Black Seconds Page 25

  Two men and one woman were busy preparing the case for the defense in the forthcoming Ida Joner trial. The list of mitigating circumstances was endless. Tomme was an immature teenager who had acted in good faith. After all, Ida had stood up after the collision. Elsa was a dutiful mother who wanted to protect her reputation and that of her disabled son, who in turn could not be held responsible for anything at all. As far as the still-missing Willy Oterhals was concerned, it was a mystery that would in all likelihood remain unsolved until they found him, dead or alive.

  Tomme was held on remand. He lay curled up on his bed with his hands covering his face like a shield. He felt he was in the wrong place. What am I doing here? he thought. In an institution with thieves and murderers? His head was still ticking. He got through his day one second at a time. He often tried to daydream, tried to nibble his way through this mountain of time that lay before him. It's getting smaller, he told himself. It's getting smaller very slowly, and that's why I can't see it, but it is getting smaller.

  ***

  It was a merciless winter. Lengthy periods of extremely cold weather. Helga Joner continued to live in a world of her own. She did not see her sister Ruth anymore. Tomme had killed Ida with his car and now he was awaiting sentencing. It had been Tomme all along. She believed that Ruth had known this from the beginning. She thought so many dreadful thoughts.

  One day Sejer turned up. Helga was pleased to see him. He represented a link to Ida that she did not have the strength to sever. Sejer noticed a chubby puppy bouncing around between Helga's feet. She invited him in and made him coffee and for a while they sat in silence. His presence was enough for Helga, and deep down she hoped that they would always stay in touch. She wanted to say it out loud, but did not dare. Instead she looked at him secretly and it struck her that he was thinking of very serious matters.

  "What are you thinking about?" she asked cautiously. She instantly felt surprised at herself. It was like emerging from a hiding place where she had spent a very long time. For the first time since Ida's death, she felt concern for another person.

  Sejer returned her gaze. "I'm thinking of Marion Rix," he said. "Your niece. It's very hard for her."

  Helga bowed her head. Deep inside she felt ashamed. She had thought about Tomme so much, and later about Ruth and Sverre. She had blamed them. Shunned them. She had forgotten all about Marion.

  "She's being bullied at school," Sejer said.

  "Have you talked to her?" Helga said anxiously.

  "I've spoken to one of her teachers. He told me."

  Helga buried her face in her hands. The puppy rushed around, snapping at her slippers. "Well, I certainly don't blame Marion," she said in a tired voice.

  "No. And perhaps she needs to hear that. But the words have to come from you. Could you manage that?"

  "Yes," said Helga, looking up. "I can manage that."

  The puppy let go of her slipper and crept underneath the coffee table toward Sejer. It started to snap at his trouser leg with great enthusiasm.

  "I have a dog, too," he said quietly. "But he's very old now. He can hardly walk. I've got to have him put down soon," he confessed. "I've made an appointment with the vet for tomorrow afternoon. And I've got to go home and tell him." He nudged the puppy gently.

  Helga was flustered. "So will you be alone then?" she asked.

  "No," he said. "No, it's not as bad as that."

  "You should get yourself a new dog!" she urged him.

  "I'm not sure," he said reluctantly. "After all, I can never replace him."

  ***

  Helga wandered around deep in thought for a long time after Sejer had left. And when she woke up the following morning, she was still thinking of him. When the evening came and the twilight bathed her house in a blue light, she knew that his dog was dead. She lifted her own puppy up onto her lap. It dangled soft and warm in her hands. She buried her face in its chubby body and inhaled its smell. No, it was no substitute. Just something to cuddle. She liked to smooth its tiny ears against its head, only to see them spring back when she let go. She liked its tiny paws with the tender pads. She liked twirling the smooth tail with her fingers. She spent many hours in front of the fire, staring into the flames.

  March came, and April. Then everything burst like a dam and the rapid thaw set in. Water rushed down from the hills and melted snow dripped from the roofs. Slowly Helga's garden woke up. There were new shoots in the flower beds, tender and pale green. Marion came to visit every now and again. She liked taking the puppy for walks.

  People rushed out of their overheated houses; they flung open windows and doors. They went outside and turned their faces toward the sun. It was a miracle every single time. The more adventurous ones headed for the sea, where the air still had a chill about it. But they liked the roar of the waves and the way they lapped against the shore. Kids were out looking for smooth pebbles. Mothers dipped their hands in the cold water as they shivered and laughed. A fresh wind was coming. Every now and again a wave would show off and raise itself above the others before breaking against the shoreline. A woman and a child were gazing toward the horizon.

  "Look, there's a boat!" the woman called out. "A tanker. It's enormous!"

  The boy followed the boat with his eyes. He was too far away to see how the bow broke the waves. It felt like forever before the first wave came rolling in. A violent force parting the water; the swell grew and rolled toward the mainland, gaining in strength.

  "Watch out," his mother called, "we need to run away from it!"

  The boy squealed with excitement. Giggling, they ran back, exhilarated by this show of force. From where they were standing, they could not see the body rotating slowly just beneath the surface of the water. It was heading their way. The waves crashed against the shore and an ice-cold spray of water hit their faces. The woman laughed out loud, a silvery, infectious sound.