Karin Fossum - He Who Fears The Wolf

"But he wasn't always successful. Once he wanted to learn to fly, and jumped out of a third-floor window. It's a miracle he wasn't killed. But he landed on a bicycle rack, which left him with an ugly scar down his chest. It happened while they were living in New York."

"Were they taking LSD or anything like that?"

"I don't know. And his father didn't know either. He didn't pay much attention."

"Is he as physically repulsive as they say?"

"Repulsive?" She gave him a confused look. "He's certainly not repulsive. Maybe a little unkempt."

"Is he unhappy?"

As soon as he said it, the question sounded foolish it, but she didn't mock him.

"Of course. But he doesn't know it. He doesn't allow those kinds of feelings in."

"What kinds of feelings does he allow in?"

"Contempt. Forbearance. Arrogance."

"He doesn't sound as terrible as I thought."

She sighed heavily. "He's actually just a talented little boy who wants to do his best. He wants to do everything perfectly and he's so afraid of making a mistake that he has ended up quite unable to do anything at all. At school he did very poorly on verbal exercises; he would sit and mutter at the window so that no-one could hear what he was saying. Yet in writing he was at the top of his class." "And eventually you got him to talk?" "He talks now, if he feels like it. Sometimes he can be devastatingly articulate, even funny. He has a scathing sense of humour."

"Has he ever tried to take his own life?"

"I don't think so, apart from the flight out of the window in New York, which I haven't yet altogether understood."

"So you wouldn't consider him to be suicidal?"

"No. But in this profession nothing is certain."

"Would you understand it if he did do something like that?"

"I would. It's a human right to take one's own life."

"A human right? Is that how you think of it?"

She stared down at her hands. "I don't agree with therapists telling their patients that death is not a solution. It's a solution for the person concerned of course. To choose death is a logical consequence of the fact that we're able to make choices. And it's a solution that human beings have always been able to consider."

"But you do what you can to prevent it, don't you?"

"I tell them, 'It's your choice.' And I'm not always happy when I force them to accept a long life, or rob them of a psychosis which, in spite of everything, they regard as their only refuge."

I'm not going to be able to sleep tonight, he thought. Her face is going to hover in front of me in the dark and hold on to me. Her words are going to ring in my ears. He caught himself twisting his wedding ring on his finger. And then it occurred to him that if, against all odds, she might have been interested in him, she would have had to dismiss the idea at once. Maybe he ought to stop wearing the ring, but then he had decided long ago that he would always wear it, that it would go to his grave with him. Yet it did send out a signal that there was a woman in his life. Now she had noticed it too. The thought disturbed him.

"Errki likes to wander in the woods and along the country roads. But he usually doesn't go near people, does he?"

"No, he doesn't," she agreed.

"The fact that he did so this time, that he actually went all the way to town and even inside a bank – don't you think it might mean that something is bothering him? That he felt he needed help? Because something had happened?"

She looked undisguisedly worried. Another big wave surged inside him. When it retreated he looked inside his own heart, which had long been a deserted shore. For the first time in years there was a woman standing there.

"Did something happen?" Skarre was looking at him.

"What do you mean?"

"You were gone such a long time."

Sejer didn't answer. He was standing at the sink in his office with his back turned. Skarre grew wary. He knew that the chief inspector could sometimes be quite taciturn, and the rigid posture of his back signalled something was up.

"I discovered a lot of useful information," he said without turning. He filled the sink with cold water and splashed it on his flushed face. Only after he had dried his face and run his fingers over his close-cropped hair did he ask, "Have we got the photographs of the footprints from the crime scene?"

"No, but they're coming. According to the laboratory they're beautiful black-and-white pictures. The tracks are probably from trainers. They have that typical zigzagged pattern. The footprints are 39 centimetres long, which would be a size 43. That's all I know so far."

"Dr Struel finds it difficult to imagine that Errki would be capable of killing anyone. She says he bites if he's provoked."

"She? Bites?" Skarre gave him a long look. "The doctor is a woman? Did she tell you how she thought Errki would react in a hostage situation?"

"She thinks he would withdraw. Says he's very defensive. But we don't know much about this robber either, what kind of person he is."

"Maybe they're having a nice time together."

"It's happened before. But I've been thinking about something. What would happen if the robber found out that the hostage he took is wanted by the police in connection with a murder?"

"Maybe he'd be frightened and let him go."

"Maybe. And it's quite possible that he's listening to the radio."

"But the press doesn't know about the hostage being the same man who was seen at Halldis's farm."

"It's only a matter of time, isn't it?"

He stared at the door leading to the long corridors off which all the offices opened, one after the other. "This is a big place. It won't be an age before the news leaks out."

"And then things might get dangerous, right?"

Sejer looked at him. "What would you do? Try to use the part of your brain that thinks like a criminal."

"Oh, but it's such a tiny part!" Skarre protested. "Well, I'd want to let him go. Especially since he's mentally disturbed, and it's presumably not easy to deal with him. But if they've established some sort of rapport," he continued, "then it's possible that they're giving each other support. And why would one of them give the other up to the police? They're both on the wrong side of the law. On the other hand, if it comes to any kind of conflict -"

"One of them is crazy, and the other has a gun. We've got to find them," said Sejer, "before they kill each other. I suggest that we leak the information to the press."

"You think he'll let Errki go?"

"Maybe. And I want you to go up to Briggen's Grocery and talk to Halldis's grocer. He's the only one who saw her on a regular basis, once a week for years. They must have known each other well. You also need to find out who Kristoffer is – the person who sent her the letter. Have you had anything to eat?"

"Yes. What are you going to do?"

"I'm going out to Guttebakken to talk to the boy who found the body. And then I'll go over to the Municipal Hospital."

"Why?"

"To see if there are any reports on Errki's mother's death."

"But it was 16 years ago!"

"I'm sure I'll discover something. But before you leave, find a broom."

"Find a what?"

"A broom. In the caretaker's closet."

"Nobody uses brooms any more," Skarre said patiently. "They use mops."

"Then find a mop. Anything with a long handle."

Skarre left the room and came back with a mop. The handle was made of fibreglass, just like the shaft of Halldis's hoe.

Sejer took up a position. "I'm Halldis Horn," he said, "and you're the killer."

"No problem," said Skarre, standing in front of him.

"I'm standing on the steps, holding the hoe. Of course, I'm taller than she was, and the handle is longer. But I'd probably hold it like this, with my hands together at the middle of the handle."