Bad Intentions (13 page)

"The man's identity is clear and that's something at least," Snorrason said contentedly. "Or rather, the boy's, because he was only seventeen years old. He lived in Norway with his mother from the age of eight. They're from Vietnam. He disappeared in the middle of December and the circumstances surrounding his disappearance are unclear."

"His name?" Sejer said.

"Van Chau," Snorrason said. "Kim Van Chau."

"Could you repeat that, please?"

"Kim Van Chau," Snorrason said.

Sejer noted it down on a pad. There was something familiar about that name and he racked his brain. Van Chau, he thought, >Van Chau from Vietnam. Finally it surfaced in his memory, a missing person case from December, and the moment he remembered that he caught a glimpse of something bigger, the breakthrough he had been waiting for and which had been there the whole time. Kim Van Chau had been reported missing after a party. After several extensive searches, they had given up on finding the young man. He seemed to have vanished without a trace. And Frimann, Reilly and Moreno had been involved. They had been brought in for routine questioning, but there had been no grounds for suspecting anything criminal. Now, many months later, his body had been found in Glitter Lake. Then another thought struck Sejer. His gaze swept across his desk to the rag doll with the blue overalls. Jon's doll from Ladegården, whose name was Kim.

DEAR DIARY
,

I like everything here at Ladegården.

My room and my bed and Hanna Wigert. I like my medication, which suppresses my anxiety. I like the structure and the routines, that there are always voices and sounds in the big building. I like the food which we eat together at the long table in the dining hall. I like Dagny who works in the kitchen and Ruth, the night nurse, who looks in every hour during the night. The feeling of being cared for like a child. And perhaps that is what I am, a child still clinging to its mother's petticoats. At the same time being here is also tough because I realize now that there is no magic solution, no cure that will fix everything in a fortnight. They expect that I will work with them by opening up, by revealing my innermost thoughts. But if I do that I'll expose other people, and I don't feel that I have the right to do that. Should I save myself and let others go down? When I talk about these things to Hanna, it doesn't seem as though she understands the gravity. She says "but you want to
get through this, don't you, you want to change, don't you?" And, of course, I do because I can't live with myself. I'm Jon the Coward. I tell myself that over and over.

Jon the Coward, Jon the Coward, Jon the Coward.

Often when I wander up and down the corridor I am amazed that people smile and greet me as if I were a decent guy who deserves kindness. Can't they see that it's Jon the Coward? Don't they see the swarm of flies buzzing around my head? Don't they notice the trail of filth after me? So I walk on my own mostly or I go for walks with Molly. She is not like the others. She doesn't want to talk about things that are painful either, but I know she has an older brother whom she hates. She doesn't want to talk about him. She doesn't want to tell me his name, even, which makes me wonder what could have happened. Molly and I have become friends for life. We have never told each other, but we both know it, and when I see her, I feel all fizzy inside, like carbonated water. Yesterday I was in Hanna Wigert's office. I go there every day between eleven and twelve, and I sit on the blue sofa. I was holding one of the dolls in my lap as I always do. Sometimes I torture it a little. I pull its hair and pinch its feet, and it makes me feel better. I don't know if Hanna notices or if she understands why I do it, but I like torturing the doll. I have nowhere else to direct my rage. Toward the end of the session Hanna fell silent. She rolled her chair toward the sofa where I was sitting.

"What are you scared of, Jon?" she asked.

I got terribly agitated because I felt she was putting pressure on me, so I pulled the doll and the seams came apart. But I also wanted to be a good patient and give as much of an accurate and truthful answer as I could.

"Condemnation," I whispered.

"Condemnation?"

She rolled even closer and she did not take her eyes off me.

"Who would condemn you?" she asked.

"People," I said.

"People? All of them?"

"Yes. All of them."

"Is your offense that great?"

"Yes, it's enormous."

"Do you know every single person on the planet, Jon? Or just a few?"

"Just a few."

"I see. A few. And you think they would condemn you?"

