Murder of Halland (4 page)

I waited until dusk before going to see whether Inger had left supper on the step. I had already decided to bin the food, but as I carried the casserole into the kitchen, my stomach suddenly knotted. I couldn’t remember if I had eaten since Halland’s death. The smell of the cold stew wafted out as I lifted the dripping lid. I grabbed a fork and ate straight from the pot, standing up at the kitchen
counter
. My stomach contracted. I left the fork in the pot,
guzzled
some water from the tap and then threw myself onto the sofa, burying my face in the cushions and drawing the blanket over me. I closed my eyes and kicked off my shoes. I felt sated and drowsy, serene and utterly relaxed. Now I could sleep. But my mouth filled with acid. I knew what that meant, the familiar twinge behind my eyes. When I swallowed, the bile rose again, more insistent. My head began to spin. I flung the blanket aside and raced into the hall, reaching the toilet just as Inger’s stew flew out
of my mouth in a cascade of vomit. I slumped groaning on the bathroom floor. ‘Ugh!’ The sound helped. The floor was warm. I lay there for a moment – the briefest of moments – curled into a ball till the doorbell rang. It was dark outside. My body ached. The floor was hard, and I had no idea how long I had slept.

Someone stood in the light of the street lamp, but I couldn’t see who. As I opened the door my queasiness faded. The young woman wasn’t Abby. Doe-eyed, legs apart, a holdall over her shoulder, she seemed to be
thrusting
her pregnant stomach right at me.

‘Sorry to turn up so late,’ she said, not sounding at all apologetic. ‘It’s such a chore getting here from Copenhagen without a car. The journey took longer than I expected.’

‘Who are you?’

‘I’m Pernille.’

‘Have we met?’

‘I’m Halland’s niece. I read about his death in the paper. Didn’t he ever mention me?’

I stood aside so she could come in. The fact that
Halland
had a niece was news to me. Dropping her bag on the floor in the hall, she looked around.

‘Well!’ she exclaimed. ‘So this is Uncle Halland’s little love nest…’ She now stood in the living room, nostrils quivering. A doe indeed.

‘This is where he lived,’ I said, ‘and for a good many years as well. I don’t recall him ever mentioning you. Are you Hanne’s daughter? I didn’t think she had any children.’

‘No,’ Pernille replied.

‘Would you like something to drink?’ I asked, gesturing towards the sofa in case she wanted to sit down.

‘Water would be fine,’ she said.

I went into the kitchen. As I turned on the tap, I had a brainwave.

‘You’re Hanne’s foster-child,’ I said, handing Pernille a glass of water.

She nodded. ‘My parents are dead. When Hanne died, Halland was the only family I had left.’

‘Was he indeed?’ I felt dizzy and sat down. ‘Were you thinking of staying here?’

Pernille didn’t reply.

‘Do you
want
to stay here?’

She nodded.

‘Listen,’ I went on, ‘I need to go to bed. Can we talk in the morning?’

‘I’m tired as well,’ she said. ‘But can’t we talk now?’

‘What about?’ I sensed unpleasant news coming my way. ‘Perhaps I’d better make some coffee.’

‘You’re a writer, aren’t you?’ Pernille asked as I filled the espresso maker. ‘What are you working on?’

‘What do you mean, what am I
working on
?’ I glared at her from the doorway. ‘Don’t try to have a normal conversation with me! Halland is dead! Isn’t that why you’re here? Or was there something else?’

She began to cry. Even in floods of tears she looked adorable. I turned on the gas. My hands were shaking because I had shouted the word
dead
. Only a simple
word. But I shook because the word described the truth. Halland was
dead
.

What did Pernille want? I grabbed a piece of
crispbread
from the cupboard and gnawed it as I went back into the living room.

‘Why are you here? Does your husband know where you are?’

Startled, she looked up. ‘I haven’t got a husband,’ she said, passing her hand across her stomach. ‘Halland was the only family I had left. I was so shocked to read about what happened.’ She wiped her eyes.

‘He’s not your family!’ I said, rather too emphatically.

‘No, but he keeps his things…’

‘What things?’

‘The things in his room.’

His room.

You’re lying, a voice said inside me. I don’t know why, but you’re lying, you’re lying, you’re lying. I didn’t accuse her to her face though. I simply gazed at her brown eyes, her nose, her swollen stomach.

‘He’s been paying rent, and now I don’t know what to do. About the rent, I mean. His things can stay where they are for the time being.’

The rent.

‘And then there’s… well, I suppose this sounds odd, but he promised he’d be with me when the baby came.’ She glanced over at me, her mouth slightly open,
showing
her white teeth.

Looking up at the ceiling, I stifled a sneer.
Halland
and hospitals… Did she have any idea what
she was talking about? And did I want to know if she did?

‘I could do without this,’ I said. My words surprised me, because I was actually curious. Nevertheless I was determined not to know more. Not yet. Tomorrow,
perhaps
. Pernille had come to me with a problem she wanted me to solve, not realizing that she created one for me in the process.

