Murder of Halland (5 page)

I stood on the tree-lined promenade that runs along the fjord. The limes were coming into leaf. Evening light played on the gently rippling water. A tongue probed inside my sleeve, licking my wrist. Startled, I cried out.

‘He’s just being friendly.’ A man’s voice. Brandt, the doctor, my neighbour.

‘Now that’s news! I didn’t know you owned a dog.’ I only spoke after he had pulled his pet to heel.

‘I’m looking after him for my sister,’ Brandt said from beneath the trees.

‘So you’ve had guests too.’ I turned back to the fjord, disgusted by the wetness on my wrist. I didn’t want him to see me wipe it off.

‘Bess, I’m so sorry about Halland. Dreadful!’

‘Yes.’

‘I saw him.’

‘You were there? On the square?’

‘I saw you as well.’

My feet felt cold. ‘I didn’t see anyone.’

‘Have the police found anything?’

‘No.’

‘An old friend’s staying with me. He’s researching photographs in the museum archives. Perhaps you’ve seen him?’

‘We’ve said hello. He takes a lot of strolls for someone who’s meant to be busy.’

‘I’ve been thinking of having you round… How are you?’

The fjord had become a blend of blues and greens.

‘When’s the funeral?’

‘Funeral?’ The concept seemed beyond me.

‘Won’t there be one?’

I felt like saying, ‘How should I know?’ Stupid but true. I supposed there would be a funeral. But what was I meant to do? How did one go about getting people buried?

‘The detective’s been round, then?’ Brandt said.

‘Yes, he’s been round. If that’s what you want to call it. Do you know him?’

‘We’ve met.’

‘Who’s your friend, when he’s not spying on people?’

‘Sorry about that. He told me he’d seen Funder, that’s all. Surely you must agree that the whole thing’s most alarming.’ His eyes shone very blue.

‘You should get yourself a straw hat,’ I said, ‘being so chic and all.’ He shook his head. ‘Don’t you remember when we had that argument?’ I asked.

‘We’ve never had an argument!’ he protested.

‘You shouted at me and said I should write books
about
something!’

‘We were drunk!’

‘I wasn’t.’

‘I
was
.’

‘We disagreed about which battles are worth fighting.’

‘We did?’

‘You and Halland.’

‘We walk in the gloaming as we sleep
,’ Brandt quoted.

He now stood close to me. He was real. He smelled sweet and sour.

‘I don’t sleep any longer,’ I said.

‘I think you can.’

The dog whimpered. Brandt unhooked its lead so it could run down to the water’s edge. The fjord glowed a dull green.

Ten days had passed. I had spoken to Funder about
Halland’s
body as though discussing a stack of books, and to the pastor as though Halland were still alive. I had also spoken to an undertaker. I couldn’t avoid the undertaker. Halland was to be buried on the Friday at two o’clock. Inger and Brandt would act as pall-bearers; the pastor would find a couple of others. I avoided involving Pernille. I just left a message on her mobile giving the time and place. I had done my duty, if that’s what it was. I was exhausted, so I went to bed early. Unable to sleep, I got up and went through Halland’s drawers again but found nothing new. Had his desk always been this empty? And
where was his laptop? I went back downstairs and read through my own files. What a lot to throw away. Sorting and binning, I became immersed in matters of no
consequence
: scribbled notes, receipts, letters, newspaper cuttings – my life.

When I looked up, a red stripe hung across the
morning
sky. Rising to my feet, I realized that I was holding Halland’s coffee mug. I had never used it before.

‘The night had passed!
’ I said the words out loud, then cleared my throat and repeated them to myself. That was the hymn I had proposed to the pastor.

Pluperfect
. Gazing out of the window, I rolled the words softly round my tongue.

I had studied elementary Latin at school. How much had stuck?
Italia terra est, sumus estis sunt
– the
grammar
trickled back – sum es est.
Pluperfect, gerund
. Such lovely words. Why did I ever enter that world of Latin words? What benefit had I derived? The answer was
obvious
. The world of Latin words had benefited me greatly back then, and sometimes still did. And yet, the futility of everything had become my new hobby horse. Why the fuss when all would soon be over anyway? Did anything really matter? Work, eating, sleeping? Love? Procreation?

