The Indian Bride (7 page)

"What have we got so far?"

Karlsen took a step forward. His moustache, which always
had an elegant turn, was messy. He had clasped his hand over his mouth in shock.

"The body was discovered by a woman. She called us from that house over there." He pointed toward the woods, where Sejer could make out a small house. He saw the windows shining brightly through the leaves.

"She's been hit by something very heavy and probably blunt. We don't know what. Nothing has been found. There are extensive traces of blood, in fact, all the way to that corner over there," he pointed to the wood on the other side, "and almost all the way down to the road. As though he's dragged her around. There's a lot of blood down there to your left as well. Perhaps he attacked her there. Then she got away for a moment before he caught up with her again and carried on. But we think that she finally died here, right where she's lying now."

Karlsen paused. "Snorrason is on his way," he repeated.

"Who lives in the house over there?" Sejer said, nodding toward the woods.

"Ole Gunwald. Shopkeeper in Elvestad. He owns the one-stop shop in the middle of the village. He's closed today on account of a migraine. We've already spoken to him. He was home yesterday evening and last night. Around 9
P.M.
he heard muted cries and later a car revving its engine. By the time he got up it had driven off. A while later the same thing happened again. Faint cries and the slamming of a car door. He also remembers that the dog barked. It's tied up in the yard."

Sejer looked again at the woman in the grass. This time the shock was less, and in the pulp of shattered bones and muscles he could discern a screaming face. The skin on her neck was almost intact and he saw that it was golden brown. The black plait, as thick as her wrists, was apparently untouched. Intact and beautiful. Held together with a red band.

"And the woman who phoned?" He looked at Karlsen.

"She's waiting in one of our cars."

"What state is she in?"

"She's okay," he said and once more swept his hand across his mouth, the moustache now in a very sorry state. There was silence for a moment while they all waited.

"We need to set up a hotline," Sejer said decisively. "At once. Door-to-door inquiries must begin immediately. Also talk to all the onlookers down there, including the kids. Skarre: Put on some shoe protectors and walk every foot of the meadow. Walk in a tight spiral. Start down by the road. Take Philip and Siw with you. They can follow you. Anything you miss they'll spot. If you're in doubt as to whether something should be bagged, then bag it. Don't forget to wear gloves. Afterward you'll set markers wherever you see blood traces and flattened grass. We need two people on duty for the rest of today and the next twenty-four hours. To begin with. Karlsen! Call the station and ask them to get a map of the area. A large-scale one and as detailed as possible. If you can, get hold of someone local who knows about any paths that might not be on the map. Soot! There is a cart track going into the woods at the opposite side of the road. Find out where it leads to. Keep your eyes peeled."

Everyone in the group nodded. Sejer turned once more to the body. Squatted down and stared at her. Let his gaze wander slowly over the remains of her face. He tried to make everything stay fixed. He tried not to breathe. She was dressed in something foreign, turquoise. A flimsy, long-sleeved dress over flimsy, billowing pants. The fabric looked to be silk. But the thing he was most preoccupied with was a beautiful piece of jewelry. A filigree brooch. It surprised him. A Norwegian national costume brooch. So familiar and yet so strange on this exotic clothing. It was difficult to speculate where she came from because the face was so damaged and he could not make out her features. She could be born and brought up in Norway, or it could be her first visit. One gold sandal had slipped off her foot. He found a stick
in the grass and flipped it over. There was blood on the sole, but he could detect three letters. NDI. The clothing made him think of India or Pakistan. He took his cell phone from his pocket and called the station. No women were reported missing. Yet. A few yards from the body lay a yellow bag. An odd, furry thing shaped like a banana. It had a zip and was to be worn around the waist. Astonishingly, it was perfectly clean. He speared the bag to the ground with the stick and, using two fingers, unzipped it. Lipstick. Mirror. Paper tissues. Coins. Nothing else. No purse or papers. Nothing about who she was. Her nails were painted blood red. She wore two silver rings, not very valuable ones. There were no pockets in the dress, but perhaps there were labels on her clothes. But for the time being he could touch nothing. She is the unidentified victim, he thought. Until someone calls and asks about her. On the air, on the radio and television, and in all the newspapers she will just be "the unidentified victim."

