Murder of Halland (6 page)

A person can be matt and shiny at the same time.
Halland
was just that. His eyes were closed when I ran into the hospital and found him on a gurney in a corridor without even a screen around him. I didn’t know if he was asleep. I saw his matt and shiny face and his closed eyes and thought he was a stranger. We had been living together for more than a year, yet I had never told him that I thought about Abby every day and that I kept wondering if I had made the right decision in the first place. Every single day. I told him about my writing – a little bit – and about books and shopping, and about people I met in town. We were getting to know the neighbours, and I told him about them. Now he was lying on a gurney in a hospital corridor and didn’t even know I was there. He suffered too much pain. He couldn’t hear me yelling at the nurses to find somewhere else to put him, to get him a doctor, to
do something
. And he was oblivious when I threatened to contact a journalist I knew on one 
of the tabloids. I didn’t know any tabloid journalists. A lie. But it helped.

The porter wheeled him along without looking at me. I held Halland’s cold, damp hand. I couldn’t talk to him with the porter there, so I squeezed his hand.

They said he had woken up. But when I went in to see him he just lay there. I sat down and waited. His
breathing
was laboured. The sun shone through the window; I felt hot and nearly fell asleep. Then, without turning his head, without even opening his eyes, he said, ‘The anaesthetist asked where I wanted to go. He told me to imagine somewhere I was happy. I said, “On a bus.” They all laughed, but he said, “A bus it is, then!’’’

At first I said nothing. I didn’t think he was properly awake. We had hardly ever been on buses together.

‘Was it a nice journey?’ I asked eventually.

Nodding, he turned his head to look at me. ‘I was there straight away, on the back seat. With you. You put your head in my lap.’

Oh, how I loved Halland at that moment. At that moment the memory returned.

When I stood up to follow the coffin out of the church, I bowed my head to avoid looking at anyone. Brandt didn’t seem to have come. Was he angry with me? Was he
embarrassed
? Though there were plenty of pall-bearers, some confusion arose around the coffin. The pastor stepped in and sorted it out. I stared at the various feet as I waited to leave the pew. I didn’t want to be a bearer. I imagined breaking down, yet I kept myself together. I felt only a little pain in the hip but stayed in one piece. Pernille was beside me and I didn’t try to get away. There were clicking sounds as if someone was taking pictures, but I wouldn’t look up. We sang ‘There is a lovely land’. I had nothing to toss into the grave. Thus I took Pernille’s arm and steered her out through the gate onto the square. A voice, Inger’s perhaps, called out to us, but I kept going.

‘Do you have your bag?’ I asked Pernille.

‘Yes,’ she replied, yelping as she stumbled in her high heels.

‘Good. I’m driving you home!’ 

‘Now?’

‘Yes.’

‘All the way?’

‘Yes.’

In the car, I pretended that she wasn’t with me.
Otherwise
I couldn’t have driven to Copenhagen. I turned on the radio and found what I normally would have regarded as the most insufferable station imaginable. I sang along as best I could, even when I had no idea what they were playing. Pernille shrank back in her seat. Eventually she said, ‘You need to fill up with petrol.’ She was right.

‘Have you got a licence?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then let’s swap over at the services.’

She could talk and drive at the same time, and she had that way of checking the mirror that I so admired. ‘I thought there was supposed to be coffee and a bite to eat after a funeral,’ she said, checking the mirror again. ‘Not after this one,’ I replied.

‘I went to a funeral once, and afterwards over coffee people stood up and said nice things about the deceased. I found that so touching.’

‘What would you have said about Halland?’

‘I wouldn’t,’ she said. ‘But I’ve been thinking about something since he died. After I fell pregnant, I became rather unhinged. I told him I didn’t want to see him any more, that I wanted him to move his stuff out. That made him cry.’

Halland didn’t know how to cry. I never saw a tear in his eye, not once, not even a snivel. A slight flutter in his 
voice on occasion, then a deep breath and he regained control.

‘I feel so bad about asking him to leave, because I didn’t really want that. But everything was such a mess, and I need my baby to have the right start.’

‘But you can’t afford the rent without Halland’s help,’ I said. ‘Wasn’t that what you told me the other day?’

