Hell Fire Page 12

  He collected the mail and went back inside. Mass was sitting in a chair waiting, and she took the newspaper from him. Eddie went to the fridge for a Cherry Coke and then sat down at the computer. He sat there thinking for a while before starting to search. His dad had spent his final years somewhere in Copenhagen; he had to be buried in one of the graveyards there. It must be possible to find out which one. He did a search for graveyards in Copenhagen, and when a long list popped up on the screen he felt slightly sick. He hadn’t imagined there were so many; where on earth should he start? He ran down the names and addresses, reading them quietly to himself.

  Assistens Cemetery in Nørrebro.Holmens Cemetery in Østre Farimagsgade. Solbjerg Cemetery in Roskildevej. Vestre Cemetery in Vestre Kirkegårds Allé. Vor Frelsers Cemetery in Amagerbrogade. And so it went on.

  He slowly worked his way through them all. His mother didn’t know where his father was buried; only his new family knew and they also lived in the city of Copenhagen, along with 1.2 million other people. But he still thought there must be a way to find him. Or his grave, of course, as he wouldn’t find anything else. His mother did have some information, so he knew his name, date of birth, and the date he moved to Copenhagen.

  “What are you doing?” Mass asked from her chair. “What are you looking for?”

  “Nothing in particular,” Eddie said tersely. His mother wouldn’t like what he was doing, he was sure of that. He didn’t want to tell her about the plan he was hatching.

  Mass lowered the newspaper. Once he had decided on something, he never gave up. Suddenly it occurred to her that he might be looking for a girlfriend—there were lots of people who met on the Internet these days. It was quite normal. He had said that he didn’t want a girlfriend, but he could have changed his mind. And even though he was one of a kind and on the heavy side, she thought he was handsome, with his strong body and curly brown locks.

  “Are you keeping secrets from me?” she teased.

  “Yes,” was his reply.

  She didn’t want to ask any more questions, because even though they lived in the same house, he had the right to some privacy. After a while, he turned the computer off, and Mass went to the utility room to take some laundry out of the dryer. Eddie picked up the paper and turned to the crossword. He worked his way steadily through it, word for word. Biblical fruit, two words, ten letters. Adam’s apple. Central star. Sun. Flame. Girlfriend. The expression “deadly defense” was harder, eleven letters. He had an “l” and a “u,” nine letters, so the word was leukocyte, a scientific term for killer cells. Purification works. That might also be something in the body. Six letters and he had an “e.” Spleen. Ideology, eight letters. Politics? Religion? Both fitted. After doing some more, he got the letter “m” and then “f.” The word was manifesto. But now he had to sort out this graveyard thing. The thought of his father’s grave would not go away; he kept mulling it over in his mind. He would never forgive the woman who had taken his father from them, never. The audacity. He put the newspaper down and went into the kitchen. He bent down over the dog and whispered in her ear: “We’ll be going to the vet again soon to have you put down.”

  “Leave Shiba alone,” his mother said sternly. “She’s ill and needs some peace.”

  “I know.”

  She was standing with a piece of clothing over her arm, and she held it up for him. It was his black New York sweatshirt and it had shrunk to child-size in the warm dryer.

  “I want a new one,” he said, determined. “We’ll have to go back to the store.”

  “Aha,” she said and laughed out loud. “That’s only because you want to see the Ethiopian girl again.”

  21

  July 2005

  AFTER FOURTEEN DAYS on the rig, Olav Nøklan was flown back to the mainland by the helicopter service. Kathrine picked him up in the car, and their little daughter Ylva was in the back. He gave them both a good hug; he was happy to see them. But they didn’t say much on the drive home. Olav knew what was waiting. Tomorrow the police would be on their doorstep, and the thought of all the questions they would ask was eating at him.

  “What are you going to say to them?” Kathrine asked as she drove.

  “Absolutely everything. I’ll be honest and answer their questions as well as I can.”

