Hell Fire (14 page)

“Did you talk to them?” Woiciech asked. He put his cards down on the table too and looked at his friend.

“Like I said,” Stanislav said. “I asked them if they needed any help.”

“Well,” Woiciech said, “you didn't hang around, did you? And she was quite something, that woman. What would your wife say if she knew you were chasing Norwegian women? My guess is that the police will come back, ask more questions, dig around. I'm annoyed at myself for not taking more notice of that red car. If I knew the make, they could have traced it.”

“It's probably got nothing to do with the case,” Jürgen cut in. “It was just a car that had gone the wrong way.”

“We don't know that. It was parked up on the road for a while. The police are always interested in cars; they're always looking at traffic movements.”

“A red car? I mean, Jesus,” Jürgen said and sighed. “That says nothing. You're just trying to make yourself out to be important.”

They were interrupted by Randen, who appeared in the doorway. He said that supper was ready and that Solveig and the girls were waiting. Randen walked with his head bent and his hands clasped behind his back, as was his wont. He would never get over what had happened on his farm and wanted to show in some way that they were mourning. We should have gone to the funeral, Solveig had said. I regret that we didn't. Perhaps people thought it strange that we weren't there.

They all sat down at the table. Little Emilie put her hand on Jürgen's impressive tattoo of a fire-breathing dragon on his arm.

“Did it hurt?” she asked.

“Not at all,” Jürgen told her. He helped himself to some of Solveig's scrambled eggs.

“I want one too,” Emilie piped up and looked at her father across the table.

“Absolutely not, young lady,” he said firmly. “It's enough that you've had your ears pierced.”

The cat came into the kitchen to beg for scraps and Stanislav lifted her up onto his lap. After what had happened in the trailer, he longed for home. He needed to get away from it. And yet it was still so raw, so they talked about it throughout the meal.

An hour later, the men thanked their hosts and went back to the outbuilding, where they each had a bunk with a thin summer comforter. As was their habit, they chatted in bed before going to sleep. One by one their voices faded out, and it was quiet long before midnight.

The first time that Sejer and Skarre went to visit Henny Hayden, the day after the murder, it was with the sincere hope that she could help them. That something in Bonnie's life would give them a clue. But she had barely been able to speak. She just sat in the chair and stared out of the window, answering their questions in one-syllable words. She held on to the windowsill with both hands and leaned her forehead against the glass, and they could hear her labored breathing. But then, she was the person who was closest to Bonnie. They were on their way back now, with renewed hope.

Her husband, Henrik, also liked to sit by the window. He turned his head when they came in but made no move to get up. He just stayed where he was. So they went over and shook his hand.

“He's just visiting,” Henny explained. “He spends most of the time at Hallingstad.”

Sejer noticed a Post-It note on the television. There was one on the floor lamp next to the sofa as well. He went over to read what was written on them. On the lamp it said “lamp” and on the television “TV.”

“He's got Alzheimer's,” Henny continued. “He can't remember things from one day to the next, and he's lost a lot of his long-term memory too. He comes home as often as I can manage. The kitchen is full of Post-Its too, you know: stove, fridge, freezer, and things like that.”

“How has he reacted to what has happened?” Skarre asked, with some care.

“I have to tell him again every morning. He only remembers one day at a time. Sometimes not even that, it's impossible. I have to watch him like a child.”

“What does he say?”

“He doesn't know who Bonnie is anymore.”

Henny lit a cigarette. “I had to tell him why we were at the funeral, but he just seemed to be confused. People suffering from Alzheimer's live with a great deal of fear; each day is new to them and so are the people.”

She looked at them across the table. “My retirement has not been what I hoped it would be,” she said. “And I'm only seventy. What if I live for another twenty years with this misery?”

“Tell us about Bonnie,” Sejer said, changing the subject. “From the time that she was little. What was she like as a girl?”