‘Yes, and in fact I didn’t want to throw him out. I just wasn’t thinking straight at the time. We worked things out in the end.’

Halland didn’t know how to cry. I didn’t believe her.

‘Did Halland need to leave for the baby to have the right start?’

‘I told you, I wasn’t thinking straight!’

‘So you keep saying.’

The flat was big for someone on their own; I could see why Pernille had rented out a room. While I waited in the hallway, she disappeared into the bathroom. ‘Do you have the keys?’ she called out.

‘Yes, they’ve been in my pocket for days, bloody things,’ I muttered, pulling them out. ‘Which room is it?’

‘First on the left, the one with the door closed!’
Emerging
from the bathroom, she came and stood behind me as if to follow me into the room. Turning round I said, ‘I’ll tell you if I need you!’

‘Please yourself! Do you want something to drink?’

‘Have you got any aquavit or whisky? Anything strong. Just a single glass.’

‘I’ll have a look.’ 

I unlocked Halland’s room, stepped inside and closed the door behind me. My gaze fell on a film poster that hung on the wall between the windows:
Le Retour de Martin Guerre
. I sat down on the bed and stared. ‘That’s not funny!’ I said to Gérard Depardieu.

At home Halland had hung up a couple of
reproductions
. This poster was so enormous that the room nearly capsized. The bed was narrow and prim. A white cover was tucked in neatly at the corners. On top lay a large pillow. His laptop stood on the desk with the lid open, the screen blank. Books were stacked in a deep-shelved bookcase rather than lined up in rows. There were piles of documents. On the floor stood three packing cases with their flaps open. Papers had been thrown into each of them without much thought. There was a clothes rail with hangers, a jacket and two white shirts.

‘Halland?’

‘I have some aquavit as it happens!’ said Pernille, entering the room with a bottle and a glass in her hands.

‘Out!’ I shouted. ‘I don’t want any aquavit! Make me some coffee! If you’ve got decent coffee, that is!’

‘I beg your pardon,’ she huffed, and went away again. The door didn’t shut properly behind her. Did it stand ajar like that when Halland was here, so his life could seep out into hers, and hers into his? Sighing, I stared wearily at the packing cases. What was I doing here? What had I been thinking? Would I have to lug all this down to the car? I wanted none of it. But I supposed I’d better have a look, if only I could get up. Then I could bin the lot. 

‘Pernille!’ I called. She appeared in the doorway at once. ‘Do you know anything about all this?’

She glanced around. ‘It’s not normally untidy. Those boxes are new. I guess the rest is work.’

‘If I pay the rent, can the papers stay here for a while?’

‘The longer you pay the rent, the less I have to worry about! Do you want a hand?’

‘With what?’ I stared at the piles.

‘Don’t the papers all need sorting?’

‘But we don’t know what any of it is!’

Was I meant to ask if Halland was the father of Pernille’s child? I wouldn’t. How could Halland have fathered a child? That made no sense. Then why did I
assume
the baby was his? I had no reason. With whom was I angry? And what did Halland think he was doing putting up that poster, a poster for a film dealing with the most celebrated, most lamentable, most improbable case of imposture the world had ever seen. A film that was all the more improbable for ending happily. Halland had told me about that film so often. He loved it. I watched it once for his sake, but he watched it a thousand times. What was he thinking? Had he ever imagined that one day I would be
sitting
on this bed, unable to get up, glaring at a French actor?

Pernille knelt with difficulty beside one of the packing cases, gingerly lifted out a few documents and envelopes and began to read. I closed my eyes and listened. Sounds filtered up from the street. Cars drove through rain, buses pulled in and out. These were the sounds that had
accompanied
Halland to sleep. I always thought he stayed in a hotel when he visited Copenhagen. I knew about 
his life in provincial hotels; he had told me all about it. But what was
this
?

‘How long did you say Halland kept this room?’ My eyes were closed.

‘I didn’t.’

‘I might not be able to afford the rent…’

‘Perhaps you won’t…’ Pernille said dreamily, as people do when they are reading and not listening. I glanced down at her. ‘What have you’ve found?’ I asked. She looked up in annoyance. ‘I’m not sure. A travel journal, I think.’