***

As he went back down the pathway between the plastic strips he glanced at the three officers walking up and down the meadow. They looked like children playing follow-the-leader. Each time Skarre stopped and knelt down so did the others. He could see Skarre's transparent plastic bag and that there was already something in it. Then he made for the police car. The woman who had found the body was waiting for him. He greeted her, got into the car, and drove a hundred yards or so farther down the road and then stopped. The people standing by the road stared at them. He opened the window so that fresh air could circulate in the car.

"Tell me how it was," he said calmly.

The firm voice helped her. She nodded and put a hand over her mouth. The fear of the words she had to find and say out loud shone from her eyes.

"Do you want me to start right from the beginning?" she said.

"Yes, please," he said steadily.

"I came here to pick mushrooms. There are many brittlegills around Gunwald's house. He doesn't mind me picking them. He can't be bothered himself—he's often ill," she explained. "I had a basket on my arm. I came just after 9:00 in the evening." She paused for a moment, then she said, "I came from that side." She pointed toward the road. "I turned off the road and walked along the edge of the woods. Everything was quiet. Then I noticed something dark in the grass some distance out in the meadow. It worried me a little. But I went on and began picking mushrooms. Gunwald's dog barked, as it always does when it hears someone. I thought of this dark thing, whatever it was. It made me feel uncomfortable and when I moved I kept my back to it. It's strange, when you think about it. As if I knew everything all at once, but refused to believe it. I found many brittlegills—by the way, where's my basket?" She gave Sejer a perplexed look before pulling herself together and carrying on. "Not that I care about the mushrooms. That wasn't what I meant. I was just thinking of the basket—"

"We'll find the basket," he said.

"I found quite a few chanterelles, too. Saw that there were plenty of blueberries. I thought that I would come and pick those another day. I was there for half an hour. When I was ready to leave, for some reason I didn't want to walk past the dark thing in the grass. So I kept to the edge..."

"Yes?" he said.

"But I couldn't help looking at it anyway. It looked like a big bag of trash, one of those black liner bags. I wanted to go on, but stopped again. It looked as if some of the trash was spilling out. Or, it crossed my mind, perhaps it was a large dead animal. I took a few steps back. I don't know how far away I was when I noticed her long plait. Then I saw her hair band. It was then that
I knew what it was." She stopped talking and shook her head incredulously. Sejer did not want to interrupt her.

"A hair band. And then I ran," she said. "Straight to Gunwald's house. Banged on his door. Screamed that we had to phone. That there was a body in the meadow. Gunwald got so frightened. He's not young anymore. So I waited on his sofa. He's sitting there still, all on his own. It isn't far from his house. Surely she must have screamed?"

"He only heard faint cries."

"I suppose his TV was on," she said, fearful herself.

"Perhaps. Where is your house?"

"Closer to the middle of Elvestad."

He nodded and handed her his cell phone.

"Perhaps there's someone you'd like to call?"

"No."

"You need to come down to the station. It could take a while. But we'll give you a lift home."

"I've got plenty of time."

He looked at her and cleared his throat carefully.

"Have you looked under your shoes?"

She gave him a baffled look, unsure of what he meant. Bent down and slipped them off; they were light summer shoes with a white rubber sole. "There's blood on them," she said fearfully. "I don't understand. I was so far away."

"Are there any people of ethnic origin living in Elvestad?" he asked her.

"Two families. One from Vietnam and one from Korea. The Thuans and the Tees. They have lived here for years. Everybody knows them. But it couldn't be any one of them."

"It couldn't?" he said.

"No," she said firmly, and shook her head. "It couldn't be."

She stared again at the meadow. "Imagine that I thought it was a bag of trash."

***

Gunder was still in his chair long after the sun was up. He had fallen asleep in an impossibly awkward position. He jerked awake when the telephone rang, sprang up, and snatched at the handset. It was Bjørnsson from work.

"So, are you working from home today as well?"