Through the window I could just see the corner of the jetty where I had recently sat. As I pictured myself out there, a chill ran through me. An easy target for someone with a rifle in the gardens above the fjord. Who had shot Halland? Would that person also shoot me? Why wasn’t I totally preoccupied with this thought? Why wasn’t I frightened? The moment passed. No one would shoot
me. No one would shoot Halland, come to that. But someone had.

Halland’s coffee mug was blue. I put it into the kitchen sink and took his antique aquavit glass down from the shelf. I remembered buying it in Sweden. This lovely small piece had cost me twenty-five kroner. The sides slanted gently, and there was an air bubble in the base. Halland always liked an aquavit in the morning, though he never drank otherwise. I filled the glass to the brim with water and downed the lot in one. Then I went to bed and slept for most of the day. I felt safer waiting until evening to leave the house.

‘Where’s the dog?’ I recognized Brandt’s figure in the dim light on the path.

‘Rushing about down by the fjord. He’ll be back in a minute,’ he said, turning to walk with me. We strolled along, keeping our distance.

‘You know,’ I said, ‘I’ve been wondering where
Halland’s
letters are.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘The thought just occurred to me so I wanted to
express
it.’

‘Are Halland’s letters missing?’

‘I don’t know. I always thought he had lots of
documents
and letters, but his desk is empty. It’s as though he cleared the place out.’

‘Perhaps he knew he was going to die?’

‘No. I was just thinking out loud, that’s all. How can anyone know they’re going to be shot?’

Silence.

‘Do you know something about Halland that I don’t?’

‘How am I supposed to answer that?’

‘Do you?’

‘I don’t think so.’

The fjord lay still. A half-moon shone through the treetops, and dark clouds drifted across the sky. I could hear Brandt’s gentle breathing, sensed his presence
without
looking at him.

‘I love the fjord,’ I said, and held my breath.

‘Yes,’ he said, putting his hand on my neck. We had almost reached the churchyard gates. It was dark. His hand felt so good.

‘Did you shoot him?’ I whispered. Brandt kept his hand in place. I thought I heard him whisper my name. When he bent his head towards mine, his breath felt warm against my face. I couldn’t see him properly. My mouth touched his, he gave a start. Then the dog barked.

‘You should have him on the lead in a churchyard,’ I said.

‘Is that where we’re headed?’ Brandt sounded as if he had lost his voice.

The dog sniffed at me, sticking its nose deep into my groin. I felt a cold sweat. It will bite me. It will not. Brandt attached the lead.

The churchyard gate creaked appropriately. The moon emerged from behind clouds.

‘Will Halland be buried here?’

‘In the new part, I imagine. Whoever shot him must have been standing here on the bank. Funder said they
had found the spot. I wish the shooting had been an
accident
, but they think that’s unlikely.’

The dog whined, then pulled sharply on the lead, causing Brandt to lurch forward.

‘Because he was shot in the heart?’

‘Shooting parties tend not to frequent churchyards.’

‘On the other hand…’ said Brandt, and stopped
walking
. I could hardly see him; the moon had disappeared again.

‘What?’

‘There was some trouble last year, don’t you remember? I’ll ring the chairman of the Churchyard Committee first thing.’

‘Church Committee?’

‘Churchyard Committee. The chairman,’ he said.

‘Who the hell is he when he’s not chairing the
Churchyard
Committee?’

Brandt recoiled in surprise. ‘Don’t swear!’ he
whispered
.

I couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Because we’re in a
churchyard
?’

‘Just don’t.’

The moon reappeared.

‘The funeral’s on Friday,’ I said. ‘He wanted to be buried. I don’t want anything extra, nothing at all. No death notice, no nibbles afterwards.’

‘What about the booksellers, his publisher? Do they know he’s dead?’

‘I’m sure they read the papers. Anyway, his mobile’s gone, so I haven’t got their numbers. I hadn’t given them
a moment’s thought, to tell you the truth. I can’t be
bothered
. I know so little about what he did, and…’

Brandt put his arm through mine. It felt right.

‘I won’t do it!’

‘Do what?’ he asked.

‘Whatever they expect me to do. I won’t!’

Troels had gone grey and let his hair grow long. He had become pudgy. No substance. We hadn’t seen each other for ages. I was taken aback. He said that Abby was fine; after that I didn’t listen. I showed him into the house, which he had never seen before, and made some tea. We sat down across from one another.

‘What a dreadful thing,’ he said. ‘I’ve been thinking about you a lot.’

‘Yes, all right!’ I blurted out like a child.

