Hell Fire (13 page)

“Are you nervous?” Bonnie asked.

“No, not at all. It's just some x-rays. And if they find something, they find something. After all, I'm eighty-six.”

While Nelly was in getting her x-rays, Bonnie sat in the waiting room and flicked through a women's magazine. She always felt despondent whenever she browsed through that type of magazine. The pictures showed a glamorous world she would never be part of, and after a while she threw the magazine down and started thinking about Christmas shopping. Maybe she'd get a scarf for Mom and gloves for Dad. She knew she had given them that before, so it would be doubling up. But they might be glad of a bit of variation. Her mother would be happy with anything. It was important to show how pleased you were, for goodness' sake. When Nelly finally came back, she was relieved. Her coat was buttoned up wrong, so Bonnie gave her a hand. She put the receipt from the parking lot in her wallet so that she could claim expenses. When they got back to Nelly's house, they sat for a while at the kitchen table for a chat. Nelly gave Bonnie a hug when she got up to go, and then Bonnie drove straight to daycare to pick up Simon.

“We could buy slippers,” he suggested. “You know, the ones with sheepskin.”

“We could,” Bonnie hedged. “But it might be tricky to get the right size, and if they don't fit then we'll have to exchange them.”

“I want chocolate cake after,” he declared. “And Cherry Coke.”

“Chocolate cake and Cherry Coke you shall have,” Bonnie promised, putting the old Opel in gear. The snow was falling on the windshield and visibility was poor. She heard Simon chatting away in the back but only half listened because she needed to concentrate on the road. As they drove past the big Kiwi grocery store twenty minutes later, Bonnie spotted an old woman walking along the road. She was wearing a brown coat and hat and had a plastic bag in her hand. It was obvious she was struggling with the strong wind and ice. Dear God, Bonnie thought, that someone as old as that had to venture out alone in this weather. She instinctively slowed down. When the old woman heard the car coming up behind her, she stopped and turned around. To her surprise, Bonnie saw that it was Gjertrud. She put her foot on the brake, pulled over to the side, and got out of the car. When Gjertrud recognized Bonnie, her face lit up, and at the same time she had to put a hand on her hat to stop it from blowing away.

“Gjertrud,” Bonnie exclaimed, “what are you doing out in this weather when I do your shopping for you?”

Gjertrud clutched her Kiwi bag. “I ran out of cat food,” she explained. “He's sitting in the kitchen meowing.”

“But couldn't you have asked Edith?”

“She wasn't home.”

“Get in,” Bonnie ordered. “I'll drive you home.”

Gjertrud shuffled around the car while Bonnie held the door open. She noticed Simon in the back as she got in, and told him what a lucky boy he was to have Bonnie as his mother. She was the best person in the whole world.

“Now, is there anything else you need before you go home?” Bonnie asked as she started the car.

“Well, nothing that's important.”

“But there is something you'd like to get?”

“I don't want to trouble you; you've got your own things to do. And your son.” She seemed embarrassed. She sat there with her eyes downcast, clutching her handbag. Bonnie didn't give up until Gjertrud said what she wanted.

“I don't have any eau de vie left.”

“Then off we go to Wine Monopoly,” Bonnie said. “I'll pop in and get some for you. The day's not quite the same without it,” she added and laughed.

Then Gjertrud had to laugh too, and Simon leaned as far forward between the seats as he could. Gjertrud opened her bag and took out her wallet with shaking hands. She took from it a crumpled note and gave it to Simon. He thanked her politely, just as his mother had taught him.

There was a line at Wine Monopoly, of course, because it was almost Christmas. Bonnie decided that since she was standing in line anyway, she might as well get herself a bottle of cheap red wine. When they got back to Gjertrud's house, the old dear wanted to pay for both bottles and the gas, and she wouldn't let them go until Bonnie took the money.

“It's nearly Christmas,” she said. “God bless.” Then she said goodbye and went inside to her hungry cat.