‘Halland didn’t keep a journal.’

‘No,’ she said. I closed my eyes again.

‘What does it say?’ I asked.

‘Nothing. There’s all sorts of things here, notebooks, letters, manuscripts.’

‘All that stuff was in his desk.’

‘What?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Yuck.’ She tossed a black notebook onto the bed. I flipped it open with one finger. ‘That’s not Halland’s handwriting.’

‘I can see that.’

‘Why did you say “yuck”?’

‘Read it yourself,’ she replied.

‘Do you mind if I have a nap? You don’t have to do all that.’ Lying down on my side, I pushed the pillow onto the floor and pulled the cover over me. I fell asleep at once.

When I opened my eyes, Pernille’s face was hovering above mine. ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked. 

‘What?’ I spluttered. I had no idea where I was.

‘You were dreaming! I’ll make you that coffee.’ She left the room. The bedcover was wet beside my mouth. Turning over, I looked across at Halland’s desk. There were neat piles on it now. I sat up. The computer would have to come back with me; the detective would want it. I felt no urge to pry. My natural curiosity had vanished the moment I found the keys to the room.

I looked through the black notebook that Pernille had flung on my bed.

It’s the most wonderful thing. The dream of happiness come true. This is amazing, indescribable, it’s
…

‘Yuck,’ I said, and put it aside.

Pernille returned with a cup of black coffee. The smell woke me up.

‘Isn’t it gross?’ she asked, and edged past me. She sat down on the bed.

‘What do you do exactly? I said. ‘I didn’t know that you were interested in literature.’

‘Oh, but I’m not,’ she said, and then she started laughing. ‘Actually I am. I work in a bookshop just along there.’ She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. Her laugh showed her off well and I laughed alongside. Laughter has never suited me; I always cover my mouth if I remember to. ‘But that’s not literature,’ she said. I agreed.

‘I was having a nightmare, and now I’ve forgotten the subject. I have a sort of
Bluebeard
feeling that I’ve dropped the key and stained it with indelible blood. I hate prying into other people’s stuff. Thank you for doing all of this.’

She shrugged and sipped her coffee. ‘What’s
Bluebeard
?’ she asked.

‘You don’t know what nibbles are either,’ I said. ‘Not doing very well, are we?’

Her nostrils flared. ‘You’re not prying. It’s just words on paper. Halland has been murdered. There might be something important here.’

For a moment we sat silently together on Halland’s bed. ‘I’ll take the computer back with me. And Martin Guerre.’

‘What?’

‘Him!’ I pointed up at the wall.

‘You’ll have a job taking that down!’

‘Down it’s coming, all the same.’

‘There’s something else you should take with you. I had it in my bag when I came to see you, but you sent me packing.’

Just for a moment, I had forgotten what happened before and thought how kind she was. Now I began to grumble again. The death notice in the newspaper. Who did she think she was?

‘What is it?’ I asked.

‘His post.’

His post.

‘I don’t know why, but he had his post forwarded here.’

‘Since when?’ Now I was angry again.

Struggling to her feet, she left the room, then returned with a stack of envelopes. Mostly bills, by the look of them. Placing them in my lap, I stared at the redirection 
notice. A permanent change of address, commencing two weeks before he died.

I looked at Pernille standing there, her legs apart, trying to catch her breath.

‘Why would he do that?’ I demanded.

‘No idea. I was going to ask him the next time he came.’

‘Did he want to move in with you?’

Her eyes glazed over. ‘What do you want me to say? You wouldn’t believe me anyway.’

‘Try me.’

‘He never actually said that he wanted to and I don’t believe he would have done. But I can’t be sure.’

I got up and went over to the desk. There was an old photo on top of one of the piles. As I reached for it, Pernille said, ‘Isn’t that a lovely picture? It’s Halland as a boy – with a maverick!’

Without so much as a glance in her direction, I
crumpled
the photograph in my hand.
Maverick indeed
.

‘What are you doing?!’ she burst out.

‘None of your business!’ I said. ‘I’m leaving. I need to get these things down to the car, and then I’ll be off.’

‘And you will drive yourself?’

I didn’t reply.