Bad Intentions (15 page)

"So we have the following scenario," Sejer said. "It's three o'clock in the morning. Axel, Jon, Reilly and Kim leave by the front door to drive to Nattmal. Did you see them get into the car?"

"I can only see the water," she said.

"But as far as you were concerned, Axel was driving Kim to Nattmal?"

"That was the deal," she said. "He promised. Jon and Reilly promised."

"So that was the last time you saw Kim Van Chau?" Sejer asked. "When Axel and Reilly helped him through the door?"

"Yes," she said. "That was the last time I saw him."

I
NGAR AND RAGNI LUND
had also been to Irene's party in Skjæret. They were twins. Sejer was fascinated by their similarities, which manifested themselves not only in their features, but also in their gestures, even though they were not identical twins.

"When we turned up, the party had already been going for a couple of hours," Ragni explained, "and Kim had been assigned the role of mascot."

"He was drunk. He laughed at everything we said. He looked like a happy little goblin with his black hair."

Sejer made a note and looked up at the twins again.

"Did anyone leave the party and come back later?" he wanted to know.

"Yes, someone did, didn't they? Stian and Jon went off to buy mixers," Ingar said. "There's a gas station on the main road which is always open. Shell," he explained. "They were gone about half an hour."

"Anyone else?"

"No."

"Did anyone go into the other rooms?"

They both shook their heads.

"Irene had locked the door to her bedroom," Ragni explained, "because she didn't want anyone making out in there."

"Do you know if any of the guests knew Kim?"

"No one knew Kim," Ragni said. "Suddenly he appeared in the doorway, and Irene didn't have the heart to tell him to go. It was so cold that night, it was almost minus twenty, and he wasn't properly dressed. He was only wearing a thin jacket. He wouldn't have survived." And then she remembered that he had not survived.

"Were there any problems during the evening?"

"Only minor rows," Ingar said.

"About what?"

"Boys' stuff. When did bass player X leave band Y, and who took over from him and when did he OD and so on. The kind of things that boys are into."

"No arguments relating to Kim?"

"No."

"No harassment or bullying?"

The twins shook their heads. "We were messing about, but it was nothing serious."

"Would you say that Jon Moreno was drunk?" Sejer asked.

"Yes," Ingar said. "He was drunk."

"And Philip Reilly?"

"He was quite wasted, but he's bigger, so he can handle more."

"What about Axel Frimann?"

"I think he'd had a few beers earlier in the evening," Ragni said, "but he was driving so he was careful. He's fanatical when
it comes to that Mercedes. He would never take any chances with it."

"When did you leave the party?"

"Round about one o'clock," Ingar said. "I think we were among the first to leave. We caught the last bus into town."

Sejer put down his pen.

"Kim was found in Glitter Lake," he said. "Do you know of a place there where young people tend to meet? A beach, a viewpoint?"

"There's a beach we go to. A lot of parties there in the summer. You drive up along the west side," Ragni explained, "past the asylum seekers' center, and then you take a sharp right. It's a tiny beach. We call it Copacabana."

Y
OO VAN CHAU
put on a jacket and boots to go down to the letterboxes. At the bottom of the road she stopped and shivered while she pondered that this was the very spot where Kim had stood alone in the cold, hitchhiking, and a car had pulled over. I imagine he must have been thrilled to be invited to a party, she thought. Finally someone had noticed him and included him. Everything he had always dreamed of had rolled up on four wheels. Two pretty girls and an invitation. Hey you, do you want to come with us? For a moment she was so stunned that she temporarily forgot why she had left the house. She opened her letterbox. Inside lay a thick pile of junk mail. For coffins. And headstones. There was also a catalogue from a florist. Even death is a business, she thought; they get you when you're down. There are probably some greedy people behind all this glossy paper. Then she remembered that they too would die, the people who made the coffins and carved the stones. And those
who tied the wreaths. Sons would die and daughters, mothers would die and fathers, every single one of them would have to make these choices. She felt limp. She clung to the letterbox for a moment and the catalogues slipped from her hands and on to the ground. She had to squat down to pick them up. She sat there clawing at the coffins and the flowers and the headstones. Some dirt had got on to the pages. She wiped it off with her sleeve.

