Free The Drowned Boy by Karin Fossum

choose to have the baby? Sorry to be so intrusive, and I understand if you don’t want to answer. I’m just curious.”
    Elisabeth was silent. They could see that she really was pondering it. It was a difficult question.
    “Be honest,” Skarre interjected. “I mean, be as honest as you can. We’re not going to judge you, you can be sure of that.”
    “I hope I never have to make that choice,” she said in the end. “And I know it’s awful, but I think I would have an abortion. I mean, it’s a choice that affects the rest of your life.”
    Sejer and Skarre nodded.
    “What about Carmen and Nicolai. Did they know that Tommy had Down syndrome beforehand?”
    “No, I’m fairly sure they didn’t. If they did, they kept it secret, but we would have been able to tell. No one talked about it after he was born either; it was only after a while that it started to come out. But Pappa Zita was really upset about it. He was worried about Carmen, which is understandable. Because they only have her now. They lost her twin sister nineteen years ago, if you didn’t already know. And I’m sure all that’s coming up again now. Jesus, I can’t imagine all that tragedy.” She wrapped the chain and pendant around her fingers and looked very dejected.
    “Thank you, Elisabeth,” Sejer said. “And now we’d like you to make a burger for us as we haven’t eaten since breakfast. And we’d like you to do it with love, because then it always tastes better.”
    She laughed and pushed back the chair. Then she disappeared behind the counter again. Perhaps she was relieved that the conversation was over, but they both noticed a wrinkle on her forehead, as though she was worried about something she’d said. In case she had weakened someone’s case. If there was a case. While she made the food, Sejer went over to look at all the certificates hanging on the wall. The town’s best burger 2006, the town’s best burger 2007. And so on, in a long line. And then a brass plaque: OPEN 24 HOURS .
    “What would you have done?” Skarre asked him, while they waited for their burgers. “With a baby like that.”
    Sejer thought about it. The smell of burgers wafted into the room.
    “I would have had to listen to Elise and taken her feelings into consideration. No matter what we say about equality, it’s the mother who’s closest. But deep down, I think I would have hoped she’d have an abortion. Oh yes—now you’re going to give me a hard time, but to be fair it gives me a taste of my own medicine. And yes, I think choices like that are horrendous. And we have to make so many in life. By nature we tend to die before our children, and it must be so hard to know you’re going to die before a child that will always need help. What about you? Would you see it as God’s will and therefore feel obliged to keep a child with Down syndrome?”
    “Good question,” Skarre said. “You don’t make it any easier for me. And ultimately, I think I would also choose not to have the child. But not without an ocean of bad conscience.”

12
    FOURTEENTH OF AUGUST . Morning.
    The summer heat continued, but a powerful thunderstorm was brewing, and heavy black clouds loomed in the sky. Sejer liked a good storm, the intense drama of nature, and he was sick and tired of the heat that had dominated the summer. It was stifling and made him heavy-headed. He longed for something fresher, like lower temperatures and a cleansing downpour.
    The pathologist, Bardy Snorrason, had worked in the institute for more than thirty years. He spoke Norwegian with a wonderful accent and the rolling sharp consonants so characteristic of Icelanders. He was a handsome red-haired chap who commanded considerable authority and was very thorough. Sejer had often put his trust in his intricate and revealing finds in both major and less important cases. In short, Snorrason was the best and always to be found in his office. There he was, hunched over a pile of papers in deep