‘We can talk about the rent in the morning,’ I said. ‘I need to get some sleep.’

I took Pernille up to the guest room. On the way back downstairs, I realized how much I wanted to sleep in my own bed. I splashed cold water on my face and took off my clothes, threw them in the washing basket and went into the bedroom. I switched on my reading lamp and climbed in under the covers. There I lay, gazing at where Halland was supposed to be. I reached out to touch him. I closed my eyes. They were burning. I was exhausted. I switched off the lamp and found myself migrating to his side of the bed, crawling under his duvet, inhaling his scent as deeply as I could, embracing his pillow, burying my face deeper and deeper. ‘Halland,’ I breathed. And again, louder this time. To no avail.

I awoke to the sound of rain falling, saw light coming through the window and felt relieved. With no dreams to digest, I simply listened and savoured the peace.

The next moment something was wrong. After my divorce I used to wake in the mornings heavy with grief, as if someone had died. But when I saw Halland lying next to me, I realized no one had died. He was there. But Abby was gone. Now I turned and saw my empty side of the bed. I lay on Halland’s side. He was dead. And a pregnant woman was sleeping in the bedroom upstairs.

The last night we spent here together, I slept well until I awoke suddenly. The room was dark and silent. I switched on the lamp and checked the clock.

‘What’s the time?’ he asked.

‘Half-past three. Why are we awake?’

But he was already asleep again. A night like any other, with a waking moment.

‘It’s raining outside!’ Penille announced when she finally came tripping into the kitchen, looking for breakfast.

‘Where else would it be raining?’ I slammed the bread basket down on the table. She was about to laugh but caught herself when she saw my expression.

‘There’s crispbread and toast, and no milk for your coffee,’ I said. ‘I haven’t done any shopping. There’s been a death in the family.’

Turning back to the cooker, I listened for sniffling sounds. There they were. Good.

‘I’ll run you to the station,’ I said, sitting down at the table. ‘I can’t have you here. You’re taking my grief away.’ I actually said that.

‘You don’t seem very sad.’

‘That’s exactly what I mean! I won’t have you sitting here wailing – I’m the one who’s lost him, not you!’

‘I have too!’ How hurt she looked.

I crunched furiously on some crispbread until I
realized
that something was wrong. I spat the whole lot out in my hand, crispbread and spit and half a molar. ‘Oh no,’ I cried. ‘Who do you think you are anyway, coming here?’

‘I’ll get my things,’ she said quietly, and disappeared.

I stared at the fragment of tooth. My tongue probed the empty space. My eyes filled with tears.

I was on my way out to the car when I saw Funder coming towards me. He held a folded newspaper over his head as though that would prevent him from getting wet.

‘I was just going out,’ I said, trying to draw his
attention
away from Pernille.

‘I need to look through Halland’s belongings. His desk, his computer.’

I darted back to the house and inserted my key in the lock, picturing Halland’s empty desk. Where was his laptop?

‘I’ve got a spare house key in the car. Halland’s office is upstairs. Please don’t disturb my papers. I know it looks a mess, but there’s a system…’

Funder nodded, scrutinizing me closely. I talked too fast. I wanted to avoid getting wet but that didn’t explain my odd behaviour. I reached into my pocket and wrapped my hand around Halland’s mysterious keys.

‘Just pop the house key through the letter box when you’re finished,’ I said.

‘Don’t you want an update on our progress?’

‘Must I?’ Was I actually flirting? Couldn’t I give the policeman a straight answer? Why did Funder have such a deep tan in the middle of May? He smiled. The rain dripped slowly from his hair. Did I look like someone in mourning? Was I mourning? I didn’t really care what he thought. No, actually, I did.

I only returned to the car after he had gone inside and shut the door behind him. Pernille, holding an umbrella, stood impatiently next to the car.

‘If you miss the train, there’ll be another one in an hour,’ I told her. Reversing the car, I added, ‘So, tell me about this room.’ Another car approached. I waited then backed out and turned.

‘Didn’t you know?’

‘Know what?’ The engine stalled. Inhaling deeply, I turned the key in the ignition. Wipers on. Concentrate.

‘Why have you stopped?’ Pernille asked.

‘I haven’t stopped.’ I swerved to avoid a cyclist.
Concentrate
. Leave the gears alone. Down the hill to the main road.

‘You’ve got a licence, haven’t you?’ she asked.

The rain pelted down now.

‘Do you have a key to Halland’s room?’ I asked.

‘No.’

‘But it’s locked?’

‘Yes. Sometimes he leaves his laptop there and, well – he locks the door after him.’

‘How often is he there?’

‘Don’t you know?’

I didn’t reply.

‘He stopped by a fortnight ago and was supposed to come yesterday. I didn’t always know in advance. He’d let himself in.’

‘I’ll come and clear it out as soon as I can.’