"Any decent person would," I said.

"So you don't think there are any compassionate, understanding or forgiving people? Have you thought about it?"

"There aren't many of them," I said. "You'll condemn me too, you just don't know it yet."

"You might be wrong," she said.

"I'm not wrong. I might have been wrong on other occasions, most people have been. But this time I'm right."

That was our conversation. After the session I felt wretched. Compassion? Forgiveness? We'll never get either of those. Not so long as we live.

I am on the horns of a dilemma. If I continue to keep my mouth shut then I'm a coward. And if I talk, Axel and Reilly will hate me.

"W
HAT HAVE YOU DONE?
" Ingerid Moreno screamed.

She was standing in the door glaring at Axel, and she was incandescent with rage.

"Tell me what you did. Tell me now!"

Her cheeks were flushed as though she had been running and indeed she had been. She had run from the car to the block of apartments where he lived, she had run from the elevator to his door. She entered the room and slammed the door behind her. Her hair was standing straight up.

"Tell me what you did!"

Axel retreated. As usual his hand cupped his jaw. He paled at the sight of Ingerid Moreno. His brain worked frantically to catch up with the situation. He had anticipated that she might turn up, but he had expected a supplicant woman, not a fury.

"Answer me!" she screamed. "I know that something happened, I've read Jon's diary. You did something and you're going to tell me what it was! And don't you dare lie to me, Axel, or I'll beat you senseless. And you can laugh at me, but you don't know how strong I am, I'll tear you to pieces if you don't give me an answer!"

Axel could not help but stare at her nails which were long and painted red. He forced his astonishment to the back of his mind, concentrated and finally regained the eloquence which always saved him.

"Ingerid," he said gently. "Come inside, please. Don't stand there screaming."

He walked toward her with open arms, but she stepped back. In response he turned, crossed the floor and straightened his back a little so his broad shoulders would come into full view. That way she would see that he was big, strong and self-assured, that it was he who decided what the truth was.

"Sit down," he said kindly.

She perched on the edge of a chair. The red claws settled in her lap and she never once took her eyes off him.

"I'm sorry," Axel said, "but I've got an infected wisdom tooth, so I'm not quite myself. Ingerid, dear. You've got to explain what all this is about because I don't understand."

Ingerid Moreno continued to stare at him. She might attack me at any time, Axel thought, she has lost Jon, she has nothing more to lose. She might claw out my eyes and people would understand. Poor Ingerid, they would say, she doesn't know what she's doing, she's mad with grief.

"I've read his diary," she said. "He wrote in it every single day and it's about you three. He writes that he has a guilty conscience, that the three of you did something dreadful, and if that was what killed him, then I have to know what it was!"

"The three of us did something?" He frowned.

He breathed with forced calm. But the rest of him was ready
to strike. What do I do if we've been found out? he thought. I'll wring her neck. No, of course I won't. Damn you, Jon, for putting your guilty conscience on paper for everyone to see.

"He writes that we did something together?" he asked.

"Yes," she said. "The diary makes it quite clear. I didn't bring it with me, Axel, but there's no doubt. I knew Jon. He speaks as if a great sin was committed."

"A great sin? And he's saying that Reilly and I were involved?"

He gave her a look of compassion, as you would look at an errant child. He was also trying to ignore the infernal pain from the wisdom tooth, which constantly threatened to knock him off balance.

"He doesn't say that in so many words," she said, "but he was only ever with you. He had no other friends."

"He says we've done something dreadful, but he doesn't say what?" Axel whispered.

Ingerid bit her lip. She was finding it hard to sit still, she ached all over.

Axel had never seen her so agitated. Yet at the same time he experienced a relief so great that the agony from his tooth faded.

"Jon was ill," he said softly.

His voice took on a comforting tone which made her listen.

"Do you hear, Ingerid? He was ill."

