Karin Fossum - He Who Fears The Wolf

"Nobody joins up with Errki."

Sejer gave him a long, hard look. "The psychiatric hospital? Have you talked to his doctor?"

"Only a nurse, who confirmed that he had escaped. I'll get hold of the doctor later."

"And this child who found Halldis, who saw Errki at the scene – is he trustworthy?"

"At best, once in a while. He lives at Guttebakken, the boys' home. But as far as this situation goes, I believe him. I have to admit that I had my doubts when he came to see me. He seemed a bit manic, in a way. But his story checked out. And as far as Errki is concerned, there's no doubt that the boy knows who he is."

"What was Errki doing at the bank so early in the morning? Cashing his social security cheque?"

"I have no idea. You can bet the robber asked him the same question, and he probably didn't get a sensible answer. I'd really like to know what those two are up to right now. It defies imagination," Gurvin said.

"If they're still together, that is. Maybe the robber let Johrma go out of sheer fright."

"It wouldn't surprise me."

"And Errki isn't going to show up to file a complaint if he's been let go. How on earth are we going to handle this?"

Sejer opened a folder on his desk and read aloud, "A brand-new white Renault Mégane was reported stolen from Frydenlund late last night. The robber had a similar car, so it might be the one. Maybe they've changed cars by now. Maybe he let Johrma go. Let's hope so."

Skarre and Gurvin said nothing. A robber could be many things, but he was rarely outright dangerous, although they had no way of being sure of it in this case.

"Would we even be able to question Johrma?"

Gurvin thought, and said, "I assume we could, with a doctor present. But we might not get answers to our questions. Or at least not answers that we could understand. And if he did commit the murder, it's not at all likely that he would be convicted."

"I suppose you're right." Sejer rubbed his eyes hard and then opened them again. "Was he committed?"

"Yes."

"That means he posed a threat?"

"I don't know all the details. It could be that he was mostly a danger to himself."

"Suicide attempts?"

"I don't know about that. You'll have to talk to his doctor. He's been at the hospital for several months, so they must know something about him by now. Although I doubt that anyone is capable of truly understanding him. He seems like a chronic case to me. He was different even as a child."

"Are his parents still alive?"

"His father and a sister. They live in the United States."

"Did he have his own place?"

"A council flat. We've been to check. I contacted one of the neighbours, who promised to call if he shows up there, but so far no word."

"Is he a Finn?"

"His father is. Errki was born and raised in Valtimo. They came to Norway when Errki was four."

"Ever been involved with drugs?"

"Not as far as I know."

"Physically strong?"

"Not at all. His strength lies elsewhere." Gurvin tapped his finger against his forehead.

Skarre stared at the screen. He tried to make out the eyes below the black hair, but couldn't.

"In a way I can better understand him, now that I look at the tape," he said. "He doesn't behave the way you'd expect someone to in that situation. He doesn't resist. Or even say a word. What do you think was going on in his mind?" Skarre looked over at Gurvin and pointed at the screen.

"He's listening to something."

"Inner voices?"

"It looks like it. I've often noticed the way he walks along, shaking his head, as if he were listening attentively to some sort of internal dialogue."

"Does he ever speak?"

"Once in a while. He has an oddly formal way of talking. Often you can't understand what he's saying. And that desperado with the mask probably hasn't understood much either, if they've even exchanged a single word."

"Is Errki well known in the area?"

"Very well known. He's always wandering along the roads. Once in a while he hitch-hikes, but not many people dare stop for him. He likes to take the bus or the train, going here and there. Prefers to be on the move. Sleeps wherever he feels like it – on a bench in the park, in the woods, at a bus stop."

"No friends at all?"

"He doesn't want any."

"Have you ever asked him?" Sejer said curtly.

"You don't ask Errki about anything. You keep your distance," Gurvin said.

Sejer sat lost in thought. The sun shimmered on his close-cropped grey hair. He reminded Gurvin of a Greek ascetic; the only thing missing was the laurel wreath around his head. The chief inspector thought for a long time, absentmindedly scratching one elbow.

"I thought there were only old people in the Beacon," he said at last.

"In the past," said Gurvin. "Now it's a psychiatric unit for young people, with 40 patients divided up into four sections, one of them restricted. Or locked, as we say. It's known as the Lock-up by those who live there. I've been there once with a boy from Guttebakken."

"I have to find out who Errki's doctor is and have a talk with him. Why is it so hard to say whether or not he's dangerous?"

"There are so many rumours." Gurvin looked at him. "He's the kind that gets blamed for everything. I for one don't know of a single situation he was mixed up in that could be called criminal, except for sneaking onto a train or shoplifting. But now I'm not so sure."

"What does he shoplift?"

"Chocolate."

"And he doesn't have any contact with his family?"

"Errki refuses to see them, and they can't help him anyway. The father has given up on his son. But you shouldn't blame him. Simply put, there is no hope for Errki."

"Maybe it's a good thing that his doctor can't hear you," said Sejer quietly.

"Perhaps. But he's been sick almost all his life, or at least ever since his mother died 16 years ago. That says a lot."

Sejer stood up and pushed his chair under the desk. "Let's have a cup of coffee. I want you to tell me everything you know."

Kannick was enthroned on his bed like a Buddha. It surprised his listeners, who were sitting in a semicircle on the floor, that he could sit cross-legged in spite of his bulk. At first nobody believed him. How could it be possible that Kannick had found a body up in the woods? And one that had been chopped up, at that. At least that's what he told them. Chopped up. It was especially difficult for the oldest boy, Karsten, who generally had a monopoly of the truth. His expression, when Margunn confirmed the story, was still fresh in Kannick's memory. It was one of his greatest victories. Now they all wanted to hear about it from Kannick's own mouth, every little detail. But they had been at Guttebakken long enough to know that nothing was free in the world, and the presents lay in front of Kannick on the bedspread. A Firkløver chocolate bar, a pink packet of Hubba Bubba bubble gum, a bag of crisps, and a box of Mocca beans. And still to come: ten cigarettes and a disposable lighter. Everyone was waiting, eyes shining, and it was clear to Kannick that they weren't going to be satisfied with a dry, factual account. They were out for blood, and nothing less would do. Besides, they knew Halldis. It wasn't just a matter of an obituary notice in the paper – this was a live human being. Or at least she used to be.

Kannick had been forbidden to say too much about the murder. Margunn didn't want to get the other boys excited. They were unruly enough as it was. The staff had meagre resources, and only just managed to keep control of the motley group.

Kannick squinted his blue eyes. He decided to start with Simon and finish with Karsten. Simon was only eight and reminded him of a melting chocolate mouse. Sweet and dark and soft.

"I went out with my bow and arrows," Kannick began, fixing his gaze on Simon's brown eyes. "Had just shot a fat crow with my second arrow. I have two arrow points that I ordered from Denmark hidden in a secret compartment of my suitcase. Don't tell anyone. It's illegal here in Norway," he added importantly.