Karin Fossum - He Who Fears The Wolf

Skarre read through the report again. "Someone by the name of Errki Johrma was supposedly seen near her farm. Tell me about him. Is the boy who saw him a reliable witness?"

"Well, that's debatable." The officer smiled at the memory of Kannick. "But if he's telling the truth, it creates a staggering possibility. Errki had been committed to the psychiatric ward, you see, but he has escaped. He grew up here. So it's not unlikely that he would come back to the area and roam around in the woods."

"But was he capable of killing someone?"

"He's not all there."

"Tell me more. What's he like?"

"A young man, about your age. Born in Valtimo, Finland. Grew up with his parents and a younger sister. Has always been different. I don't know what kind of diagnosis he's been given, but at any rate he's away with the fairies. Has been for years."

"But is he dangerous?"

"We don't know. There are lots of stories about him, but I doubt they're all true. He's become almost a mythic figure, someone parents mention to scare the children into coming home in the evening. I do it myself."

"But he was committed. Does that mean he's regarded as dangerous?"

"I would reckon that the greatest danger he poses is to himself. It's just that whenever anything bad happens around here, Errki gets the blame. It's always been that way, ever since he was a boy. If it's not directly his fault, then he seems to invite the blame. Who knows what he hopes to achieve by that. And he talks to himself."

"He's psychotic?"

"I'm sure he is. It's typical that Errki would show up in the vicinity of Halldis's farm on the day she's murdered. Similar things have happened before, but he's never been connected to a crime. He floats around like a bad omen. Like the black bird in fairy tales, foretelling death. Forgive me for not sounding more objective." Gurvin sighed. "I'm just trying to describe him as people around here think of him."

"How long has he been ill?" Skarre tapped the ash from his cigarette into the officer's coffee saucer.

"I don't know exactly, but it feels like for ever. He's always been different. Peculiar and afraid of people. Never had any friends. I don't think he wanted any. His mother died when he was eight, and that's when it probably all started. After her death Errki's father took him and his sister to the States, and they lived in New York for seven years. There are rumours that Errki became an apprentice over there, to a conjurer."

"A conjurer?" Skarre smiled. "You mean a magician?"

"I'm not sure. More like some kind of sorcerer. And when they came back to Norway the rumours began to fly that Errki could make things happen. You know, by using his willpower."

"Good God," said Skarre, shaking his head.

"Go ahead and laugh, but I know people who are much more level-headed than you or I who can tell you some strange things about Errki Johrma. For instance, Thorvald Horn told me once that his dog laid back his ears and growled when Errki came by, long before he made an appearance, as if the dog could smell him from far off. Errki generally doesn't smell very good; he's always so messy. But there are also stories about horses running away when he came walking down the road. Clocks stop ticking. Light bulbs go out. Doors slam. He's like a sudden gust of wind that makes the leaves on the ground swirl up. And he's got that look in his eyes. Sorry," Gurvin said abruptly. "I'm not saying very nice things about him, but it's hard to find anything positive to say. He's dirty and disgusting and unattractive in every respect."

"That doesn't make him a murderer, even if he's a clever illusionist or suffers from some illness," Skarre said. "We'll have to contact the hospital and talk to his doctor. I'm sure he can tell us a great deal. We're going to have to find Errki so we can see what he was doing up there. Did we get any good prints from the hoe?"

"Only two faint prints, in addition to Halldis's own. Which is strange. The hoe had a fibreglass handle, and her prints were very clear. He couldn't have wiped off the hoe without erasing her prints as well. We found lots of prints inside the house, several footprints in the blood on the front steps, and several in the hall and the kitchen. Might have been running shoes. The pattern on the sole is quite clear, and that ought to tell us what we need. The forensic technicians will make drawings of them. The murder took place in the hall. Halldis stood with her back to the front steps, and he came towards her from inside the house. Maybe she was the one originally holding the hoe, and he had to yank it out of her hands. He should have left behind some decent fingerprints. I don't really see why he had to kill her. If he had found her money, he could have just taken it and run away. She would never have caught up with him. I know Halldis, though. She was stubborn. I bet she stood in the doorway and refused to move. I can just picture it," he said softly. "A furious Halldis, full of righteous indignation."

"The fact that he killed her could mean that he was someone she knew, someone she could have identified to the police."

"Yes," Gurvin said thoughtfully. "And she definitely knew Errki. He had just escaped from the hospital, so he presumably didn't have any money."

Skarre nodded.

"But he wouldn't have found much there," the officer continued. "I doubt she kept large sums in the house. She lived alone, after all."

"Yes, but in an isolated spot. Being robbed couldn't have been much of a worry for her. Has she ever been robbed before?"

"No. And besides, she was tough. It wouldn't surprise me if she went after him with the hoe."

"In that case he might have suffered an injury."

"You've seen the photos of the body?"

"Yes, I've had a look at them."

"Not very pretty, is it?"

Skarre felt weak for a moment at the memory of what had been presented to him early that morning. "Where does Errki Johrma's father live?"

"He went back to the States."

"What about his sister?"

"She did too."

"Do they have any contact with him?"

"No. Not because they don't want to, but Errki refuses to see them."

"Do you know why?"

"He feels he's above them."

"Is that right?"

"He feels he's above everyone. He lives in his own world, and he has his own laws. In his universe he's the ruler. It's not easy to explain. You have to meet him to understand."

"But surely he must feel some despair, if he's so ill?"

"Despair?" Gurvin uttered the word as though the thought had never occurred to him. "If he does, he hides it well."

Skarre nodded towards the road. "We've put out an APB on him. Do you want to go up there with me? I'd like to have a look at the house."

Gurvin took his jacket from the back of his chair.

"Let's take the Subaru," he said in a low voice. "The road up to Halldis's place is as steep as hell."

The woods surrounding the farm appeared denser than usual, as if the trees had drawn together out of respect for the woman, now gone, who had taken such good care of everything. And even though she had never allowed anything to clutter her garden, not tools or a wheelbarrow or clothes forgotten on the bench against the sunny wall, the place seemed already abandoned. It no longer breathed. The flowers under the kitchen window were already drooping; in less than one day their lives had become threatened by the blazing sun. The front steps had been rinsed, but a dark patch remained.

Skarre turned to look at the woods. "What was the boy doing up here?"

"Shooting crows with a bow and arrow."

"Does he have permission to do that?"

"Of course not. He does what he likes. He lives at Guttebakken."

This last comment was intended to explain everything, and Skarre understood.