‘You haven’t changed.’

Which was a lie. Although perhaps he wasn’t referring to my appearance but to the ‘Yes, all right!’ We stared into space for a while. The silence didn’t bother me in the slightest. He took a deep breath.

‘Will you go to bed with me?’ he asked.

‘What?’ I spluttered, trying to make light of his remark. I was perfectly aware of what he had said. ‘No! What
are
you thinking?’

He didn’t seem embarrassed. ‘I always thought I’d ask you when Halland wasn’t around any more.’

‘Wasn’t around any more?’

‘Yes. I hadn’t counted on him getting shot, though!’

‘Really?’

I noticed a muscle twitching in his cheek while the rest of his face remained impassive. When we were young, the twitching muscle had fascinated me. I fantasized about it, analysed his personality in light of it, convinced that the profundity of his personality lay there.

You were so dull and I was so bored, I thought to myself, feeling a sudden relief wash over me, as though I had spoken the words out loud. ‘I understand why you ask. But I’m amazed.’

‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘It doesn’t matter.’ He wedged his tongue behind his teeth. So it
did
matter.

‘I could make something of this, you making a proposition when I’ve just been – does the word
widowed
apply when a person wasn’t married? But I haven’t really got to grips with Halland’s death. People in my situation talk all sorts of rubbish and do the strangest things. Yesterday, for instance, I kissed my neighbour.’

‘Really?’ Troels livened up.

‘Yes. I haven’t a clue why, but last night kissing seemed the obvious thing to do. How are your twins?’

He looked confused. His hair wasn’t actually long; he just hadn’t had it cut in a while. He looked dishevelled.

‘I miss you,’ he said.

‘I don’t believe you.’

‘I know. The twins are noisy.’

‘Yes.’ I pictured them in my mind, although I had never seen them.

I told the pastor I would arrive an hour before the funeral, but I didn’t manage. My clothes weren’t right, a plate needed washing. I opened and closed windows. Then there was a tiny pink rose, one of the wild ones
Halland
had planted. I had to cut the flower for him. ‘Only neighbours will come,’ I said to the pastor. ‘I’m not
announcing
anything in the paper.’ He disagreed. ‘Halland’s death has already been reported in the papers. The news has even been on the television!’ But he didn’t force the issue. And he understood when I said I didn’t want any speeches about Halland’s personality or achievements.

When I finally left the house, a drizzle was falling, so I grabbed an umbrella. I knew that all the neighbours would be watching. I kept my head down. I had to pass the spot where Halland had fallen to the ground. I didn’t stop but slowed my steps. I had no wish to dwell on his death in front of an audience, assuming there was one.
A surprising number of cars were parked outside the church. Someone stood in the doorway and ushered people in. Pernille. Behind her a long row of wreaths and flowers stretched down the aisle. Half the pews were full.

‘Bess!’ she said, and opened her arms as if to embrace me. ‘Where on earth have you been?’ I shook my umbrella and showered her with raindrops. She was forced to step back so I could squeeze past her enormous belly. Sudden rage surged up inside me. ‘Who do you think you are!’ I hissed. Then I saw the coffin. And with that came the thought of Halland inside it. I stepped into the church holding the tiny pink rose. Looking straight ahead, I strode down the aisle to the coffin, placed the flower on the lid and then edged my way along the front pew without looking at anyone. Who were all these people? After a while I realized that the pastor was trying to
attract
my attention.

‘Where do all these people come from?’ I whispered angrily.

‘Halland’s daughter placed a notice in the paper
yesterday
. Didn’t you see it?’

I wasn’t keeping up with the newspapers. His
daughter
! Who did she think she was?

‘She’s not Halland’s
daughter
!’ I said loudly.

‘In that case, apologies are called for. I must have got the wrong end of the stick…’ The pastor glanced towards the entrance with a bewildered look on his face. His glasses slid down his nose and he pushed them back into place.

The bells rang, the door was closed and the organ struck up. Pernille sat down beside me. I slid away from her. She slid with me. Was she stupid or what?

‘I suppose you arranged for nibbles at the Postgården too?’ I hissed.

‘Nibbles?’ This was going to be an ordeal. ‘Did you notice we had our picture taken?’

‘When?’

‘There were some photographers outside.’

I hadn’t noticed. Forcing myself to concentrate on the coffin, I found my place in the hymn book and ignored her as best I could. I would be furious with her later. Not now. Later.