ON THE WALL
above his bed, Eddie Malthe had a photograph of himself sitting on his father's lap. It had been taken when Eddie was three, just before his father left them. Mass had refused to let him have it in the living room, and Eddie looked at it every night before he went to sleep. Only now it was morning. He sat up in bed and took the picture down. It had been taken on a warm day and they were both wearing summer clothes. His father was holding Eddie tightly in his strong arms. Thick bangs fell over his forehead and his smile was broad and happy, whereas Eddie looked very serious.

He stared at the photograph for a long time. Even though he had studied it countless times before, it was new for him each time. His father looked so happy, so why had he left them? He hung the picture back up on the wall and went into the living room. Soon after, his mother appeared in her nightie; he could see her body through the thin material. She checked the thermometer outside the window and shivered.

“Twelve degrees,” she reported. “We'd better light the stove. Put your coat on; you'll have to go out and get some wood.”

Eddie looked at her body. She was heavy, just like him, and he could see her big breasts swaying under the fabric.

“Let Shiba out so she can pee.” She opened the door to the bathroom and disappeared inside, and he heard her turn on the faucet. Shiba was lying in her corner and Eddie went over and pulled her tail. Then he hauled her up by the collar and pushed her from behind into the hall. The cold hit him when he opened the door. He stepped into his heavy boots and pulled on a heavy jacket. He wouldn't have to clear snow today, which he was pleased about, but the price was the extreme cold. Shiba immediately went around the corner of the house and peed, and then she wanted to go straight back inside.

Eddie got out a couple of plates. He took the cheese, sausage, and jam out of the fridge and got the bread, and then set the table for a simple breakfast. He sat down to wait. He had slept heavily and could still feel the sand in his eyes.

“I dreamed about Dad last night,” he said, when his mother sat down. It wasn't true, but he wanted to hear about his father, and it was a way to start the conversation.

“But you can't even remember him,” Mass objected. “You were only three.”

“I know.” He chewed his bread. “But sometimes I think I remember things all the same.”

“What kind of things?” Mass asked, sounding skeptical.

“His white shorts,” Eddie said with conviction.

“That's what you've seen in the photograph.”

He didn't answer. “What did he die of?” he asked instead.

“I've told you before,” Mass said patiently. “It was cancer. That's what we all die of these days. Sooner or later.”

“But you won't, will you?” Eddie asked anxiously.

“No,” she said and laughed. “I'm certainly not planning to do that. I'll probably live to a hundred. But I have got a pain in my back,” she admitted.

“Why?”

“It happens to ladies of my age. We scrub and clean all our lives, you know. There isn't much help to be had from you.”

“But I'm good at clearing snow,” Eddie retorted, feeling offended. Mass had to agree with that.

“You're right,” she said with a sudden smile. “What would I do without you?”

Eddie crowed. They needed each other so much; it put him in a good mood. He said that he would load the dishwasher. Mass stayed at the table and studied the dog lying asleep in the corner.

“I'm worried about Shiba,” she said. “She's not that old, but she's really not very well. There's something wrong with her leg. What do you think it is?”

“Hip dysplasia,” Eddie suggested. He put a tablet in the dishwasher and closed the door.

“No, never. I'll get an appointment at the vet. Do you want to come?”

Eddie nodded happily. The dishwasher started to rumble as it filled with water. Then he went out into the snow to get the newspaper and luckily didn't bump into Ansgar. He went back in and gave it to his mother, who was now on the sofa.

Eddie sat down at the computer. He looked up Copenhagen, the city where his father had moved to with someone else and then died. Copenhagen had a population of 1.2 million and was the largest urban area in the country, comprising eighteen constituencies, Eddie read. It was situated on the east coast of Zealand, and the key institutions were the Danish Parliament, the Palace, the Supreme Court, and the government administration. Twenty percent of Denmark's population lived in Copenhagen. He sat and studied the map, telling himself that his father had lived on one of those streets. He turned to his mother. “Where exactly in Copenhagen did Dad live?”

Mass sighed and lowered the newspaper. “Goodness, I don't know. It's such a long time ago. I don't know that I want to know either. Sorry.”

