They stared at him.
“And Bertram was the father?” asked Liisa.
Karsten nodded.
“And after that operation she could never have children again,” he said.
Birgitta laughed.
“And what about you?”
“Adopted,” said Karsten. “My biological mother was killed during the last days of World War Two. I was only a few months old when father took me to Sweden on a boat called Rönnskär. He married Anna later. For a long time I thought she was my real mother. But that made no difference to me. I loved Anna as a mother.”
“Good God,” said Liisa. “What a story. What a damned mess. What if-”
Liisa and Birgitta looked at each other. Karsten sensed what was going on in their heads. If this “mess” were to come out and become generally known, that would definitely mean the end of the Ohler family’s reputation. A doctor who first raped a religious young woman and then, together with his father the gynecology professor, performed an illegal abortion in a cellar, could never receive the Nobel Prize in Medicine, regardless of what he accomplished later in life in the service of research.
He saw how the insight about this was slowly growing in them. He took a step toward the door.
“Now you know,” he said. “Now you know that the Nobel Prize winner rapes his employees.”
“Stop!”
Birgitta’s shout echoed in the cellar. At the same moment a figure appeared at the top of the stairs.
“What’s going on?”
Everyone’s eyes turned toward Greta, but Birgitta quickly recovered.
“It’s no problem, Greta, we’ve surprised a thief,” Birgitta called.
“Aunt,” whispered Karsten, and he could not suppress a smile.
Now he felt more secure. Above all when he saw the old woman coming down the stairs.
“A thief?”
“Now I’m leaving,” he said, turning around and grasping the handle to the door out to freedom.
At the same moment he got a powerful jolt in the back. He fell forward, opened the door, fumbled with his hands in the air and thudded down on the floor, just as the pain came. He twisted his body, saw Birgitta’s distorted face, perceived how the spear was raised and felt as it was again driven into his body.
I have to get away, he thought. he knew what an African spear could do, and summoning all his strength he stumbled into the corridor toward the cellar entrance.
In a fruitless attempt to protect himself he put up his hand. The spear came rushing again. Now it pierced his throat. His mouth was immediately filled with blood. He made an attempt to crawl further but collapsed. Then came the fourth thrust. The spear went in just below the right shoulder blade and punctured the lung.
Thirty-three
“What do we do with-”
Liisa was unsure how she should express herself. “The body,” “the corpse,” or simply “him”?
Birgitta had not said a word since Liisa managed to stop her violent attacks. She sat hunched over on a steamer trunk that had been plastered with stickers for various destinations.
Greta had tried to shake life into the gardener but in vain. The whole corridor to the cellar door was messy with blood.
We’ll put him in the trunk, thought Liisa, but realized that did not solve the problem. He would start stinking after only a day or two.
She had decided to get rid of the body. Nothing of what had happened could come out. The police could not be involved. The professor should not know a thing. Birgitta and Greta stared at her while she laid out the strategy.
“If this becomes known, then we can forget the Nobel Prize and everything else. Besides that, Birgitta will end up in jail. For a long time. Us too, because we were accomplices.”
She was not sure of that, an attorney could certainly argue that self-defense had been involved, but she poured it on to frighten Greta. Birgitta she could handle, but she did not know about Greta.
“But he broke in,” the old woman also objected.
“Yes, but he died of a number of deep wounds. That’s harder to explain. All in the back besides. It doesn’t look good for any of us.”
“But why? He’s a gardener.”
Liisa looked at Greta, whose eyes were still staring, scared out of her wits and not understanding.
“As if that sort can’t commit a crime? He took lots of money. You saw that yourself.”
Liisa pointed with the spear toward the entry where the dead man’s legs were visible. Birgitta mumbled something.
“We’ll bury him,” she said. “We have to bury him. He is a Christian person anyway.”
“We know nothing about that,” said Liisa. “But we have to get rid of him.”
Beneath her outward calm she was terrified. Not so much about how they would handle the situation, but more about the fury that had consumed Birgitta. The wildness of thrusting a spear into a person, again and again, frightened her terribly. She thought she knew Birgitta, they had lived together for several years, but it was clear to her that there was a side of her that had until now been concealed.
“We’ll bury him,” Birgitta repeated in a mechanical voice.
“Where?” said Liisa.
Greta stared at her. Liisa realized that she had to act quickly while the woman was still in shock. Soon Greta, or perhaps Birgitta, could break down.
“We’ll carry him out to my car,” said Liisa. “I can drive it onto the yard.”
No one reacted. It was not a good suggestion, she realized that at once. It was the middle of the night and the sound of a car engine starting might waken a neighbor. Bunde might look out. Besides, she was not sure whether the gate to the garage access could be opened. As far as she could recall it was locked with a chain and a sturdy padlock. The professor wanted it that way.
“The garden,” she threw out.
“It’s too hard to dig there,” Birgitta objected.
Liisa had a desire to run over and hug her. Birgitta’s voice still sounded ghost-like, but even so Liisa could perceive something of the usual tone of voice. She was on her way back.
“At Lundquist’s,” said Birgitta suddenly. “The ground is soft there.”
Liisa did not understand what she meant, but Birgitta continued as if it concerned something very everyday.
“He was digging for several days,” she said, getting up eagerly. “I saw him digging! There’s a spade in the shed by the old oil tank. We-”
“We can’t do it that way,” objected Greta. “We can’t just-”
Liisa looked around.
“Are there any old rugs down here?”
Birgitta pointed toward a corner of the cellar.
“There are some wrapped up over there,” she said. “In plastic.”
Liisa hurried over to the dark corner.
“Plastic is better,” she said, tearing at the bundle of rugs. “There’s less friction.”
She turned around and saw that at least Birgitta understood what she meant. Greta only looked confused. Liisa tore loose a large piece of plastic which she rolled up.
“Where’s Agnes?” Birgitta asked suddenly.
“I’m sure she’s asleep,” Greta answered. “I heard strange noises and… I didn’t want to wake her… she would never-”
“That’s good!” said Liisa. “We’ll let her sleep.”
“Mustn’t we call the police?”
“Greta! Wake up! Don’t you understand? They’ll put Birgitta in prison! Prison! Is that what you want?”
Liisa stared at the old woman, leaned over the dead man, and pulled out the bundles of bills that Karsten had taken. They were bloody. She threw them on the floor.
“Help me now,” she said, sticking her hands into Karsten’s armpits. “Take hold of the feet!”