"No, no," he said, "it's not that." And he had to support himself against the desk. He had gotten up too quickly.

"Are you unwell?" Bjørnsson said.

Gunder looked at the clock, startled at how late it was. Something was throbbing in his head.

"No. It's my sister," he said. "She's in the hospital. I have to go there now," he went on without actually meaning to because everything in his head was in chaos and he had no idea how to confront this day.

"I'll call and let you know more later."

Then he staggered into the bathroom. Peeled off his clothes. Showered with the door wide open so that he would hear the phone if it rang again. But it did not ring. After a while he called the hospital himself. There was no change. She was still in a coma, but her condition was stable, they said. Nothing is stable anymore, thought Gunder miserably. He could not face eating, but brewed a pot of coffee. Sat in his chair again, waiting. Where had Poona spent the night? Why did she not call? Here he was, like an abandoned dog. He sat by the phone like this for a long time, more asleep than awake. Marie could wake up at any moment and there would be no one by her bedside. Poona might ring any second and say, "I think I'm lost. Please, would you pick me up?" And then her laughter at the other end of the phone, a bit embarrassed perhaps. But time passed and no one phoned. I have to call the police, he thought in despair. But that was as much as to acknowledge that something was wrong. He switched on the radio, but went to his desk and stayed there. He listened while all the misery in the world was quietly summed up on the radio. The volume was low, but he still caught every single word,
without them making any sense to him. When suddenly he raised his head, it was because he heard the name Elvestad. Loud and clear. He got up and walked over to the radio. Turned up the volume. "Woman of ethnic origin. Beaten to death."

Here, in Elvestad? thought Gunder, exasperated. And then an inspector: We don't know the woman's identity. No one has reported her missing. Gunder listened intently. What were they saying?

Woman of ethnic origin. Beaten to death.

He collapsed across the desk, trembling. Just then the shrill ring of the telephone cut savagely through the room, but he did not dare answer it. Everything was swimming before his eyes. Then finally it settled. He tried to straighten his body. Felt stiff and weird. He turned his head and looked at the telephone and it occurred to him that he should ring Marie. He always did when something was wrong. But now he couldn't. He went into the hallway to fetch his car keys. Poona was probably at some hotel in town. The other one, the woman they had referred to on the radio, had nothing to do with him. After all there was so much crime everywhere. He would write a note and stick it on the door, in case she arrived while he was out. My wife Poona. He saw his own face in the mirror and was shocked. His own eyes stared back at him, wide with naked fear. Just then the phone rang again. Of course, that would be her! No, he thought, it's the hospital. Marie's dead. Or perhaps it's Karsten from Hamburg, wanting to know how she is; he is on his way to the airport to catch the first available flight. It was Kalle Moe. Gunder remained standing, holding the handset, sloping over his desk.

"Gunder," said Kalle. "I just wanted to know."

His voice was timid. Gunder said nothing. He had nothing to say. He thought of lying and saying: Yes, she's sitting here now. Had gotten lost, of course. A taxi driver from town who didn't know his way around out here in the countryside.

"How did it go?" Kalle said.

Gunder still did not answer. The news he had heard on the radio was still buzzing in his head. Perhaps Kalle had heard it, too, and now the poor fool had put two and two together and made five. Some people were like that, of course: always imagining the worst. And Kalle was a worrier.

"Are you there, Gunder?"

"I'm on my way to the hospital."

Kalle cleared his throat. "How is your sister?"

"I haven't heard anything, so I suppose she hasn't woken up yet. I don't know."

There was silence once more. It was as if Kalle was holding something back. Gunder was definitely not coming to his rescue.

"No," said Kalle, "I just started to worry. I don't know if you've heard the news, but they've found a woman out at Hvitemoen."

Gunder held his breath, and then he said, "Yes?"

"They don't know who she is," Kalle said. "But they're saying she's foreign. And she is, well, I mean—they've found a woman's body, that's what I meant to say. That's why I started to worry. You know me. Not that I supposed there was any connection, but it's not very far from your place. I was scared that it could be the woman I was looking for yesterday. But she arrived all right, didn't she?"