Karin Fossum - He Who Fears The Wolf

"Errki may be more frightened than your children are," said Skarre.

Gurvin pursed his lips and accelerated. "You're not from around here. You don't know him."

"No," Skarre said ruefully. "But I have to admit that you've aroused my curiosity."

"It's a fine thing that you're blessed with an unwavering faith in human beings," Gurvin said. "But don't forget that Halldis is dead. Somebody killed her. Somebody came here and lifted that hoe and hurled it right at her eye. Whether it was Errki or someone else, it makes me shudder to think that the murderer has the right to be defended for an act that can't be justified in any way."

"The act can't be defended. Just the person who committed it," Skarre corrected him. "And we don't know why she died. Can I smoke in your car?"

Gurvin nodded and fumbled for his own cigarettes. "What's your boss like? Tell me about him."

Skarre smiled. This was a common reaction when someone came across Konrad Sejer.

"Stern and grey. Slightly authoritarian. Reserved. Smart. Sharp as a scythe. Thorough, patient, dependable and persistent. With a soft spot for little children and old ladies."

"Not anyone in between?"

"He's a widower." Skarre gazed out the window. "He has forgotten that the only promise he made was to remain true to her until death separated them. He thinks that means his own death."

Sejer stared intently at the grey screen.

The bank interior. The teller windows. The windows facing the square, with light slanting in, making the picture blurry. He had the whole thing, from beginning to end, but it wasn't a clear tape. It was hard to identify any of them.

The car was long gone. They had blocked off all the escape routes, but the small white car hadn't been found. Maybe it had long ago been abandoned, maybe the robber had driven across one of the bridges and continued along the south bank, hiding in the centre of town. Sejer suspected that the hostage had been let go, but he had no way to be certain. He leaned back in his chair and stretched out his long legs. He had loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves. His shirt was wrinkled. The teller and bank manager and a number of witnesses had been interviewed, one after the other. He had made his own notes of what he had seen, had turned his memory inside out to try to remember all the details he could. The police artist had listened and nodded and produced an excellent sketch. And he himself had acknowledged the likeness, at least initially, although afterwards he began having doubts. Now he straightened up in his chair as someone knocked on the door. Skarre came in with Gurvin.

The community officer stared at Sejer with interest. "I hear you have a hostage situation."

He fumbled a little with his sunglasses and sat down. The roles were reversed now. He was here with the big boys who had every conceivable type of equipment available to them.

"I'm sitting here staring at this wretched video," Sejer said gloomily. "The quality is so poor."

"Can we see it?" Skarre asked eagerly.

"Of course. Put your glasses on, if you need them."

He started up the tape again, waiting for their surprise. There were the teller windows. The young girl appeared first from the entrance leading to the square. She looked around a bit uncertainly and went over to the brochure rack. No more than 15 seconds later the bank robber came in. He stopped short at the sight of the customer who had arrived before him. Hurriedly he reached for a form and began filling it out. Then the door opened for a third time, and that's when the exclamation came.

"What on earth!" Skarre cried. "Isn't that you, Konrad?"

He gave his boss a bewildered look. Sejer had decided to take the whole thing in his stride. He started laughing. Gurvin stared at the two of them astonished.

"Damn right it's me. I was walking down the street on my way to work and out of the blue I had the feeling that a person I passed looked like a bank robber. So I turned around to see where he was going, saw him go into the bank, and decided to follow."

"And? What happened?"

"As you can see on the video, I peeked inside, noticed the young girl, saw that everything was nice and calm. And I left." He looked at them both, and gave an eloquent shrug. "I just left."

Skarre started laughing. Gurvin felt an immense regret that he himself had no colleagues.

"As soon as I was out of the bank, the robber struck. Take a look now."

There he was, striding across the bank, there he took his hostage. A moment later the shot was fired. Gurvin gasped, blinked several times and stared in disbelief.

"We have to find that girl," Sejer said. "If we don't get her out of this situation in one piece, we run the risk that hostage-taking will become fashionable, which is just about the worst thing that could happen. And because of this awful video, it's more or less impossible to identify her, even if someone reports her missing today. And yet…" He rewound the tape and played it over again. "There's something that doesn't seem right."

"What's that?" Skarre said.

"Something about the way she reacts. Or rather, her lack of reaction. She doesn't scream or wave her arms around. It almost looks as if she's in a trance. Or, to put it another way, as if she's not surprised. As if the attack is something she was expecting. Maybe it was a set-up."

Skarre looked at him in surprise.

"Let's say it was all pre-arranged, that they were in it together. That she was his girlfriend."

"I don't think she's his girlfriend," Gurvin broke in. His eyes were fixed rigidly on the flickering screen. "That hostage is a man. And his name is Errki Johrma."

Suddenly he realised what had happened. It rose up through his consciousness like a great shock. He had taken a madman hostage!

He drove as fast as he dared go without attracting attention, keeping a watchful eye on the traffic in his rear-view mirror. His pulse was still fast, his body taut and tense, and he was hyperventilating. It made him dizzy. He scowled at the man sitting next to him.

"I'm asking you again: what were you doing in the bank so early in the morning?"

Errki heard the snare drums. They were playing a drum roll that was a long way off tempo. He didn't answer, just opened and closed his fists and stared down at the floor of the car as if he were looking for something. The words were drowned out by the drums. Don't move, don't say anything. He rocked back and forth in his seat and closed his eyes.

"I said, what the hell were you doing in the bank so early in the morning!"

This time Errki heard the angry voice. The man was scared. He stored this away in his mind and began silently to shape an answer. Nestor listened to his thoughts; he had to approve of the words before they were released. That's why it took time. Nestor was meticulous. Nestor was -

"Are you deaf, man?"

Am I deaf? thought Errki. That was a new question that required a new answer. He shoved the first one aside and started working on the second. Nestor was still listening. The Coat was silent. No, he thought. I can hear perfectly. I can hear his pulse pounding in his veins because his blood pressure is too high, and he's expending a huge amount of energy on something as simple as trying to communicate. But does he really want an answer that hasn't been properly thought through? Isn't it a mark of respect to take your time finding an answer? On the other hand – does he deserve respect? Of any kind?

Demanding money from a young teller was no great feat, at least not in Errki's opinion. And besides, he had a gun. But the man was plainly excited by his exploits. It was making his cheeks bulge even to bursting point. Now he needed to let off steam.

"Is it possible to get some kind of answer around here?"