The Drowned Boy Page 19

  I’m not bad! But I’ve always been impulsive and I just boiled over with rage and frustration. So I grabbed both his ankles and dragged him under. It happened on the spur of the moment. I want to say something really important here. I never once thought of killing him. I needed to vent my frustration, stop the whining and complaining that were getting on my nerves. There’s nothing worse than a child screaming. It drives you mad, makes you feel like your head’s going to explode. So I pulled him under. Within a few seconds he was hysterical. He flailed around with his hands and swallowed loads of water. Then I let go of his ankles and pushed him down with both hands, right to the bottom of the bathtub. I held him there until he started to spasm. Then I thought it was maybe enough, and gradually became myself again. And of course I regretted what I’d done, but it was too late, because he’d stopped fighting and in the space of about a minute he was limp and lifeless. But it took longer than I thought. The adrenaline made my heart pound and my mouth dry. I clenched my teeth, it wasn’t easy. No matter what people might think if they’d seen me then, I didn’t kill Tommy with a light heart. And I don’t want it to be said that I killed him with malicious forethought. It wasn’t cold-blooded murder, because my blood has never boiled as it did that day in August. After a while he just lay there absolutely still at the bottom of the bathtub, with no more life in his eyes. The irises were dull, like milky glass. I almost didn’t recognize him. He wasn’t the Tommy I had given birth to anymore, just a cold, white, and wet unfamiliar little carcass. He’d thrown up and had foam around his mouth, and that’s when it started to dawn on me what I’d done. I hadn’t planned it, I’m not evil. I just wanted something different from Tommy, I didn’t want all the shame. All the struggle. But then I had to find a way out of it. I had to give a more logical explanation, because sitting there on the floor I realized I had a major problem. I was sitting there with a dead baby and I needed an explanation. Which was why I told the first story that he’d managed to get down to the pond on his own two feet. And then because he was so eager, he’d gone out onto the jetty. Yes, I thought, of course that’s what happened, and people would just have to believe it. After all, I always get my way, so I was used to it. I sat there for a while and listened but couldn’t hear anything from the cellar, where Nicolai was busy with his bikes as usual. So I lifted Tommy up and carried him down to the pond. I walked through the grass with his little body in my arms. I stood out at the end of the jetty and looked at the black water with tears stinging my eyes. And, glancing quickly to the left and right, I threw him in. He was gone within seconds, sank like lead in the dark water. Just so you know, dear diary, I’m not without feelings, and I hadn’t expected the police to catch me. So I had to change my story halfway. And I’ve done what I can just to get through this. I’m going to be a mother, after all, I’ve got responsibilities. I’m finally going to have another baby. It doesn’t matter that Anders isn’t too happy about it. I don’t care about things like that, and in any case I decide over my life.

  This is the whole and full truth.

  And now I want to stop being plagued by these horrible dreams.

  Go away, death, go away!

  Granfoss, June 22, Carmen Cesilie Zita, on my honor.

  44

  TWENTY-THIRD OF JUNE. Midsummer’s Eve, morning.

  He called to her to see if she had any garbage. He had a couple of boxes out in the hall and wanted to drive down to Stranda to put them on the Midsummer bonfire. Carmen looked up from the paper and saw his red curls, a shock of newly polished copper. Anders looked nothing like Nicolai. He was much more muscular, with broad shoulders and big hands, and a jaw that indicated strength and stamina. But she could still wrap him around her little finger, as she normally did with boys.

  “What have you got in the boxes?” she asked.

  She folded the newspaper and put it down.

  “Old schoolbooks,” he said hastily. “I found them down in the cellar. And some old papers, I’ve tidied it all up, the drawers and cupboards. I did it while you were sleeping. How are you? Are you feeling better? I feel so helpless when you collapse like that. You’re not taking your medicine regularly, I know. Anyway, I’m going to drive down to Stranda and throw all this on the fire. Papers shouldn’t be thrown in the garbage, they should be burned; don’t you agree?”

  “Yes,” Carmen said. “I agree. Do you want me to come and help?”

  He shook his head. “No, I can do it myself. Don’t worry. I won’t be long. And you shouldn’t be carrying anything in your condition.”

  She got up from the chair and went over to him. He kissed her gently on the cheek, because he couldn’t get enough of her almost silky golden skin. He had snatched her from under the noses of a pack of flirting boys and he was proud of it. No matter where they went, her beauty drew attention. Young or not, Carmen was a catch and he would never find anything like her anywhere in the world. Nothing as beautiful as his angel with the white hair.

