Black Seconds Part 24

'The car, Emil. What kind of car was it? Perhaps you can tell me what colour it was?'

Emil nodded eagerly. He searched among the figures. Finally he picked up the Ida figure with the yellow dress. Yellow, Sejer thought. Well, it's a start. But Emil removed her hair. It lay on the table rocking. A black, shiny sh.e.l.l.

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CHAPTER 29.

The interrogation room looked like an ordinary office with pale, neutral furniture. It was neither inviting nor daunting. However, when the door closed, Tomme felt the walls around him tighten like a net. Slowly they started to close in on him. He had been held for several hours. What if he simply refused to talk? Would he be able to keep it up?

However, if he kept silent, he would be unable to tell them about his mitigating circ.u.mstances.

'I know what happened now,' Sejer said. 'But I'm missing some details.'

'Well, I'm impressed,' Tomme said in a strained voice, 'given that you weren't even there.'

'Perhaps I understand more than you give me credit for,' Sejer said. 'If I'm wrong, you can correct me.'

Tomme turned his head away, showing Sejer a pale cheek.

'You can't run away from this,' Sejer said. 'Don't kid yourself.'

Tomme felt in his heart of hearts that he was no criminal. Was that how they all felt? Everyone on 334 remand, upstairs. In custody. The thought was so scary it made him gasp for air.

'What are you thinking about?' Sejer asked.

'Nothing,' Tomme said quietly. But his head was ticking. Perhaps it would be best to let the bomb explode. He imagined that the silence that would follow would feel similar to the relief you experience when you have been fighting nausea for a long time and you finally give in and throw up.

'I feel sick,' he said.

'Then I'll take you to the bathroom,' Sejer said. 'If you want me to.'

'No,' he said.

'You don't feel sick?'

'I do. But it'll pa.s.s in a moment.' Tomme moved away from the table where they were sitting. Shoved the chair with the back of his knees. Then he leaned forward.

'I hit Ida with my car,' he said.

'I know,' Sejer said gravely.

Tomme was still slumped forward. 'Her bike was parked by the side of the road,' he said. 'Right in the middle of Holthe Common. I could see it from far away. An abandoned bike. Yellow. I thought it was weird that it had been left like that, on its stand. I didn't see anyone. No cars,' he said quietly. 'And I wasn't speeding either, I never drive too fast!' His voice broke and was reduced to a feeble squeak. 'I was changing a CD,' he admitted. 'I had to bend down to look, it only took a second or two. I inserted the CD into the player and turned up the 335 volume. Then I sat up again. I noticed someone was climbing the verge, holding flowers or something. I had veered a little off the road. There was a b.u.mping sound and she was flung aside. I slammed on the brakes and looked in the mirror. Saw that she was lying on her back on the verge.'

Tomme paused. He was recalling these moments now; it was like standing by a void. His fear felt like a thousand fluttering insect wings inside his body. They started in his feet, swarmed up his legs, rushed through his stomach and heart before brushing against his face. Afterwards he felt numb.

'I was going to reverse,' he said, 'but I was shaking so badly. I had to sit still for a while to calm down. Then I saw in my mirror that she had stood up. She was standing on her own two feet. She was swaying a little, but she was standing!' he shouted. 'Then some one came towards me on the road, on a three-wheeler.'

Tomme lost his train of thought for a moment and tried to decide if the ticking in his head had ceased. He was certain it was fainter now.

'The man on the three-wheeler,' Sejer said, 'Emil Johannes, he doesn't talk. You knew that, didn't you?'

'That was the worst of it,' Tomme said. 'Because some people say he talks and others that he's mute.'

He gave Sejer a guilty look. 'Given that I'm sitting here, he must have managed to say something.'

'Yes,' Sejer said. 'He did. Was it w.i.l.l.y's idea to cover up the dent by making it worse? Did you confide in him?'

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Tomme nodded. 'He said it would be easier should anyone ask questions. That it was easier to talk about something that had really happened. In case you decided to check up on the car. In fact, I only damaged the right front light.'

'No one forced you off the roundabout?'

'No.'

'Why did you go to Denmark with w.i.l.l.y?'

'As long as we were together, I thought I would be able to control him in some way. And I owed him a favour. It was hard to say no.'

'I want the truth about the crossing,' Sejer said. Tomme listened to the sound inside his head. The ticking grew stronger once again. 'We argued on the deck,' he said. 'He wanted me to carry his bag through customs and I didn't want to. He got mad. I went downstairs to the cabin to sleep. When I woke up he was gone. I don't care where he is; I've had enough of w.i.l.l.y to last me a lifetime!' He clenched his fists in defiance of his cruel fate, and red patches flared up on his gaunt cheeks. 'I hit Ida with my car, but it was an accident. She came climbing up the verge and she stepped right out in front of me! I know I should have stopped, but as far as I could see, she was all right. You can't blame me for whatever that other guy did to her afterwards!'