  “Do you think I should be there? I knew Bonnie as well, after all.”

  “Don’t know,” he said curtly. “They might want to talk to me alone.”

  Ylva sat babbling in her car seat behind them, and he tried to stay calm. He had a horribly bad conscience about all manner of things, and he would definitely be the first to admit that if they asked. He should be ashamed. He should do everything he could to make up for it. He should repent.

  “Why did you leave Bonnie?” Sejer asked. “Did you argue a lot?”

  “No, we didn’t, actually,” Olav admitted. “We had a good relationship. Especially after Simon was born. It was just that I fell head over heels for Kathrine. You can’t control that sort of thing, can you? I’m only human.”

  “Kathrine was seventeen?”

  “Yes. It does sound a bit like cradle-snatching, but she was very mature. That was why we used her as a babysitter. And then what happened happened. It was a difficult time, and to be honest, I didn’t know what to do. Kathrine and I had endless discussions, and I told her countless times that she could easily find someone else. And then we’d split up—we tried several times. But it didn’t work. We couldn’t end the relationship; it was almost impossible for me to think straight. So I decided to come clean and tell Bonnie.”

  “How did she take it?” Skarre asked.

  “Oh, it was unbearable,” he said with a sigh. “And I knew that she would struggle financially. She didn’t earn much as a home health aide.”

  “You could have helped her financially, couldn’t you? With the money you must earn on Gullfaks?”

  “Yes,” he said. “And I paid my share for Simon. She accepted that of course. But she wouldn’t take a krone more. She was as bitter as can be and I didn’t want to pressure her. But I begged her to tell me if she ever needed anything, because I did want to make up for what I’d done.”

  “It’s hard to understand why she said no,” Sejer remarked.

  “You didn’t know Bonnie.”

  Sejer looked around the living room, which bore witness to both good taste and good money. The house that Bonnie had lived in after the separation was another story: a tiny old house where they had gone from room to room without finding anything that might help the investigation. Sejer had stood in the doorway to one of the bedrooms and looked at the unmade bed. The comforters were still in the trailer.

  “How often did you see Simon?”

  Olav bowed his head. He looked both guilty and unhappy.

  “Hardly ever,” he confessed. “Bonnie always made it difficult. I think she wanted to punish me.”

  “You didn’t insist on more contact?”

  “No. I guess I’m just a coward, that’s all there is to it. And then Ylva was born. But I always gave him presents for his birthday and Christmas. I thought she might soften over the years, but to be honest, I didn’t really believe she would. She was totally unforgiving.”

  “Were you close when you were together?” Skarre asked. “I mean, did you share secrets and dreams? From your childhood, for example, or when you were teenagers?”

  “Not really. But perhaps we should have. Though I have to say, my teenage years were pretty wild. And for obvious reasons I wasn’t that keen to talk about it. Bonnie was pretty secretive about most things, not that I really wanted to know about her past—what did it matter?”

  “But you had a good relationship?”

  “Yes, in every way.”

  “And the fact that she never got over the split, does that mean that she clung to you when you were together?”

  “Yes.”

  Kathrine came into the room with Ylva on her arm, and they asked her a couple of questions that
verified what her husband had said.

  As they walked to the door to leave, Sejer turned around one last time.

  “Did you go to the funeral?”

  “No,” he admitted.

  Sejer stood for a moment, thinking. “I find it very strange that you didn’t go to your own son’s funeral,” he said. “Can you explain?”

  “Yes,” he said, sounding wretched. “I’m totally ashamed of it. But the fact is that I was scared of Henny Hayden. She wasn’t just bitter—she was furious with me for what I’d done to Bonnie and Simon. So I chose to stay away. I was scared she would make a scene; she’s not the type to hold back. And I didn’t want that to happen at Simon’s funeral. So I drove up to Haugane Church last night with red roses.”