Then she returned to the terraced houses. She walked quickly because she did not want to talk to anyone or explain herself. She went back inside, closed the door behind her and left the catalogues on the table. I will look at them, she thought, but not right now. I need something to eat. I need a cup of tea. And then I need to rest because it's a big decision. I need to be calm and rested, not flustered and distressed. She went into the kitchen and found a loaf in the bread bin, some butter and jam in the fridge. He came home, she thought, just as I had given up hope. I suppose I should be pleased about that because it's much more than I had last winter. Then I had only words and suggestions from people I'd never met, and no one would take the blame for anything. What had they done apart from opening their door to him? She did not think that anyone had hurt him. Why would they? He was not aggressive. She leaned over the kitchen counter with her thoughts. She could not comprehend why she had lost him, why he had been found floating in Glitter Lake.

She made a jam sandwich and a cup of tea and carried them into the living room. There she ate her modest meal, never once taking her eyes off the catalogues. I'll go through them, she thought, but first I need to rest. I'm so tired. I'm exhausted. She pulled a blanket over herself and curled up on the sofa where she dozed. Music, she thought. Flowers. Kim in a box on the floor. They called it a coffin and it was decorated both inside and out, almost like a nest with lining and ruches, but it was still just
a box. She placed a hand on her heart. It beat softly under her blouse as though nothing had happened, unaffected by the violent pain she felt in this precise muscle.

She lay very still for an hour. She kept wanting to get up and do something, but she could not summon the energy. She listened to the sounds from outside, people coming and going in the street. Out there people were busy, as always, it was only her world which had been shattered. I could die now, she thought, and no one would find me. I could lie here for weeks until someone noticed a smell outside my front door. The thought of this made her leap up. I need to pull myself together, she thought, I have things to arrange for Kim, I can't lie here doing nothing. She folded the blanket and took the first catalogue from the pile. Feeling nervous, she sat down and started going through it. She ticked the headstones she liked the best, but no matter what they looked like, they were terribly expensive. She had no idea they would cost so much. But then again someone had spent time chipping, carving and polishing. It was craftsmanship; of course it cost money.

She put down the catalogue and picked up another. She realized she was looking for something she would never find. She wanted something simple; they were simple people. But she also wanted the stone to stand out from the others in the cemetery because there was only one Kim. She reclined and closed her eyes, but her whole body was tense. She leaned forward to get a new catalogue. There was only one coffin she liked. It was mahogany and way beyond her means. She kept staring at the picture. She liked the dark wood. She was upset that she could not afford it. Again she put the catalogue aside. Another thought had distracted her. She had to find some pallbearers, some boys from his class, perhaps. She would have to talk to Kim's teacher, he would probably organize it for her if she asked him nicely. They had never wanted to be with him when he was alive, but now
they would have to do him a final favor whether they wanted to or not, she decided.

Afterward she probably ought to hold a small wake. But where? She didn't have enough room here. She would have to organize some refreshments too, and she would have to take the young people into consideration; after all they don't eat just anything, she thought. What will he wear? she wondered. This question unsettled her because it was important, and she had not given it a single thought. She did not want him in a white shroud. Kim would have hated that, but nor did he own a dark suit. So she would have to buy one. She knew his size; he was her son. A dark suit and a snow white shirt. Stylish, elegant and dignified. Then a dreadful thought struck her. It had lain dormant inside her for a long time, but she had pushed it aside. Kim had been in the water for many months. It would quite simply be impossible to dress him.

R
EILLY HAD BEEN
well prepared, but now all his preparations went out of the window.

"You've found that Vietnamese guy," he said. "I suppose that's why you're here?"

"Correct," Sejer said. "We've found him."