Sejer copied Tomme. He too pushed his chair away from the table. The extra s.p.a.ce allowed him to cross his legs.

'Is that what you thought? That Emil Johannes had abducted her and killed her?'

337.

'I could think of no other explanation,' Tomme said.

'Ida died from the injuries she sustained when she was. .h.i.t by your car,' Sejer told him. 'You hit her in the chest. The fact that her bicycle was undamaged had me puzzled for a long time, but now I under stand. Emil wanted to help her. He lifted her up from the road and put her in his own bed. And there she died.'

Tomme managed to shake his head faintly, as if he was refusing to believe what he had just heard.

'You both made mistakes,' Sejer said. 'However, in contrast to Emil Johannes, you had more options. You are responsible for Ida's death.'

An awful stillness followed. The silence Tomme had longed for filled his whole head. It overflowed and poured out of his mouth like cotton wool. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth and felt dry like paper. In desperation he started to claw with his fingers at the seat of his chair. The seat was covered with a stiff fabric; it looked like he was trying to dig his way into the stuffing.

'Tomme,' Sejer said. 'Put your hands in your pockets.'

Tomme did as he was told. The silence returned.

'As far as w.i.l.l.y Oterhals is concerned,' Sejer said, 'he's bound to turn up. Sooner or later. In some form or other.'

Tomme tried to swallow the cotton wool rather than spit it out. He felt sick again.

'It might take time,' Sejer continued. 'But I know 338 that he'll turn up. When you were standing on deck, watching him stagger around drunk, did you consider the fact that he was the only one who knew your terrible secret?'

'I wasn't thinking. I was freezing,' Tomme said.

'Let's try again,' Sejer said. 'Was it the case that he fell overboard and you saw it as a convenient way of finally ridding yourself of him?'

'I don't know what happened,' Tomme said. 'I'd gone down to the cabin to sleep.'

'And his bag, Tomme. What did you do with that?'

'The crew probably nicked it,' he muttered. 'Also, it was full of pills. They're worth a fortune on the street.'

'Not the pills w.i.l.l.y bought at s.p.u.n.k,' Sejer declared. 'Because your mother flushed those down the toilet.'

Tomme tried to bury himself deeper in his chair. He thought everything was unreal, that it was only a computer game. He was the little white mouse in the labyrinth. And Sejer was the big cat approaching him softly.

'What happened to w.i.l.l.y?' Sejer asked once more.

w.i.l.l.y, w.i.l.l.y, w.i.l.l.y . . . Tomme heard his name as a distant, fading echo.

Finally he slipped into silence. It was like falling down a pit. This is better, he thought, feeling elated. All I can hear is the sound of my own breathing and the distant traffic outside.

I will never speak again.

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CHAPTER 30.

Many people pa.s.sed through the door of the police station every day. They spotted the beautiful bird in its grand cage immediately. It whistled prettily to everyone who walked past it. Henry had been collected in a riot van, the only vehicle tall enough to contain its huge cage. The bird was a fast learner. Skarre had taught it to whistle the theme tune from The X Files The X Files, and also the five famous notes from Close Encounters of the Third Kind Close Encounters of the Third Kind. Astrid Brenningen looked after the bird. She topped up the seed and water dispensers and replaced the news paper in the tray. For a long time the newspaper carried photos of Ida. Henry could look down at her from its perch. Skarre had attached a cardboard sign for the benefit of curious pa.s.sers-by: Mind your fingers! Despite this, there were many who learned this lesson the hard way. People were forever coming to the staff room in search of plasters. Holthemann, the head of the department, who possessed most of the qualities required of a good boss, such as intelligence, diligence, authority and meticulousness, but who 340 was also entirely without a sense of humour, muttered regularly that the bird ought to be taken to a pet shop and kept there till the case was over. He always threw Henry an angry glance whenever he pa.s.sed the cage. The bird might be small. It might not even be very bright, but in common with many other animals, it instantly sensed the disgust exuding from the grey, bespec tacled man. So every time Holthemann was nearby Henry whistled 'You Are My Sunshine'.

Two men and one woman were busy preparing the case for the defence in the forthcoming Ida Joner trial. The list of mitigating circ.u.mstances 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 w.i.l.l.y 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 inst.i.tution 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 341 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 any more. 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, 342 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 towards 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 fl.u.s.tered. '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.'

343.

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 on to 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 subst.i.tute. Just something to cuddle. She liked to smooth its tiny ears against its head, only for them to 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 flowerbeds, 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 towards the sun. It was a miracle every single time. The more adventur ous 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 sh.o.r.e. 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 344 and again a wave would show off and raise itself above the others before breaking against the sh.o.r.e line. A woman and a child were looking towards 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 for ever before the first wave came rolling in. A violent force parting the water; the swell grew and rolled towards 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 sh.o.r.e and an ice-cold spray of water hit their faces. The woman laughed out loud, a silvery, infectious sound.

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