Henny managed to smile but squeezed her eyes shut at the same time, as if she was in pain. “She was the best daughter in the world. But then all parents say that. She was kind and bright at school, had lots of friends. Sometimes the house was full. The other girls in the class all wanted to be her friend, but she chose with care.”

“What were her dreams and aspirations when she was little? Can you tell us something about that?”

“Oh, she had lots of dreams. For a while, she wanted to be a doctor and preferably work with geriatrics. She wanted to help everyone in need.”

She drew on her cigarette and tapped off the ash. “She cared about everyone, really. When she was older, she did a lot of babysitting, often for her teachers. She was known to be reliable and kind and people trusted her. She earned money that way.”

“And what did she use the money for?” Skarre inquired.

“She saved it,” Henny told him. “She was always very sensible. And she never nagged us for things like so many other children do when they're in a store. She got a little pocket money from us, and in return she did certain chores around the house. She used to do the vacuuming and cleaning. I often thought that one day she would make someone a good wife, as they say.”

She smiled at this. “And the boys,” she continued. “Well, they lined up. But she wasn't really interested in them; she thought they were childish. She wasn't silly either, in the way that teenage girls can be. At least, we didn't think so.”

“And what about puberty,” Skarre asked. “Was that a difficult time?”

“Puberty came early. She was perhaps quieter than before. Sat in her room more, but she was never rude or difficult. She distanced herself from us a little, but that's only natural. We had an easy ride of it compared to so many other parents we spoke to—lots of girls stamp their feet and slam doors at that age. We were very proud of her. I knew that she would look after us well when we got old, at some point in the future. Now there's no one left. Neither Henrik nor I have any other family.”

She stubbed out her cigarette. “If you don't find the man who did it, I'll never forgive you. I want to know why. You have to find him. Find him and get him locked up!”

“We'll find him, I promise you,” Sejer assured her. “But it takes time. It's important for us to get an overview of Bonnie's life. And everyone who was close to her. So it's important that you tell us everything you know.”

“Britt knew her best as an adult. They were very close.”

“So Britt is the one who can tell us about Bonnie's life?”

“Yes, I would think so. The breakup with Olav Nøklan, Simon's father, was a terrible time for her. He left them two years ago now, when Simon was three. Bonnie didn't want to find a new partner—although she was never short of admirers—because she wanted to protect Simon from what she called ‘deceitful men.' She said it was better that it was just the two of them because then at least she was in control.”

Skarre noted down the name.

“He works on the rigs in the North Sea. Gullfaks B. Two weeks on, four weeks off.”

“Did he come to the funeral?”

“No.” She pursed her bloodless lips.

“It's a bit strange not to go to your own son's funeral, isn't it?” Skarre exclaimed in surprise.

“Yes,” Henny admitted. “But after they split up, Bonnie didn't want to see him at all. She was very bitter. And she didn't want him to have any contact with Simon, whom she clung onto with all her might.”

“But surely the father has rights too?”

“He never did anything to change the situation, so he must have been happy with it. He's a coward, if you ask me. The thing is, he ran off with Simon's babysitter. Can you imagine? She was only seventeen. Every time he and Bonnie went to the cinema or something, he would go to collect Kathrine, and when they got back, he would drive her home. So they had sex in the car.”

“How did she find out?” Sejer asked.

“He told her. He and Kathrine are married now and have a daughter. Ylva. I've never seen her.”

“A slightly different question,” Skarre cut in. “What was their relationship like when they were living together?”

“I think it was good. I've never seen Bonnie happier. Everything seemed to be fine, and Henrik and I were proud grandparents. That was before he got ill, while he still had all his faculties.”

She looked over at the man by the window.

“There's one more thing we have to ask,” Sejer said tentatively. “We were at the funeral and I saw you go over and speak to a man who was standing right at the back. Who was he? And what did you say to him?”

“Not much,” she said dismissively. “But I couldn't help remarking on his clothes. Everyone else was wearing dark suits and white shirts, and he looked like a tramp.”