Ingerid broke free from his hypnotic voice and turned sharp again. "That diary was written in despair, not in madness. Don't underestimate me," she snarled. "Don't underestimate me because I'm a woman. Because I'm grieving. Because I'm older than you. Don't you dare do that!"

"You knew Jon," Axel said calmly. "You know what kind of conscience he had. He fretted about the slightest thing. Jon was a sensitive boy, his nerves forever fraying. I simply cannot imagine what could have tormented him to such an extent that he could not go on. There is nothing between us which can explain what happened. Perhaps he's referring to some trivial incident, something Reilly and I have long since forgotten, but which Jon brooded over. Perhaps it grew in magnitude and took over. I'm so very sorry, Ingerid, but I don't understand a word of this."

Ingerid Moreno was close to tears. She looked at Axel's face like a beggar. She had been so sure he had the answer.

"Please remember one thing," Axel continued. "Some people have a tendency to blow their sins and faults completely out of proportion. Tiny errors of judgment turn into monsters which consume them. That's probably what Jon did. It's called paranoia."

Ingerid fought her tears. Axel's composure was beginning to make her have doubts.

"But there's something there," she stuttered. "Page after page about remorse. Page after page of self-loathing. I was so sure you would be able to help me. I'll go to Reilly now, I'll ask him."

Axel gave her a compassionate look. "I think you should. Do what you have to, but I'm afraid you'll be disappointed. Jon didn't do much wrong, I can assure you of that. Jon was sensitive and decent and upright. And though I know how hard it must be, you may have to accept that he could have been delusional."

Ingerid got up and went to the door. "Jon was nothing of the sort," she said, "I would have known about it. His doctor would have known. I'll unravel this somehow and if you're hiding something, I'll never forgive you!"

She started screaming again. She lost control, not that it was worth anything without Jon.

"I've known you since you were a little boy," she shouted, "and I know your mother. I've put bandages on your knees, made you toast and orange squash. You've come to my house for years and I've always thought well of you. You were a brat, but you were Jon's friend. And don't you dare deceive me now, I won't tolerate it!"

She slammed the door as she left. Axel grabbed his cell phone and called Reilly.

"Are you awake?" he asked, "are you lucid? Ingerid Moreno will be with you in ten minutes."

Y
OO VAN CHAU
was a small woman with round childlike cheeks. When she saw Sejer, she spun around and buried her face in her hands. Some coats hung on one wall and she disappeared between a jacket and an overcoat. Sejer noticed two things. She had black silky hair and wore tiny embroidered slippers on her feet.

Having hidden behind the clothes for a while, she reappeared with an apologetic smile. He followed her into the living room and spotted a photo of Kim Van Chau straightaway. It stood on a tall chest of drawers. A candle burned next to it. Kim was a handsome boy and he could not stop himself from thinking of the body they had dragged out of the water. It was not handsome, but Yoo Van Chau did not know that.

She gestured toward a sofa. It was red with golden trim. She slumped in a chair. Sejer could not take his eyes off the embroidered slippers. He thought he could make out a motif of fire-breathing dragons.

"I can make tea," Yoo Van Chau said.

"Please don't trouble yourself," Sejer said.

Her hands settled in her lap and a stream of words poured out of her. She spoke good Norwegian with a charming accent, and her voice was that of a little girl.

"They told me he was found close to the shore," she said. "That he's been lying there a long time. It's nine months now since he went missing. So I'm happy in a way. Because I had given up. I thought that all was lost and that my hands would be empty forever."

"Do you have any other children?" Sejer asked, hoping she would say yes. That any second now a teenage daughter would appear from one of the rooms and put her arms around her mother's neck. Or a small child might crawl up into her lap. She seemed young.

"Kim's my only one," she explained. "We never had any more children, my husband died when he was only thirty-two. I couldn't support us on my own. Kim was only eight years old when we came to Norway. We come from Yen Bai. We decided to come to Norway because we have family here and they said it was a fine country."

"And what do you think?" Sejer asked. "Is Norway a fine country?"

"You want for nothing," she said simply.