Burned

Jarle Hogseth used to say: Crimes are rarely delivered gift-wrapped to the police. Sometimes it is straightforward: the evidence speaks an unequivocal language, the perpetrator confesses, either spontaneously or due to evidence presented during interrogations; or in the subsequent trial, the prosecution’s version stands in sharp contrast to the explanations given by the defendant. That’s the way it is and always will be.

But the truth will never be lost to him. He saw it in Anette’s frozen eyes. And plenty can happen during an investigation. New evidence might appear. Witnesses could come forward with testimony that sheds fresh light on Anette’s actions. She will have a lot of questions to answer and it is difficult to give consistent replies, time after time after time, to complex questions, no matter how clever you are.

*

He remains in the churchyard during the interment. He doesn’t look up, doesn’t listen to what is being said; he only listens when they sing: Help me, God, to hum this song so my heart will carry on just one day, one moment at a time until I reach your good country.

He grits his teeth and swallows the memories and the pain, even though he sees Jonas all the time. He feels that he can finally say goodbye. He hasn’t been ready until now. He couldn’t manage it back then, because he couldn’t, didn’t want to accept that Jonas would never again wake him in the morning, at the crack of dawn, would never again snuggle up to him and cuddle, cuddle, cuddle until children’s TV began.

It’s hard to be grateful for what I had, he thinks, it’s hard to remember every day, every moment instead of mourning what will never be. But if I can convince myself that the six years Jonas lived were the finest of my life, then that’s a start.

It doesn’t feel like much, but it’s a start.

He refrains from offering his condolences after Henriette’s lifeboat has been lowered six feet into the ground. He knows he won’t be able to handle it, won’t have the strength to meet her parents and her family without identifying with them. He won’t suppress his grief, because he needs to feel it. But not here. Not now.

The time will come.

Just one day, one moment at a time. Until I, Jonas, reach your good country.

Chapter 73

Music is playing from the flat above when he comes home. He stops in front of the entrance door. Arne Halldis is listening to opera. Henning recognises the aria straight away. It is ‘Nessun Dorma’, from Turandot, by Puccini. Henning’s favourite aria. Luciano Pavarotti’s unmistakable voice fills the stairwell: Ma il mio mistero e chiuso in me il nome mio nessun sapra!

Arne Halldis is a multi-faceted man, Henning thinks. Either that or he is a first-class cad who exploits poetry and opera to score with women. He imagines that’s why Gunnar Goma is such a big fan of him. No, no! Sulla tua bocca lo diro quando la luce splendera!

Arne Halldis turns up the volume, as the opera reaches its climax: All’alba vincero! vincero, vincero!

The song soars, it travels through walls and concrete, wood and plaster, before hitting Henning right in the middle of his forehead, penetrating his thick skull and rushing through him; his cheeks redden and, before he knows what has happened, the tears are streaming down his face. He can feel them roll down his scars, suddenly he finds himself sobbing.

Only That Which He Doesn’t Think About has made him cry since That Which He Doesn’t Think About. It feels a little odd, tasting my own salt, he thinks, after so long and knowing that it’s Arne Halldis’s music that triggered it.

But it doesn’t surprise him that music has made him cry again. And he feels the urge to play a chord or two. But he isn’t sure if he dares.

He lets himself in as the applause dies down and it grows quiet around him. He replaces the batteries in the smoke alarms, sits down on the sofa and opens up his laptop. It wakes up from its sleep mode. It takes a few seconds, before it finds the wireless signal and he loads FireCracker 2.0. It doesn’t take long before 6tiermes7 responds. 6tiermes7: I’m excited. How did it go?

MakkaPakka: As expected. She denied it all.

6tiermes7: Clever girl.

MakkaPakka: The smartest I’ve ever met.

6tiermes7: You didn’t get anything on tape, either? Nothing we can use?

MakkaPakka: I haven’t listened to the recording yet, but I doubt it.

6tiermes7: Okay. You did the best you could. Now you need to let us take it from here.

MakkaPakka: I’ll try.

6tiermes7: You’re not telling me you’re planning another investigation?

Henning ponders this while the cursor blinks in the chat window. Something has happened to him in the past week. Though three people have died and families have been destroyed forever, it has done him good to work again. Anette hasn’t confessed and Hassan’s threats won’t be easy to ignore, but Henning has proved to himself that he still has it. The little grey cells have woken up again.