“Do you know him?”

“No. But I did take note of who was there and what people were wearing. I didn't know all of Bonnie's friends and acquaintances. Maybe he was interested in her at some point, there were so many of them. He's irrelevant.”

“Well, then all we need is an address for Simon's father,” Skarre said. “Do you have it?”

“He's got a huge house in Nordhellinga. But I can't remember the number.”

“And Britt?”

“She lives with her husband in an apartment in Oscarsgate. Her name is Britt Marie Bergan and they have three children. You should talk to her as soon as possible.”

They stood up and got ready to leave, but first they made it clear to her they would have to come back. Both of them went over to the man by the window to say goodbye.

“I can't face showing you out,” Henny said. “I'm too exhausted.”

“Anything there?” Skarre asked when they were back in the car.

“Probably not,” Sejer replied. “But it sounds as though Bonnie had quite a few admirers. Perhaps one of them was more insistent, and she rejected him. Some men can't cope with that. On another tack,” he added, “would you go up to someone at a funeral and comment on what he was wearing?”

“No,” Skarre replied. “I don't think so. She definitely said something to him, but I'm not sure how we can find out what.”

IN THE EVENING
, Bonnie suggested they drive down to the video store to find a film they could snuggle up to and watch together. Simon was delighted and immediately ran into the hall to put on his coat. They locked the door and went out to the car. No more snow had fallen and it would only take twenty minutes or so to drive there. She put the key in the ignition and tried to turn it. But the key wouldn't budge; it was stuck. After she tried three or four times, she sat back in the seat and stared nonplussed at the windshield. It probably wasn't anything major and would be sorted soon enough. So she tried again, but the key still wouldn't budge. Oh no, she thought in desperation. I haven't got time for this!

“We have to go now,” Simon said from the back seat.

“Yes,” Bonnie replied. “But I can't start the car.”

Simon sat up, an unhappy expression on his face. Bonnie looked at him in the rearview mirror. His blond curls were hidden under a red woolly hat and he looked like a little gnome.

“Maybe we could take a taxi?” he said hopefully, but Bonnie said that would be far too expensive. She tried to turn the key again, and again it remained stuck.

“Damn car!” she said out loud—she couldn't help herself. In frustration, she tried with all her strength to force it. But then she realized that the key might break, which would be even worse. Simon panicked. A terrible thought struck him: if the car was broken, his mom wouldn't be able to get to work, and if she couldn't get to work, there would be no money. And if there was no money, there would be no Christmas. That was what Britt had said.

“We'll have to go back inside,” Bonnie said wearily. She closed her eyes and groaned. She took the key out of the ignition and trudged back through the snow. Simon trotted along behind her. There was nothing to do; they just had to open the door and go back into the warmth.

“I'm sure we'll find something on TV,” she promised. “I'll check all the channels.”

Simon climbed up onto the sofa and she chose a channel for him. Then she went into the kitchen and sat down at the table. She laid her head on her arms. As far as she could see, there was no solution, and her heart was heavy. She looked around the kitchen and spotted the bottle of red wine standing in a corner on the countertop. She got up, opened it, took out the largest glass in the cupboard, and filled it to the brim. Sometimes she thought the fact that everything was so difficult was some kind of punishment. There was no getting away from a guilty conscience. She drank the red wine and gritted her teeth. She was indifferent. Ah well, everything could just go to hell; Erna and Ingemar and the others would just have to look after themselves. She drank in great gulps, and when the glass was empty, she called Britt and told her about the damn car and all her problems.

“Jesus, it's all a bit too much for you right now,” Britt said.

Bonnie sat in silence at the other end and pressed her cell phone to her ear. Just to hear Britt's voice was a comfort in itself.

“I'm going to go to bed early tonight,” she said. “I'll call Ragnhild in the morning and explain. Right now I'm so tired; everything else will just have to wait.”