  “Let’s go out to eat tonight,” he said. “It’s so warm. I can’t bear slaving over a hot stove in this weather.” Carmen agreed. Her hands and feet were swollen and her head felt heavy. The beginning of a headache was whirring at her temples. He carried the boxes of books and papers out to the car and drove through the gate. Zita had put up a fence, which shone newly painted in the summer sun. A white fence now protected the old house. The pond was still there like a glittering black mirror, and it gnawed at her, making her irritable and annoyed. The whole thing had disrupted her orderly life. Damn, she thought, dammit! She calmed herself down and stroked her stomach. Life went on and she was in a good mood, even with the case pending. She was going to fight for her life. She would fight for her freedom with tooth and claw. Because she deserved it, at least that was how she saw it. She went out onto the step and waved. The dog jumped and danced beside her, barking happily into the clear air. Anders, she thought and smiled, my darling Anders. It’s the two of us now, and our baby will be healthy.

  Then she went in again with a growing unease because she hadn’t looked to see what was in the boxes. She hadn’t checked to see what he was throwing out. And now it was too late; the car had already disappeared around the bend, and the papers would soon be thrown on a bonfire to burn. She decided to write a last diary entry. So she went back into the living room, pulled out the bottom drawer in the desk, and started to look through it frantically. And as she rummaged, she got more and more agitated and her cheeks flushed. Because that was where she always kept her diary.

  45

  MIDSUMMER’S EVE, EVENING.

  From here on in, the evenings and nights got longer and the days shorter. But for now, there was a beautiful light blue in the evening and a transparent dark at night, with fluttering, paper-thin moths dancing around the lights. The odd enthusiastic fly or an irritated wasp banged against the windowpane in search of something sweet.

  It was the evening before the court case. Sejer drove up to Møller Church and wandered down the narrow paved path into the churchyard. His steps echoed in the stillness. Everything was green and growing, a promise of what lay in wait during summer’s lush fruitfulness. Long, light, happy days. He wandered around for a short while before going to Tommy and Nicolai’s graves, and then stood there for a moment as he mulled over what had happened. The sight of the two stones made him melancholy. In a way, they were together again, these two sorry souls, as they rested side by side. Both stones were covered in creeping ivy. If only I could find some irrefutable evidence, Sejer thought. Could she really have killed him with intent? As it stood, he needed proof. Something that he could lay on the table in court, something that was worth more than a feeling. From experience, he knew that his intuition was very well developed, and he had allowed himself to be guided many a time in situations where there was a glaring lack of technical evidence. If nothing else, it was an aid, a valuable supplement to knowledge. But he couldn’t convince the state prosecutor with a feeling. It was laughably easy to be miserable, he
thought, but you have to fight for happiness. Perhaps that was precisely what Carmen Zita had done. Catastrophe had struck, but she simply clenched her teeth and denied it all. No matter what, she’d kept her head above water. He thought about the past year and processed it into something he could understand. He drew comfort from it as he stood there, deep in thought, in the middle of Møller churchyard, surrounded by the dead. Well, I can’t always have it my way. In this case, I’m not going to win. And I just have to accept the judgment, whatever it is. He steeled himself and then turned and went back to the car where Frank was lying in the back seat asleep, his wrinkled head on his paws. So, a quick walk at Stranda and then home. He started the car and swung out onto the road, his mind still caught up with tomorrow’s court case. He remembered Nicolai’s words from that last night. You mustn’t believe a word of what Carmen tells you.

  Lots of people had gathered wood for the Midsummer bonfire, which was bigger than ever before. A huge collapsed tower down by the water, it was a glorious mix of old broken pallets, cardboard boxes, and wood. A bed base, a stool and a wooden chair, boxes, cartons, and old packaging. People had also rummaged around in search of hidden treasures. It was a great midden of garbage and junk. Soon the flames would be leaping and the smell of burning would sear people’s nostrils. Sparks would dance like shooting stars up into the dark blue night, while people stood around the fire with gleaming eyes and glowing cheeks. Sejer walked along the water, throwing a stick every now and then. Frank immediately scampered off to bring it back. After a while the dog got bored of this and started to investigate the bonfire. He sniffed around the pile of junk and eventually found his trophy for the day, a beautiful small notebook with a red cover. He carried it over to his master and dropped it at his feet, inordinately proud.

  Visit www.hmhco.com to find all of the books in the Inspector Sejer series.

  About the Author

  KARIN FOSSUM has won numerous awards, including the Glass Key Award for the best Nordic crime novel, an honor shared with Henning Mankell and Jo Nesbø, and the Los Angeles Times Book Prize. Her highly acclaimed Inspector Sejer series has been published in more than thirty countries. She lives in Sylling, Norway.