Reilly tried to arrange his gangly body, but it was not until he picked up the kitten that he settled down. He had anticipated a barrage of questions, but they just watched him in silence.

"I expect you've read the statement I gave last winter, and now you want me to repeat that and it's fine, I suppose, you have certain procedures and I understand that. The problem is that statement still stands. I presume that you've read it."

He had to draw breath. He picked nervously at his corduroy trousers. They were slightly too big for him and shone with wear across the knees.

"No," Sejer said. "We haven't read it."

This white lie baffled Reilly. "You haven't?"

"I don't like to be prejudiced," Sejer said. "I prefer to draw my own conclusions. And Skarre wants to make his own notes."

Reilly was not entirely sure if he was being serious. He started pacing up and down with the kitten in his arms. It dug its claws into his sweater, terrified of falling from a great height. What do they want from me? he thought, as he wandered around. How do you act if you've got nothing to hide? You sit down, look them in the eye. You smile a friendly and open smile. But he could not manage a smile, and he did have something to hide.

"How did he die?" he asked.

The two police officers were sitting down on the sofa. He noticed that Skarre had started making notes.

"It's difficult to establish the cause of death after such a long time," Sejer said. "And it's especially difficult when the body is found in water. We found him in Glitter Lake."

Reilly started talking again even though Axel had advised him not to. Just answer their questions, he had said, otherwise keep your mouth shut. Your head's never straight, either, don't get yourself into trouble.

"We were only trying to help," he said. "No one else in Skjæret would take responsibility for him. Irene was dead set on getting rid of him. She was adamant that no one was allowed to stay the night, and that girl is a bit of a bitch. She had even locked the door to her bedroom. But if a poor little guy like him had slept in a corner, what harm would it have done? Not that I'm blaming Irene," he said quickly. "That's not how I meant it.

"It wasn't easy to get him out of the apartment either," he carried on. "It was like trying to get jelly to walk."

"What time was it when you got to Nattmal?" Sejer asked.

"It must have been close to three-thirty because we left the party at three," Reilly said, "and we drove straight there. But it
was snowing, so we drove slowly. Axel takes no chances with his Mercedes, he's terrified of denting it. It's quite an expensive model," he added, "with leather seats and all sorts of gadgets."

"Now that he has been found dead," Sejer said, "what are your thoughts? Do you feel guilty?"

Reilly straightened up and glared down at them.

"Do I feel guilty?"

Frustrated, he tossed his long hair. The kitten was startled by the sudden movement.

"Of course I feel guilty. I feel guilty that we didn't walk him to his front door. Perhaps we should have helped him unlock it, and perhaps we should have put him to bed too. That's what you mean, isn't it?"

He turned his back to them. Aimlessly, he rearranged some small pots on the windowsill.

"Jon was also troubled by guilt," Sejer said. "It's clear from his diary, which we've been studying in detail. But there's something about his sense of guilt which disturbs us. We can understand that you've gone a few rounds with yourselves and from time to time felt a certain responsibility for what happened. But based on what you've just described, it's hard to understand why Jon would choose to end his life. That decision is not in proportion with your story."

Reilly resumed his pacing. "Oh yes," he said. "It fits perfectly, but you didn't know Jon. He believed everything rested with us. That we shouldn't have left him in the street. But I think that's excessive. No one else would take him. At least we brought him home. We dropped him off by the letterboxes at the bottom of the hill. When we left he was heading for the houses. A little unsteady on his feet, of course, but he was walking. The next day we learned that he had gone missing. We didn't understand how that was possible."

"Was there any traffic in the area?"

"The odd car."

"Did you talk to him when you dropped him off?"

Reilly nodded. "We told him to go to bed. We asked if he had a key, and he said yes, he had a key in his pocket. We were tired and we wanted to go home, so we turned the car around and drove off. That's all I've got to say. I've told you this so many times, and I don't know any more than you do. By the way, having this hang over your head month after month is actually very stressful," he said, "and I don't mind admitting that I would like to put the whole mess behind me."