Karin Fossum - He Who Fears The Wolf

"Who?" Simon whimpered.

"Somebody chosen at random. He doesn't need to hate the person in order to kill them."

"But then why does he kill?"

"He has to. It's an inner urge."

Simon wanted to ask about this "inner urge", but lost his courage. Kannick picked up the box of Mocca beans and opened the lid, plucked out the little piece of cardboard on top, and then generously passed the box around. His new status overwhelmed him. No-one had ever sat still this long listening to him before. Everyone took a handful, and for a short time no-one spoke as they all munched on the beans.

Karsten was furious. He couldn't get over the fact that he wasn't the one who had found the body. That it had to be this idiot Kannick, that he had actually seen a dead person although he was two years younger and fat. Not one of the others had seen a corpse.

"Were her eyes open?" he asked.

Kannick chewed as he paused to think. "Wide open. Or at least the one that was still there."

Philip broke in. "I once heard about a girl who had a doll that came alive at night. Its fingernails started to grow. In the morning, when the girl woke up, she was blind. The doll had scratched out her eyes."

"We're not talking about a video!" Kannick shouted. "This is all real. The trouble with you is that you can't tell the difference between fantasy and reality. That's why you're here, but I'm sure you know that already." He closed his eyes to remember better. "Her eye had a terrified look, as if she'd seen the Devil himself."

"That's not so very far from the truth," Karsten said. "I wonder if he said anything to her before he did it. Or whether he just stormed towards her and cracked her in the head. Was she lying on the front doorstep?"

"Yes."

"With her head out on the steps or in the doorway?"

"Out on the steps."

"That means he must have been inside the house," said Karsten. "Looking for some chocolate, I should think."

"If he asked her for some, she would have given it to him."

"Errki doesn't ask for anything, he just takes it. Everybody knows that."

Suddenly they all gave a start. The door opened, and there stood Margunn.

"Don't you look snug!"

She stared at the little group of boys sitting in watchful silence, chewing on the chocolate. No-one was going to tell her that they didn't know how to create a cosy atmosphere, even in this soulless place. She knew what they were up to, but she was still proud of them.

"Who's telling stories?" she asked innocently.

The boys stared at the floor. Even Karsten fluttered his eyelashes.

"I'm going to treat all of you to a Coke," she said, and left.

Kannick was thinking about that "inner urge" as his blood sugar slowly rose to an acceptable level and he felt the warm drowsiness come over him that only sweets could produce. He felt comfortably tired and just a little lethargic, as if he was intoxicated. In the intoxication he found peace. He didn't know from what, but he could never get enough of it.

"What's the betting we get a Diet Coke," he sighed as he tore open the Hubba Bubba packet. There was exactly enough gum for each of them. His generosity knew no bounds. The murder of Halldis had brought them together as never before. Usually they were a divisive group, everybody fighting one another, each boy struggling for his own pathetic position in this tiny society of outsiders. They had given up their dreams of the future, except for Simon, who was said to have a rich uncle who had hinted that Simon could come to live at his farm where he had 30 racehorses. But first he had to serve a four-month sentence for accounting irregularities, and he couldn't come and get the boy as long as he stood in the atonement line, as he put it. But soon they would make a new start together.

Margunn reappeared carrying, as predicted, some sugar-free Cokes and a tray of glasses.

"Don't spill it on the floor, boys."

She gave Kannick a warning glance. Margunn wasn't one to scold. They were her boys, and she was fond of them. Any attempt to reprimand fell flat, like a deflated balloon, and they all loved her because she was the only person in their lives who cared about them. There were others on the staff, such as Thorleif, Inga and Richard. And they were all right and did their jobs, but they were young and wanted to move on to something better. For them the boys were just a stretch of rugged terrain they had to traverse as fast as possible. Margunn, on the other hand, was old. She was almost 60 and had no ambition to move on. She had ended up here, in this ugly building covered with sheets of grey asbestos, with the smell of something green and close in all the rooms. And she liked it, the way people like the mouldy places in the back of the cellar because they never give up hope that one day they'll find something of value hidden among the junk. It was easy for the boys to sense that. Only Simon didn't draw his own conclusions. He asked the others and accepted the answers they gave him.

Karsten poured the Coke and sent the glasses around. Everyone's jaws were working at the gum. Kannick frowned down at the bedspread as he considered whether to share more of his loot or save the rest for bad days to come. This was a golden moment, and it might be a long time until the next one.

"Where is Halldis now?" Pålte asked after Margunn had left. His real name was Pål Theodor, and he was there by mistake, but no-one had realised it yet. Somewhere in his future adult life a formidable compensation payment of several million kroner for wrongful incarceration was waiting. That was what kept him going.

"In the corpse cellar," Kannick said, taking a gulp of his Coke. "In a freezer."

"Refrigerator," Karsten corrected him. "There will have to be an autopsy, of course, and if she's frozen, they won't be able to cut her open."

"Cut?" Simon's eyes grew dark with fear.

Karsten put his arm around the boy's shoulders. "When somebody dies, they're cut open. To find the cause of death."

"The cause of death was a hoe in her head," Philip remarked, with a belch.

"They have to find out precisely what it struck. They can't just guess."

"It hit her right in the eye."

"Yes, but they have to write up a death certificate. No-one can be buried without a death certificate. I wonder why he used a hoe?" Karsten said. "He could have killed her perfectly well with his bare hands."

"I guess he didn't feel like it at the time," Kannick replied, pursing his lips. Then he blew a big bubble that hid half his face before it finally popped and covered his nose and mouth. He scraped the gum together with his dirty fingers and put it back in his mouth.

"But the police are looking for him now, aren't they?" Simon was pulling on his earlobe, as if to calm himself down.

"Of course they are. They're on a manhunt with their guns loaded, I would imagine. And with bulletproof vests. I'm sure they'll get him."

Karsten tossed his head in annoyance. "The stupid thing is that they have to take him alive and unharmed."

He looked at them. This was something he knew all about. "It's better in the US. The police just shoot them dead, and show a lot more consideration for the community. I'm all for the death penalty!" he proclaimed.

And with this last comment, the meeting was over.

The man who called himself Morgan was sitting on a little grassy mound. His gun lay at his side in the grass. Errki kept stealing glances at his Bermuda shorts covered with palm trees and fruit.

Morgan was trying to assess the situation. Things could be worse. He was out of the bank, out of the city, out of the car. And he had the money, just as he had promised. The car was hidden, and if this path wasn't used much, it could be days before it was discovered. They wouldn't find his fingerprints in the car, because he had never taken off his gloves. He wondered whether they had identified his hostage. Maybe the quality of the video surveillance in the bank would turn out to be poor.