  They parked beside a red Volvo and then went in to see Britt Marie, who had been Bonnie’s closest friend for many years. Her husband and children were sent down to watch TV in the basement. The dog, Sugar Man, was asleep in front of the fireplace with his head on his paws.

  “I’ve helped Bonnie with a lot over the years,” Britt said. “Now there’s nothing more I can do. The only thing would be if I had some information that might in some way help you find him. But I have nothing.”

  “Do you know if she had any unfinished business with anyone?” Sejer asked.

  “No,” she replied. “It’s hard to imagine—she was kindness itself.”

  “Do you know if she had any enemies?”

  “I can’t think who they would have been. No, absolutely not.”

  “Did she say anything that might indicate that someone was after her?”

  “Men,” Britt said with a smile. “I’m assuming you’ve seen photographs of her.”

  “But she never mentioned anyone in particular?”

  “No, not like that. Not after Olav.”

  On the wall there was a picture of Britt and Bonnie standing close together. It was taken in the rain and both of them were wearing red raincoats, the hoods pulled up against the weather.

  “Jens took that photo,” she told them. “It’s quite recent.”

  “So your husband also knew Bonnie?”

  “Yes, but not very well.”

  “How close were you? Did she tell you everything?”

  “Oh no, definitely not. No one tells someone everything; we’re adults, after all. And adults have secrets. I do too.”

  Suddenly she started to cry. Sugar Man padded over to comfort her.

  “So what you’re saying is that Bonnie might have had a secret that you knew nothing about?” Skarre suggested.

  “Yes, I suppose that’s what I’m saying,” she answered, and dried her tears.

  “Something in the past, perhaps?”

  “Yes, although I know some things about her childhood. I know that she had anorexia, for example, and it was pretty serious.”

  Skarre jotted the information down.

  “So she told you that. Did she give any more details?”

  “Not really. She was a teenager, though, which is often when it happens.”

  “And anorexia is usually triggered by other things, you know that?”

  “Yes, I know a little. Low self-esteem, pressures at school, even sexual abuse, and other horrible things like that.”

  “Do you have any reason to believe that something like that may have happened in Bonnie’s childhood?”

  “I don’t know. It certainly wouldn’t have been Henrik because I know him quite well, and he worshipped her.”

  “But could it have been someone else, perhaps?”

  “Of course,” Britt said. “There are always nasty uncles.”

  22

  December 2004

  WHEN CHRISTMAS FINALLY arrived, Simon danced around clapping his hands. He was delighted by everything—the tinsel, the gifts, the smells from the kitchen. He had made some of the Christmas decorations himself at daycare, with Kaja’s help: baskets and shiny paperchains and red felt hearts. Granny and Grandpa were sitting on the sofa; his mom was wearing a dress and had flushed cheeks from standing over the stove for so long. It was Simon who handed out the presents. He had a red hat on and saved his presents until last. He placed the presents in their laps one by one and waited with glee. Grandpa Henrik didn’t really know what he was doing, but Bonnie helped him with the ribbons, and a pair of brown leather gloves appeared. He put them on and held his hands up to his face and smelled them.

  When everyone else had opened their presents, Simon sat on the floor with his gifts. There were five in total and the tip of his tongue peeped out of his mouth as he tussled with the paper. Bonnie folded it up neatly so it could be used again. In the evening, she drove her parents home. The lock cylinder had been changed and everything was working again, at least for the moment. The car should have been in for a tune-up a long time ago, but she couldn’t afford it. These were happy days, and there were still some to come. They stayed up as long as they liked, slept as long as they liked, and ate cake every evening.

  23

  January 2005

  THE HOLIDAY PASSED all too quickly, and in January, Bonnie had to go back to work and Simon had to go back to daycare. He was slow and uncooperative in the mornings. He banged the table with his little fists and shouted that he didn’t want to go. Bonnie gritted her teeth; she half carried, half dragged him out to the car with an aching heart.

