Karin Fossum - He Who Fears The Wolf

"Once, with Odd." She nodded her head vigorously, but not a curl moved. "One Saturday afternoon when my car had broken down. He offered to drive me home if I didn't mind taking a detour up to Halldis's place. She was out of coffee. It was a long time ago."

She had taken off her glasses and put them in her lap.

"Do you know anyone else who has been up there?"

She thought for a moment. "We had a man working here for a short time. They called from CPC and asked whether we had anything for him."

"CPC?" he said in surprise.

"Criminal Parole Care," she said. "They contacted Oddemann to find out whether he could work here, on a trial basis. It's actually a programme for former inmates, and -"

"I know," Skarre interrupted her. "Tommy Rein?"

"Yes, that's his name."

"Did he ever go to her farm?"

"Once or twice. He took off after a while, said it was too boring here. Not even a lousy pub. I don't know where he is now, and I haven't seen him since."

"Did you like him?"

She thought back, trying to remember his face, but she remembered only the blue-black tattoos on his arms. And the disturbance she felt whenever he was around, even though he never even glanced at her, at least not the sort of glance that she so seldom received. She was actually a little offended by this, now she thought about it. Not even an ordinary criminal would look twice at Johnna.

"Like him? Not in the least," she said spitefully.

"Briggen didn't mention that he was on parole," Skarre said carefully. At the same time he gave her a confidential look that she couldn't resist.

"Of course not. He's Oddemann's nephew, and I'm sure he's ashamed of the family connection. Tommy is the son of his sister."

"Is that so!"

He didn't make a note, not wanting her to feel that she was telling tales.

"Do you know what he was in prison for?"

"Simple theft."

"Is Briggen married?"

"He's a widower."

"I see."

"He's been alone for eleven years."

"Is that right? Eleven years," he said patiently.

"She took her own life," the girl whispered, using the same tone of voice people adopt when talking about adultery.

Now Skarre gave a knowing nod. That kind of thing explains just about everything, about people and life, and why things are the way they are, he thought. He gave her a look that said he appreciated the information.

"How long have you worked here?" he asked amiably.

"Eight years. Since before Halldis's husband died."

She was making an effort to give clear answers and not add unnecessary details, because he was surely a busy man who couldn't tolerate witnesses droning on and on. But as long as she kept talking, he had to stand where he was, and there wasn't a customer in sight.

"Do you know Errki Johrma?"

"I don't know him exactly. But I know who he is."

"Are you afraid of him?"

"Not really. If I met him alone on a dark road, I would definitely be scared, but I'd be scared of anyone."

Except for you, she thought. You look like an angel.

"So, how is the shop doing?" Skarre asked. "Thirteen kroner 75 øre for a loaf of bread? That's a bit steep, isn't it?" He nodded towards the sign next to the bread shelf.

She sighed, resigned. "I'm afraid he's pricing himself right out of the market. There aren't a lot of people around here. We don't make much money, and now they're building a new shopping centre half an hour away. That'll be the end of all the rest of us."

She looked worried.

"A shopping centre?" He smiled encouragement. "But I'm sure you'll find opportunities there if Briggen has to close."

The idea rushed through her mind, because that was precisely what she had dreamed of, though she never dared tell anyone.

"Let me ask you," he said in a low voice, leaning closer, "just to double check. Was Briggen here in the shop all day yesterday?"

"Not yesterday. I was here alone. He went to the Grocers Institute to take a course."

"And you can run the shop by yourself when the boss is away?"

"I have to."

He straightened up. "If you hear or see anything, or happen to remember something you think might be important, give us a call. For example, if Errki shows up again to swipe some chocolate."

He winked and pulled out a card from his pocket. She accepted it with trembling fingers. It would never happen. There would never be any reason in the world for her to contact this man.

And then he left, and it was over. She put her glasses back on and no longer felt like looking at her reflection in the perspex. Briggen called her, wanting help with the fish. He gave her a suspicious look.

Morgan stared with longing out of the broken window. Below lay the water, glistening and fresh. His body felt heavy from the heat and fatigue, and he had a fierce desire to cool off.

"An ice-cold dip," he muttered. "That would be something, wouldn't it, Errki?"

Errki didn't reply. The thought made him shiver. The whisky had dulled his senses, and he was half-asleep. Besides, he never swam; he had never even had a bath. His body acted strangely in water, and he didn't like it.

"I'm going to take a dip, and you're coming with me," Morgan said cheerfully.

He looked at Errki with a determined expression. It was disturbing, and Errki could feel himself growing tense. He didn't want to think about it. Anything could happen down there in the black water.

"You can go in," he said in a low voice. "I'll hold the gun for you."

"Don't be so funny. We're both going in, and you first."

"I never go swimming."

"You'll go in the water if I say so."

"You don't understand! I never go swimming!" Errki was forced to do something he hated. He had to raise his voice.

"But God help me, you need it! Come on, I'm not joking."

Errki still didn't move. Nothing in the world would make him go into the water. Not even a gun. He would rather die. He was still not ready, and he would like to leave this earth with a certain grace. But if he couldn't, then he couldn't.

"OK, let's get moving!"

Morgan had made up his mind. He was using almost his whole body to speak. He went over to the sofa, grabbed Errki's T-shirt, and yanked him up. Errki had to struggle to keep his balance.

"A quick dip and then back out again. It will only take us a couple of minutes. Clear our heads. Except for yours, of course."

He jabbed at Errki with the gun, herding him outside to the yard.

"Head down to the left and we'll come out near that little island over there."

Errki looked down at the bare rock and shuddered. He was never, ever going into that black water! There wasn't a sound from the cellar. No-one was going to help him now. It was as if they were sitting and listening, wondering what he would do. His body began to itch, a bothersome itch. He didn't know how to swim. He couldn't take off his clothes and show his naked body, couldn't stand that sort of humiliation. Reluctantly he headed down the slope covered with dry heather and grass. There had been a path once, but it was now almost overgrown. He stared at the water, thinking that if there wasn't a shallow part, he would sink straight to the bottom. Behind him Morgan was getting excited.

"I'll bet the water is cold. That suits me fine."

He jabbed at Errki when they reached the crag. "Take off your things. Or go ahead and swim with them on. I don't care. Just get in the water."

Errki stood as if carved from stone, staring at the lake. Here on the shore it no longer looked reddish, merely black and deep. He couldn't see the bottom, only some long, pliable grass floating down there that would twist around his legs like hideous fingers. Maybe there were fish too, or even worse: eels.

"Are you going to jump in or do I have to push you?"