he had seen death up close. He was only twenty, after all. And everyone’s first experience of death is traumatic.

“So,” Sejer started after a pause, “had Tommy walked down to the pond before? It’s not that far really, only about one hundred and sixty feet. Or had he gone outside onto the grass by himself before or anything like that? Can you remember any episodes?”

Nicolai clenched his hands in his lap. He was also of slight build, like Carmen, so they were well matched, these two unhappy souls. He had thin hair that was slicked back and long at the neck. There was a small tattoo that looked like a Japanese character on one hand.

“What does your tattoo mean?” Sejer asked out of curiosity.

“Courage,” Nicolai told him.

“Does it work?”

“No, not at all. I’ve always been a coward. Could we be charged with negligence?”

Sejer ignored the question.

“Why do you say that you’re a coward?” he asked. “Who says you’re a coward?”

“I do. I know I am; you don’t need to humor me. Because I don’t deserve it.”

“All right then,” Sejer said, wanting to move on. “Tommy. Had he ever gone out of the house on his own before? Out into the garden?”

“Yes, a couple of times. When he got to the steps, he’d crawl. I’ve told Carmen to keep all the doors shut, because he’s so quick. But it was a warm day and the doors were wide open.”

“Can you tell me what Carmen was doing when Tommy disappeared? Do you know?”

He thought about it, running his tattooed hand through his hair.

“I don’t know. She was doing the housework, I guess. Or making supper. She enjoys it, just puttering around doing things. She likes making food; she’s very domestic.”

“And where do you work, Nicolai?”

“I work with Pappa Zita in the center of town. At Zita Quick, the fast-food place on Torggata.”

“And do you like working for your father-in-law?”

“Yes, he’s really nice. But he had a major heart attack a couple of years ago, so he has to take things easy now. Carmen and I help him as much as we can. We don’t earn very much, but we get by on what we’ve got. Carmen’s still on maternity leave, but she’ll start working again, once Tommy—”

He stopped abruptly, remembering everything. Frank got up from where he had been sleeping and went over to him. He stood licking Nicolai’s hand with his warm tongue.

“Do you like dogs?” Sejer asked to distract him.

He nodded and stroked Frank’s wrinkly head. “Yes, Carmen does too. But we didn’t get one because of Tommy. I mean, we’d thought of waiting until he was three or four. I realize now it’s stupid to put things off. Suddenly life is over,” he said, “and it’s too late. The house will be so empty now. We’re used to hearing him laugh and cry; I don’t know how we’ll manage!” He burst into tears. Sitting helplessly in his chair, he tried to dry his eyes.

“You’ll be offered support from a psychologist,” Sejer assured him. “Do you think you’ll take it?”

“No, I don’t believe in talking. I just want to be left alone,” he said. “Will we be able to go home soon? I don’t understand all these questions, and they’re upsetting me.”

“Yes, you’ll be able to go home soon. We’ll contact you again once we’ve got the results from the autopsy.”

Nicolai shook his head despondently. “But there’s nothing to find,” he said. “Can we not be spared that?”

“I’m sorry,” Sejer said firmly, “but the circumstances make it necessary. And even if you don’t understand why we need to do an autopsy, I can assure you that it’s in Tommy’s interests. We have procedures that need to be followed; can you trust me on this one?”

“I just think it’s so awful,” he mumbled. “I can’t bear the thought of it, opening up his little body and emptying out the contents.”

“You won’t be able to tell afterward, I promise you that,” Sejer said. “Rest assured that you will be able to see him for a last time without being upset. Talk to the funeral directors about it. They can help you with things like that.”