Karin Fossum - He Who Fears The Wolf

Errki scrambled out. The robber went behind the car, opened the boot, and looked inside. For a terrifying moment Errki thought he was going to be locked up in the tiny boot, unable to move or see out. Instead, the robber rummaged around and pulled out some kind of plastic package. He opened it and took out a tarpaulin, glancing up at the green leaves. The tarpaulin was green. He looked at Errki.

"Put this over the car. You have to fasten it underneath with the hooks. The car will be camouflaged. The longer it takes for them to find it, the better."

The robber tossed the tarpaulin into his arms. Errki stood there holding the green material. It was made of nylon, thin and slippery and hard to handle. It slid out of his slack grip and fell to the ground.

"Pick it up. First you have to open it right out and then put it over the car."

Errki laid the green material out on the ground and began opening the flaps. There was a little strap with a metal hook in each corner. He lifted the tarpaulin at one end and tried to spread it over the bonnet of the car. It slid straight away to the ground. He had never held anything so distasteful in his hands as this slippery green fabric. It was disgusting.

"Damn it, man, you're incompetent!"

Errki tried again, feeling the barrel of the gun poking him in the side. Eventually he got it spread over the roof of the car, but just as he started to arrange the sides, it fell off again. The robber was sweating and grunting at his incredible clumsiness. He stuck the gun in the waistband of his shorts, yanked the tarpaulin out of Errki's hands, and had it over the car in a matter of seconds. Then he pulled out his gun again.

"We'd better get you back to the asylum fast. How do you manage even to get dressed on your own? Or do you just keep wearing the same clothes? That's what it looks like. Come on, we're going to take a little hike."

Finally, Errki was allowed to walk. Walking he could do for hours. He fell into a rhythm that calmed him as he swayed and rolled up the wooded slope. Behind him came the robber with the raised pistol and the bag over his shoulder. The bag with the money. The path grew narrower and the woods closed its canopy above them. Only a small amount of light penetrated the leaves. The robber relaxed. He felt safer far away from everyone. No-one could see them here. He should have thought of this a lot earlier. They wouldn't think to search the woods, just check the roads and cars.

And he had kept his promise. He had the money.

Errki strode along with the robber huffing and puffing behind him. It was hot, and the bag wasn't light. Inside he had a travel radio, a bottle of whisky he would drink to celebrate, a box of ammunition and the money.

"Slow down, nobody's on our trail."

But Errki kept going. He could hear the other man struggling to keep up with him. He was panting hard after only a few hundred metres. The path was steep, and the going was getting rougher.

"Hey, you. I'm in command here!"

Three drums performed a sharp roll. Errki heard Nestor cough up a clot of mucus, which was his way of commenting on the robber's statement. Errki kept going without slackening his pace. He had only one speed; he either walked fast or he lay down to rest. But he did slow down as the path continued climbing towards the mountain ridge. From the top they would be able to see the road and find out whether the police were still there. He tossed and flung his thin body from side to side. The other man moved with harsh jerks. He had more muscles than Errki, but not much stamina. But after an hour the robber slipped into a rhythm. His muscles had warmed up. And he had a bag full of money. He felt a surge of joy and decided to share it with the lunatic. He cleared his throat.

"What's your name?" he called.

The voice was almost friendly. The question left a dull slap, as if the drum skin had got loose. Errki didn't reply, just kept on walking. It was harmless enough, but you could never be sure. Nestor was squatting in the dim light, staring up at him. The fire in his eyes gleamed like a low blue flame.

"That much you could tell me!" the man insisted, adding an offended sniff. "If you don't answer me soon, I'm really going to think that you're a mute or something. Or maybe you're a foreigner? You look like a foreigner. A Tartar, for instance. Or a Gypsy. Or maybe they're the same thing. Answer me, damn it!"

Errki veered to the left because a huge aspen lay across the path in front of him. He got tangled up in the thickets and undergrowth and used his thin arms to push aside branches and foliage. The man behind him struggled even harder, with the bag in one hand and the gun in the other. They rejoined the path, and saw light up ahead.

"Since you're playing so hard to get, one of us is going to have to be a little more generous."

He heard the robber stop.

"My name is Morgan."

Errki listened. He said Morgan with sharp consonants, as if the name was something he had been wanting for a long time. But it wasn't his real name, that much was clear. Nestor snickered, a sound like someone solemnly pouring an expensive bottle of wine. You could say what you liked about Nestor, but he had style. Errki continued blithely on and heard the other man who wanted so badly to be called Morgan shouting after him.

"We're taking a break. What's the rush?"

Errki kept walking.

"You'd better stop now, or I'll goddamn shoot!"

Keep going. He won't shoot.

Errki turned around. Morgan looked at his face, which made him think of a dry piece of granite. He wasn't smiling, he wasn't shaking now, he had an utterly lifeless expression and he stared at him, unblinking. A great uneasiness spread through the robber. A mute and stone-like devil of a man, who walked like a machine. Who the hell was he?

"Stop over there by the hillock. We need to rest for a while."

Do as he says. Sickness, death and misery. Nestor whispered through thin lips. Errki obeyed. He headed for a grey mound, 20 or 30 metres away.

Morgan was exhausted. He didn't have the total control that he thought the gun would give him. He couldn't resist spitting out a spiteful remark.

"I'm sorry to tell you this, but I'll be damned if you don't walk just like an old lady!"

Errki stopped short. A thought rose up in his mind. Don't irritate the alligator until you've crossed the river.

Sejer stared at Gurvin, thunderstruck.

"Say that again?"

"You heard me right the first time."

"You're saying that the hostage is the same person as the escaped patient from the psychiatric hospital, the man who's wanted in connection with the murder of Halldis Horn?"

Gurvin threw out his hands. "I'm positive. That robber is in for an almighty surprise."

Sejer had to look out of the window to make sure the view was the same as it always was. What kind of situation did they have on their hands? He turned back to Gurvin.

"But is he dangerous?"

"We don't know."

"When did he escape?"

"The day before yesterday, sometime in the night. Out of a window."

Sejer started up the video again, stopping the tape when he had the hostage in focus.

"I thought it was a girl," he muttered.

"I know," Gurvin said. "It's something about the way he holds his head and the way he walks. And his long hair."

"Has he been sick for some time?"

"For as long as I can remember."

"Schizophrenia?"

"I believe so."

Sejer got up and took a few steps, digesting the information. "Well then, the robber really is in for a surprise. So now we've got two wanted men, one of them seriously disturbed and perhaps a murderer, the other a bank robber with a loaded weapon. Quite a pair! Maybe they'll join forces."