Karin Fossum - He Who Fears The Wolf

Morgan took a drag on his cigarette and sighed impatiently.

Small ears with full lobes. Short, sausage-like fingers, plump thighs and calves. Puffy-looking. Attire: idiotic. Intelligence: average, but in the lower percentile.

It was quiet all about. Even the birds were still. Only Errki could hear the sniggering laughter down in the cellar. Morgan stood up and retrieved the pistol.

"OK, go ahead and be as secretive as you like. Get up. We're on our way!"

He had a sickening feeling that he was being ridiculed without knowing why.

"It's only a picture," Errki said.

"Shut up, I said!"

"The kind that nobody bothers to turn over and read what it says on the back."

"Get moving!"

"Have you thought about that?" Errki said. "No-one knows who you are. Isn't that shitty, Morgan?"

Morgan looked at him in surprise. Errki got to his feet with deliberate slowness, took a big step to avoid treading in the slippery blood, and started walking back downhill, towards the viewpoint where they had left the car. From there he would just be able to see the sea, cold and blue. And the road with all the traffic.

"No, damn it! We're going to keep heading uphill! Are you a complete idiot?"

"What will you do if I go where I want to go instead?" Errki said in a low voice.

"Put a damned bullet right between your eyes and find a hole to dump you in. Now, move it!"

Errki started walking. Faster than ever. He was rested now, and he always felt better when he was on the move.

"OK, that's fast enough. If you really do know the area, then find us an abandoned cabin or something like that so we can have a roof over our heads."

An old cabin. There were plenty of them, though most were on the other side of the ridge, a couple of kilometres away. It was rough going the whole way, and the heat was fierce. Errki was thirsty. He didn't say so, but he guessed that Morgan was too. He heard the panting behind him, and a little while later the man's voice, calmer now.

"If you see a stream or anything, just say so. I've got a hell of a thirst."

Errki kept going. His long black hair swung from side to side, and his jacket and baggy trousers did too. Morgan stared at him in bewilderment. This guy was altogether different from everyone else. How can I get rid of him? he wondered. Why am I dragging along this black-haired loser? I could have left him in the car. Was it out of fear that he would give the police a description? Or was it something else? He might not even talk if he did fall into the hands of the police. He looked at his watch. In half an hour it would be time for the radio news. He would stop to hear what they had discovered so far. He moved along as fast as he could while thirst ravaged his mouth and throat. He had sense enough not to drink his whisky yet. Crazy people could be dangerous. This man wasn't in particularly good physical condition, but insanity and a lack of inhibitions might give him tremendous strength. Maybe it would be safer to keep his distance and not provoke him too much. They weren't enemies, after all. He had taken Errki with him on sheer impulse. Rushing out of the bank with him was like holding a thick shield in front of him. Relax, he told himself. He just has a rather bizarre way of talking. Remember the year you worked in the asylum, how scared they all were?

Errki stopped and started patting his jacket pockets, first one and then the other. He stuck his hand in his trouser pockets, turned around and stared down at the grass.

"What's wrong?" Morgan looked at him. "Did you lose something? Besides your mind, I mean?"

Errki patted all of his pockets again, one after the other.

"You can bum a cigarette from me if that's what you're looking for."

"The bottle," Errki mumbled, looking around.

"What bottle?"

"The pills."

"You take pills? Where did you lose them?"

Errki didn't reply. In his mind he raced back down through the woods, while he rocked his head back and forth several times.

"Do you take those anti-psychotic drugs? Well, OK, you've lost them. Now you'll have to make do without. You're not going to go berserk because of this, are you?"

Berserk. Nestor was making that humming sound again, like electricity passing through a cable. He doesn't understand the meaning of the word. Errki started walking.

"Chemicals like that are nothing but shit anyway," Morgan muttered as he pondered the problem and what the consequences might be. "They just keep you down. I'll give you a shot of whisky instead," he decided.

Errki stopped again. Fixed his eyes on Morgan.

"My name is Errki."

"Errki?"

"I'm just here on a visit. If you can't chop off the hand, then you'd better kiss it."

He started walking. Morgan was still standing in the heather, staring after him. It occurred to him that he, who was supposed to be the guard, was trotting after his prisoner like a dog. Errki was strong, and much faster and lighter on his feet than he was. The roles were reversed. Here he was trailing behind like an old woman. Nobody knew where they were, nobody was going to come to his rescue if anything happened. He clutched the gun tighter. A shot in the thigh would be sufficient. As soon as it was dark, he would continue on alone. Maybe he would tie Errki up to give himself a head start. The guy was repulsive, and yet there was something about him that was also fascinating. His eyes. His peculiar remarks. The air of sobriety that surrounded him, as if he came from another world. Maybe Errki was brilliant, even a genius. He had heard once that it was the people with the sharpest minds who went right off the deep end.

Morgan woke up to the fact that the distance between them had grown considerably. He raced to catch up, feeling uneasy. Where exactly were they going? How was this going to end?

"We've got to stop now. It's news time!"

His voice was louder than necessary, as if he were emphasising his own position, as if he had begun to have his doubts about it, and that scared him. Errki kept going. Rolling and striding along, completely ignoring him.

"Hey! Errki!"

The drum slammed and rattled several times. Errki stopped and turned around. The man behind him was shaking with anger. There's nothing as pathetic as a man who has lost his grip, he thought.

"You don't have to act up every damned time I give you an order. I'm the one in charge here."

Wrong. He's the one with the gun. Errki pressed his lips together.

"Sit down. It's time for the news. I want to hear how much they know."

They were almost at the top of a wide ridge. Beyond it was another ridge that was a muted green and infinitely far away in the haze. Morgan fumbled around in the bag for the radio, and spent a moment fiddling with the antenna. Errki lay down on his back in the heather and closed his eyes.

"You look like a ghost lying there."

Morgan tried to pull himself together. He studied Errki with genuine astonishment. "How do you manage to stay so pale when the sun is this bright?" He chuckled. "I guess you live in a different world, and it's damned dark in there, isn't it?"

He found a local station, and drummed his fingers impatiently while the last strains of a military band died out.

"And now for the news." A piece of paper rustled. "A man in his early twenties made off with almost a hundred thousand kroner after he robbed the Fokus Bank this morning. The robbery took place soon after the bank opened, and the robber took a customer hostage as he left the scene. A shot was fired, but no-one was hurt. So far there is no trace of the robber or the hostage, although the police have a good description of the offender."

Morgan frowned. "A good description?"

"They left the city in a small white car, but police roadblocks have failed to apprehend them."