‘It’s more the rent, really…’

‘I’ll keep up the payments as long as his things are there. It’ll be a while before I can get into town. I’ll need the address…’

Pernille took a scrap of paper from her bag, wrote something and then propped the paper up on the
dashboard
, saying, ‘My number’s there, too.’ Turning away, she gazed out of the side window. My tongue examined the crater that my molar had left.

‘What about the birth?’ she asked.

‘That’s enough! What is it with you? Can’t women give birth any more without the whole family looking on?’

She didn’t reply. We had left the town behind us and picked up speed. The road was empty.

‘Do you seriously think I’d want to be there in
Halland’s
place and watch you give birth?’

‘No.’

‘When’s it due?’

‘Two months.’

‘Isn’t there someone else you can ask? A girlfriend, perhaps?’ Surely a doe-eyed beauty would have lots of friends. Pernille didn’t reply. Perhaps she was crying; I couldn’t tell. I wondered where to drop her off. Not in front of the station, not with all those buses and taxis. Normally, I listened to the radio while I was driving, but I didn’t dare let go of the wheel. Pernille remained silent. She turned away from me. I pulled up at the bottom of the car park where there were no other cars.

‘Goodbye,’ I said. ‘I’ll let you know when I’m ready to clear out the room.’

Again, Pernille said nothing. Nothing audible, anyway. The rain bucketed down. I watched her in the rear-view mirror as she ran towards the station building. Adorable, I thought to myself. Had I ever been like that? Beyond
perfect
. Pluperfect. Now she was crossing the road. Maybe she’d be hit by a car! But no car hit her.

‘I took the liberty of putting some coffee on!’ said Funder. He stood in the kitchen as if he belonged there.

‘Let me do it properly,’ I said, turning off the kettle. The lighter didn’t work when I tried to turn on the gas.

‘Perhaps you need a new flint,’ Funder said.

‘Have you got a match?’ He hadn’t, but then the lighter sparked. ‘We’re out of gas, dammit!’

‘You’re not allowed to use bottled gas in the kitchen any more.’ The detective opened the cupboard. ‘Have you got a refill?’

I nodded and gestured in the direction of the garden shed. I had changed the canister myself before and felt I needed to show him my competence. I went out through the utility room and opened the back door. The rain came down in sheets. On my way to the shed, I realized that I had forgotten the empty canister. But I was too
embarrassed
to turn back. The refill was heavy. I struggled to tip it over and roll it along on its rim. By the time I
returned
Funder had detached the empty canister. I shook
the rain off me like a dog, just for fun and because I felt awkward. I wanted him to connect the refill for me, but I didn’t have the courage to ask him. Suddenly my wet shoes slipped on the floor. I grabbed Funder’s elbow and he reached for my shoulders but was unable to get a proper hold. I just stopped myself from falling.
Oh, kiss me, kiss me, kiss me
. I began to cry. ‘And I’ve broken a tooth!’ I wailed. Funder helped me to a chair. I didn’t look at him. I wasn’t really crying; I merely shed some tears. The detective busied himself with the gas.

‘Making any headway with the investigation?’ I finally asked.

Not much news. They knew where the killer had stood - at the far end of the churchyard on the other side of the bank, under cover of some trees. No one had actually seen him. Halland’s mobile had gone missing. And what about his computer?

‘He had a laptop,’ I said, ‘but it’s not here. I haven’t seen his grey shoulder bag either.’

‘And the keys we found in his pocket?’

‘No idea,’ I said.

‘Halland was a lot older than you, no?’

He was. Halland would have been sixty in a few months. We had talked, rather painfully, about
celebrating
. We rarely invited guests after his illness. And now I didn’t feel like talking to anyone about his death.
Thirty-seven
emails - and not one that deserved a reply.

‘Was he married before?’

Halland was never married. He had a number of relationships, but I didn’t want to know about them.

‘Did he never mention particular women?’

‘No. Well, yes. But no one I knew. Do you think some old flame could have shot him?’

Finishing his coffee, Funder stood up. ‘Do you mind if I look around in the loft? I won’t disturb anything.’

‘I thought you’d already looked there.’

‘I did. But I’d like to look again.’ On his way up the stairs, he called back down to me, ‘I’ve reconnected your landline. Both your plugs had been pulled out of the sockets.’

I sat in the kitchen and tried to follow the detective in my mind. What would he find? What
could
he find? There was very little in the desk, I knew. Was that normal? Did I even know? Of course I did, I just couldn’t remember. Did I remember anything? I hadn’t even realized that the computer was missing. I only admired Halland’s sense of order. Was the desk usually that empty, or had he recently cleared out the papers?

I had twisted my back when I slipped in the kitchen. Hobbling out onto the doorstep after Funder had gone, I inhaled the clear air. The rain had stopped. The man from the jetty crossed the square. As he approached my neighbour’s door, he smiled wryly and put the key into the lock. He was starting to annoy me.

‘Are you staying with Brandt?’ I asked. The question was stupid. He clearly had a key.

The man said nothing.