“I told him that he had killed my child. That I knew. He didn’t know I knew,” she said, and now she cried out, a soft wail that came from deep within and intensified. “He didn’t know
I can only wait, he thought.
She sat with her chin against her chest, then raised her head again.
“I told him that he had killed his own child.
Winter was silent. A streetcar passed by outside without sound. The clock on the wall had stopped.
“I told him that he had killed his own child, that Helene was his child.” She looked straight at Winter. “There is nothing more heinous than killing another human being. What does it mean, then, to kill your own child?”
“You told him that Helene was his daughter?”
“Yes.”
“Was she? Was it true?”
“No.”
“But you said it to him?”
“I wanted him to suffer for what he had done. He hadn’t suffered. He doesn’t know what suffering is. He doesn’t know. He didn’t know.”
“What do you mean when you say that it’s all your fault?”
“She was my girl,” Brigitta Dellmar said now, lost in another time. “Helene was my girl. She wasn’t like anyone else. We were never like anyone else.”
“She is your girl,” Winter said.
“She’s had it so tough.” Brigitta Dellmar suddenly reached out and grabbed hold of Winter’s hands with hers. “She’s suffered, and it’s been all my fault, and in the end I couldn’t stop myself from telling her. I told her.”
“What did you tell her? That you were her mother?”
“What? That I…? She knew I was her mother. She knew that I was her mother.”
Winter felt her fingers grasp at his. Her grip was hot and cold, and he could feel her pulse.
“When did she find out?” Winter leaned forward. “When did she findo out?”
“She’s always known. She’s always… Ever since she was a little girl.”
“But she was a foster child for many years,” Winter said. “She was alone when she came back here.”
“She knew,” Brigitta Dellmar said. “Inside she knew. When she came back here and was a big girl she found out again.”
Winter asked, and she told him everything. She had been wounded. They had kept her hidden, and then she had kept herself hidden away from the world for such a long time that she had ceased to exist. She didn’t know how many years. They had let her keep some of the money and created a new identity for her and she had returned to Sweden, to her so-called brother. Ha-ha!
When the girl tried to make a life of her own, and bore a child, she was there. Suddenly she was there.
“Who is Jennie’s father?” Winter asked.
“Nobody knows.”
“Not even you?”
“It was as if she wanted me to be the last to know.”
“Why?”
She shrugged her shoulders. Winter’s breathing now started to return. The hairs on the back of his neck were damp with sweat.
“It was all my fault. I contacted her again. She had been having a difficult time connecting with other people, and now it became impossible. She turned in on herself more and more.”
“How often did you see each other?”
“Just occasionally. I helped her to get her memory back, and that was the death of her.”
“Excuse me?”
“Her memory. It caused her death.”
“How do you mean?”
“I told her things she didn’t know anymore. And things she never knew and yet thought a lot about. What happened.”
Winter nodded.
“Bremer murdered her father. He carried it out.”
“Her father?”
“Kim. My Kim.”
“Kim Andersen? You mean Kim Andersen? The one who was also known as Kim Moller?”
“Bremer murdered him.”
“You told Helene that?”
“I told her everything. I told her everything. And she went to see him. I knew where he was. She made several trips down there. In the end she knew enough that she told him. But he thought she was lying. He was sure that he was her father. I was afraid, terribly afraid. Helene seemed to be beside herself with fear when she found out what had happened to her father, Kim. That Bremer had murdered him. What had happened to her…” Brigitta Dellmar dropped her head forward. She seemed exhausted from having spoken for so long. “I wanted my money too, and it scared me, but I needed… Helene needed… We had a right to our money. And Jennie too.”
Winter breathed harder, steeled himself.
“Where’s Jennie?”
She looked at him, past him. Her gaze had melted away. “He could murder again. He did it.”
“He did it? He murdered Jennie?” Winter’s mouth was so damn dry he couldn’t hear whether he had uttered the words.
“He could do it again,” Brigitta Dellmar said. “He was crazy. He killed Oskar. Poor Oskar. That was also my fault. He must have done it.”
“Oskar? Oskar Jakobsson? Bremer killed Jakobsson?”
Winter couldn’t tell how much of her was actually there in the room with him. She had started to move her head back and forth.
“Did Bremer kill Jakobsson?” Winter repeated.
“He must have. Oskar was still a threat. Just like Helene. Helene got in touch with Bremer, but I’m not sure exactly when. He must have regretted that he hadn’t-”
“Regretted what? What did he want to do? What did he regret?”
“She wanted to know. That was it. She just wanted to know. She wanted what she had a right to. She told me, but not much. Then it was too late.”
“What was too late?”
“I don’t know what happened,” Brigitta Dellmar said.
“Where is Jennie?” Winter asked again. “You’ve got to answer me.”
“Poor Oskar,” Brigitta Dellmar said. “He knew nothing. He was nice. They knew each other. Didn’t you know that? They were old acquaintances.”
“There were a lot of old acquaintances,” Winter said.
Bremer gave Jakobsson the money to pay the rent. Perhaps to make us think that it was Jakobsson. No. For some other reason. Maybe so that we would eventually find him and punish him for what he had done to the child he thought he was the father of.
“I didn’t have the courage myself,” she said. She was suddenly
“Who are they?”
“You know.”
“We know and we don’t know. We can’t prove anything.”
“That’s how it’s always been,” she said. “No one is ever free.”
“Bremer is dead,” Winter said.
“He’s finally dead? Is it true?”
Winter realized that she didn’t know.
