The Drowned Boy Read Free Page B

emotion could be so catastrophic. I’m going to kill you now because it’s unbearable. I can’t stand this child, can’t cope with this child, and other impossible emotions. All these different signs of lies. And a depressing thought kept coming back. The child had Down syndrome. Another reason for this unease. Even though the public prosecutor would only consider the facts of the case, these gut instincts were incredibly important. They were based on the experience that they had built up over all their years with the police. Skarre had noticed some nuances that he couldn’t explain, that had made him think twice. Sejer took this seriously because Skarre was smart. And pretty good in his observations. Two parents sitting in the station crying their hearts out, but were they tears of loss and grief, or were they tears of shock and panic because they were guilty?
     
    He started to think about the recurring dizzy spells again. I’ll have to bite the bullet, he thought, and haul my decrepit body off to the doctor. It’s all downhill from here. Then I’ll have to endure a whole raft of tests and the nerve-racking wait. Maybe there really is something terribly wrong with me, and life as I’ve known it until now is—well, maybe it’s over. The word
cancer
popped up in his thoughts again, thoughts that would not let him be. He suddenly felt the need for moral support and dialed the number of his daughter Ingrid, to tell her about the incident at Damtjern.
    “Hi, Ingrid, it’s me. Yes, I’m in the car. Yes, yes, I’m using the hands-free; don’t be silly. We’ve found a little boy. He was lying in a pond up by Granfoss. His mother found him by the jetty. Just over a year. It’s so sad. Yes, exactly, I’m on my way to the station. I’m going to talk to the parents. Maybe I’ll drop by afterward, if that’s all right?”
    “Yes,” she said. “Of course that’s all right. And how are you otherwise, Dad?”
    She meant the dizziness. He said he was sure it would pass and it was just a matter of patience. But she wasn’t going to let him get away with such a vague answer.
    “It’ll pass? Don’t give me happily ever after; I’m too old for that. I know you,” she continued, “you’re not telling me everything. But you don’t need to spare me; remember that I’ve been through a lot. And just so you know, I can stomach the truth.”
    She was referring to her stint as a nurse in war-torn Somalia with her husband, Erik, who specialized in acute medicine. When they came back home, after working there for several years, they had a boy with them. Sejer’s only grandchild was now a promising young dancer with the National Ballet School.
    “OK,” he said. “I promise, I won’t spare you. And yes, I am still dizzy. I mean, every now and then. But I promise I’m going to do something about it, once and for all.” He was at the railroad crossing in the center of town, and the barrier was down. While he sat and waited for the train to pass, he thought about the little boy again. What Skarre had said was right. If this was actually murder, and it was the mother who had done it, she would get off lightly. That special bond between mother and child, so many mitigating circumstances, so many possible explanations.
Non compos mentis,
he thought, not of sound mind. Personality disorders, psychosis, depression, and other complaints. There was so much to choose from. A freight train with dark red cars finally thundered past. He listened to the steady rhythm of the wheels and the rattling of iron and metal, and he counted the cars, as he had done since childhood.
     
    He could not help but think of a dandelion head with its delicate white pappi, because her hair was almost as white as snow. He was also struck by how slight she was, thin and fragile as a twig. A child with a child, he thought. It was incredible that she had managed to give birth to a baby at all.
    “Come with me,” he said in a reassuring voice.