  Then, one morning in the middle of January, she woke up with him calling her. She leaped out of bed and ran into his room. She turned on the light and asked if he’d had a bad dream as she stroked his hair. Then she noticed something strange on his face: several big blisters. She pulled his pajamas off in a panic to have a look. His whole body was covered in blisters, and she was terrified. She had never seen anything like it and couldn’t imagine what it was. She got him out of bed and into some clothes, and then she called the office to say that she had to take her son to the doctor, but that she would be at Erna’s as soon as she could.

  “Will I need any shots?” Simon asked from the back seat, once they were in the car.

  “I don’t know,” Bonnie said. “You might just get some medicine. Pills or some cream. We’ll have to wait and see what the doctor says.”

  “Will I have to go to daycare after?”

  “No, not as long as you’ve got those spots. I’ll call Granny, so she can look after you while I’m at work.” When they got to the doctor’s, she was relieved to see that there weren’t many people sitting in the waiting room. There were only two others in front of them in line, and she did everything she could to calm Simon, who was frightened. As they waited, her mind was racing and she thought that perhaps it was some kind of allergy. Even though Simon had never been bothered by anything like that before, and nor had she. When they went in to see the doctor, she took off his clothes, and the doctor ran his fingers over the angry rash.

  “It came up overnight?”

  “Yes.”

  “Has he had it before?”

  “No.”

  “Will I need to have a shot?” Simon whispered.

  “No, no,” the doctor said reassuringly. “You won’t need a shot, little man. This is quite harmless and easy to treat.”

  “But what is it?” Bonnie asked.

  “Hives,” the doctor explained. “I’ll give you some prednisolone, and that should make it disappear fairly quickly.”

  He patted Simon on the head and wrote out a prescription. “Do you think he might be suffering from stress?” he asked.

  Bonnie felt like she’d been punched. “I guess he might be. It’s just the two of us—Simon and me—and he’s not very happy at daycare. But we don’t have any choice.”

  She took the prescription and thanked the doctor. Then she and Simon walked down the corridor to the hospital entrance, where there was a pharmacy. They got the medicine and then drove to Bonnie’s mother’s, who met them at the door. Simon had no objections to staying there, and finally Bonnie was free to drive to Erna’s.

  “It’s about ti
me,” the old woman said grumpily. “I’ve been waiting for an hour and a half. Punctuality is a virtue, you know. You won’t have time to do anything now.”

  Bonnie stood quietly and took a deep breath. “But you did get a message from Ragnhild to say that I needed to take Simon to the doctor?”

  “Yes, I got the message. In my opinion, single mothers with small children shouldn’t actually work at all; they have to take so much time off.”

  Bonnie went into the bedroom as usual and picked up the basket of socks. She put the socks on the legs of all the chairs and tables, while Erna sat in her chair and watched her like a hawk. As she worked, Bonnie thought about Simon. Of course he was stressed, just like the doctor said. And she should do something about it, only she didn’t know what. Of course it wasn’t good that he had practically no contact with his father. She had robbed him of that. She often regretted it, but she was so proud. And Olav had a daughter now. He was happy with Kathrine, and every time she thought about it, she boiled with rage. She washed the floor and vacuumed as well as she could. Then she did the bedroom, changing the bed and, as usual, looking up at the photograph of Erna as a young girl. It was hard to imagine that the radiant girl in the picture had become the flinty woman out in the living room. What does life do to us? she thought. When she was finally finished, she went to say goodbye, and Erna followed her to the door so she could lock it.

  “And next time, I expect you to be punctual” was her parting shot.

  Over Christmas, Ingemar had finally been given a place at Hallingstad nursing home, so Bonnie went to visit him later on in January.

  He was sitting in a chair by the window, but there were no horses to be seen outside—only a parking lot with long rows of cars. There was a box of chocolates on the table, still wrapped in cellophane. No doubt from his family. Bonnie thought to herself that the chocolates were an insult to a man who only wanted soured milk, sausage, and cod liver oil straight from the bottle.