“Are you sure you don't know?” Eddie persisted.

She shook her head. “Eddie, darling, do you think I'd lie to you?”

No, he didn't think so. He continued reading about Copenhagen, a city he had never been to. Denmark's a small country, he thought. I'll find him.

WHO, WHAT, WHERE?
Sejer thought. With what? Why, how, and when? They had answers to some of the questions. Bonnie and Simon Hayden had been killed with a sharp knife in a trailer near Skarven Farm on July 5. Sejer went out into the corridor and found Skarre, who was holding a list of all Bonnie's clients. They knew that the police were coming because Ragnhild Strøm had warned them.

All morning, they went from house to house and as considerately as possible ran through what had happened. The old people were all terribly upset; several of them were having problems sleeping. This evil thing that had happened was gnawing away at them all. And her little boy as well—it was unbearable. Sejer asked each of them if they had noticed any changes in Bonnie. Had she appeared different in the period before the murder? Had she mentioned anything that was bothering her or that she was being followed? Had she seemed to be frightened of something? They all thought about this and answered no. In fact, if anything, she had seemed happier, as if something good had happened. He asked if she had confided in any of them, and some of them smiled, especially the women. Yes, now and then. Maybe she felt it was safe because they were old and would soon move on to other pastures.

“What did she tell you?” Skarre asked.

Time after time, they shook their heads sadly and said that she had talked about her husband, and that he had left her when the boy was very young. “I told her she should find someone new,” Gjertrud said, “but she just laughed.”

Marie sat with her hands on her lap, crying. She had a tissue tucked in her sleeve and her voice was thin and raspy. She had to cough to get the words out at all.

“He'll go to prison, won't he?” she stammered helplessly. “But then he'll just get out again in a few years' time.”

“Probably,” Sejer conceded. “That's the way our system works. Do you think that's bad?”

She nodded. “We can't have a man like that walking free. I don't know how I'm going to manage without Bonnie.”

“They'll get you a new home health aide as soon as possible,” Skarre assured her. Ragnhild had said: “I'm not sure how much comfort that is, though. There's only one Bonnie.”

Marie fished the tissue from her sleeve and dabbed her eyes. “I've got nothing to look forward to now,” she said. “My son works in Kuwait and I never see him.”

“Do you know what a tear is?” Skarre asked when they were back in the car.

“What it is? Saltwater, isn't it?”

“Yes, water and salt,” Skarre replied. “And proteins and fat and sugar and citric acid and enzymes and antibodies. Tears kill bacteria and lubricate the cornea. They're the body's way of getting rid of toxins. In other words, it's not a bad thing to have a good cry every now and then.”

“And it's tears that make us human,” Sejer added.

“We're not the only ones who cry,” Skarre corrected him. “Some big animals cry as well when they're sad.”

They drove on to Skarven Farm.

Jürgen, Thomas, Stanislav, and Woiciech were all in the outbuilding, ready to play bridge. Woiciech, or the Butcher of Warsaw as the others called him, dealt out the cards. He had called home and told his wife Danuta about the gruesome killing. She was waiting for him in their simple apartment in Krakow but knew that he wouldn't be home again until November. Then he would once again swing his cleaver and slip in under the comforter with her at night. But they were in agreement about the arrangement because it considerably boosted their income. For seven years in a row now, he had come home with lots of money, and they dreamed of buying their own house. He worked as hard as he could. He harvested cabbage and leeks and lettuce and picked strawberries. The raspberries were ready in July, and then the apples, and red and yellow plums. They also repaired machines and other equipment, and this summer they had painted the barn and fixed the windows in the old cottage.

The men fanned out their cards and held them tight to their chest. Thomas, who was the youngest, looked over at Stanislav.

“I saw you following them,” he said. “You crossed the field just after they went down with the comforters.”

Stanislav put his cards on the table. “And what of it? I thought they might need some help. She didn't look very strong.”

“You should have told the police,” Thomas countered. “They need to know everything. Who was where and when.”