‘It’s a pack of lies, all of it. I never lived in Tasiilaq, and as far as Ulrik is concerned, he’s not my son. I don’t know where you got that story from, but it’s all lies. I never fathered a son, and certainly not a crybaby like Ulrik. My guess is he’s the product of one of Lyberth’s countless drunken one-night stands. They’re like two peas in a pod, the pair of them.’
‘I never said anything about Ulrik being your son.’
Abelsen’s arms on the armrests relaxed for a moment, before tensing again when he clenched his fists. ‘Now free me,’ he commanded from deep down his throat.
‘So you can kill me, like you killed Lyberth?’
Abelsen threw his head forward and grabbed the strips with his teeth. He shook his head and bit into the plastic. Blood started trickling from his mouth, down his wrist and onto the wood.
‘Where are they?’ Matthew shouted, kicking the armchair.
Abelsen looked up for a moment. His eyes were crazed. His chin and his thin lips were smeared with the blood that flowed from his teeth and gums. ‘She’s dead,’ he sneered. ‘Dead, like you, you bastard.’ Then he resumed his attack on the plastic strip.
Somewhere above them they heard a thud.
Matthew kicked the armchair again. ‘We found Najak in the shipping container in Færingehavn, you know,’ he said, almost absent-mindedly, and then he looked back at Abelsen. ‘You’re finished, arsehole.’
‘How big an idiot are you? That shipping container is empty now.’
Matthew shook his head. ‘And I have the film reels. I told you that in my email, didn’t I? And I’m sure the police will find plenty of DNA evidence out there.’
A new and much clearer sound from above drew Matthew’s attention back towards the ceiling. ‘Is that Ulrik?’ he shouted. ‘Are you up there, Ulrik, you piece of shit?’
66
Matthew pulled the harpoon off the wall; as far as he remembered from the notebook, it had been displayed there as an ornament since before Jakob lived there. He weighed it in his hand, sizing up the thin wooden spear that ended in a heart-shaped arrowhead. Once, many years ago, the wood had been polished as smooth as glass. The arrowhead felt cool against his skin. Then he snatched the ulo from the bookcase and ran towards the stairs.
Abelsen sensed nothing. His teeth chewed away at the hard plastic, while he panted and growled furiously.
The stairs leading up to the first floor were covered by a grey floral carpet, which was so faded that the flowers looked like brown patches. The steps disappeared under his feet two at a time, and in a few seconds he had reached the top and pushed open the first door.
The room lay in twilight, and he couldn’t see very well, but he could hear that someone was in there. He took a firm hold of the harpoon and brandished it, ready to strike.
At the far end of the room was a solid wooden bed, and in the middle of a chaos of quilts and blankets Tupaarnaq lay on her back, her arms tied tightly to the bedposts. She was naked and tried to scream when she saw Matthew, but a piece of fabric had been stuffed into her mouth.
Ulrik was squatting on his haunches between her legs. His torso was lowered over her. He muttered incomprehensible words and saliva dripped from his chin. In his clenched right hand, which rested on the quilts on the mattress, he was clutching a knife, which flashed in the light from the passage. His trousers were pulled halfway down his thighs, and his dick stuck stiffly out into the air, right above the dark leaves between Tupaarnaq’s hips.
‘This slag needs to be punished,’ he hissed, turning slowly to look at Matthew.
His hair was plastered to his face, and he was sweating profusely. His eyes shone as if he were in the grip of a violent fever. ‘She killed my father… She killed all of them… Piss off, you Danish bastard.’
‘Get away from her,’ Matthew yelled. Everything inside him was shaking, and he raised the harpoon. ‘Get away from her, you psycho! You’re sick in the head!’
‘She needs to be fucked,’ Ulrik shouted back, his shoulders heaving and sinking rapidly.
Tupaarnaq spiralled her lower body violently and Ulrik was temporarily thrown off-balance.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing, you cunt?’ he screamed, turning back to her. He raised the knife and jammed it into the tattooed leaves on her left side.
She cried out behind the gag. Her body arched from the bed like a bow and twisted in agony from the blade, which was now buried deep under the roots of the plants. Her scream ebbed away, but rose again when Ulrik pulled out the knife and raised his arm to strike again.
Matthew roared at the top of his lungs.
The sound hung still in the air.
Ulrik’s upper body jerked. His arm with the knife flopped onto the bed. His other hand travelled across his skin, and his fingers felt the bloody harpoon tip sticking out of the right side of his chest. For a moment he gritted his teeth and pressed his eyes shut, then he got up from the bed. The harpoon’s wooden handle seesawed behind his back.
‘I’m going to kill you,’ he growled, and transferred the knife to his left hand.
Matthew could see Tupaarnaq turn and bend a leg, ready to kick. He clutched the ulo in his hand. The kick hit Ulrik’s lower back and sent him flying. He let out a roar and nearly keeled over, but stayed on his feet. He raised his knife and lunged at Matthew, who managed to avoid the stumbling man and at the same time swung the ulo with all his strength in front of Ulrik. The soft, diagonal arc of the blade was stopped halfway by Ulrik’s neck.
Ulrik fell to his knees, clutching his throat. The blood poured out between his fingers and his lips. Somewhere in his throat his breathing started to bubble. His gaze travelled in short leaps up to Matthew’s face. His eyes were crazed. The noises coming from his throat grew sharper. Then they turned into hoarse gurgling.
There were voices coming from downstairs. Abelsen howled like an animal.
Matthew pushed Ulrik over with his foot. He dropped the ulo and heard it clatter onto the floor. Ulrik’s arms and chest were covered in blood. His eyes were closed.
‘Are you badly hurt?’ Matthew whispered as he knelt down at the side of the bed to remove the gag from Tupaarnaq’s mouth.
‘Cut me free,’ she croaked. She was sweating.
He reached for the ulo and rose to cut the strips that were keeping her restrained.
She wrapped the leaves of her arms around herself so they merged with the dark foliage of her body. ‘Cover me up.’
Her voice was drowned out by the sound of boots stomping up the stairs. Matthew grabbed a blanket and put it around her shoulders.
The noise of the boots stopped and became movement in the air. ‘Hello?’ a voice called out from the stairs.
‘I’m not going back to prison,’ Tupaarnaq whispered, clutching Matthew’s jumper.
He looked at the blood on the bed, and then into her eyes. ‘Just hang in there.’
The heart-shaped freckle on her nose glowed, while her eyelids closed.
SKIN
67
Matthew raised his head when the door opened. He looked around in confusion, then sighed into the mattress, where the side of his face was still outlined in the sheet.
Ottesen closed the door softly behind him. ‘The doctors say she’s still unconscious. Were you asleep?’
‘No,’ Matthew said from the chair, then he shook his head and tilted his neck from side to side. ‘Yes, maybe I was.’ He looked up at Ottesen, who was wearing jeans and a black training top. ‘I don’t think she has woken up yet.’