“He was an adventurous little boy,” Carmen said. “He wanted to explore and look at everything. Inside the house he crawled around at the speed of light. It was hard to keep up with him,” she said, drying a tear. “I was always so worried that he might hurt himself.”
She was over the first hurdle now and could see things from a different angle, what had happened down by the water, the great tragedy. The words flowed easily and she said that she was not to blame and that it was an accident. Sejer made a mental note that she had distanced herself from the tragedy. She was able to keep it at arm’s length, for the moment at least. But it wouldn’t last long, he thought; reality would soon come crashing over her like a wave. What had happened, in all its horror, would stay with her. Every day for the rest of her life. And on the day that she herself lay dying, the day when she no longer had a future, she would think back and remember it in detail. The child face down in the black water.
“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?”
4
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.