Karin Fossum - He Who Fears The Wolf

"It's time for the news. Turn on the radio."

Errki pressed all the buttons, one by one, until at last the sound came on. He twisted the volume control to get it right. Then he sat down on the floor and looked over at Morgan. He looked like a baby sucking on a bottle as he lay there with the whisky. The music stopped and the newsreader began to speak. This time it was a man.

"In connection with the murder of 76-year-old Halldis Horn, the police are looking for 24-year-old Errki Johrma, who disappeared from the Beacon psychiatric hospital the day before yesterday. The missing man, who apparently knew the victim, was observed at the scene by a witness nearby. The police emphasise that Johrma is primarily being sought as a witness. He is approximately 170 centimetres tall, with long black hair and dressed in black clothing. He wears a belt with a large brass buckle, and he has a distinctive swaying gait. Any information about the missing man should be referred to the nearest police station."

A deathly silence spread through the room. Morgan sat up painfully on the sofa. His nose was horribly swollen, and his sleeveless shirt was soaked with blood.

"Were you near her house?" His eyes were filled with terror. "Did you see anything?"

Errki twisted his hands together. He was staring down at the water again. He was glad he had escaped from the lake. He was going to die anyway, but he didn't want to drown. There had to be better ways to reach eternity than by stepping into cold water.

"Are you the one who killed her? Did you do it, Errki?"

Errki took a few hesitant steps forward.

"Stop right there! Don't come any closer!"

Morgan pulled up his knees and moved back. "When they catch you, you'll just say that you don't remember anything, right? Or that the voices told you to do it, so you won't go to prison. Sit down! Do you hear me? I want you to sit down!"

His voice rose to a falsetto. He was trying to collect his thoughts. Errki wasn't just a nutcase, it was much worse than that. He was stark raving mad, he had killed a defenceless old woman, and he was right here in this room! Shivers of fear ran down his sweaty back.

"OK, now listen to me. Sit down and relax. Just take it easy. I'll keep quiet about you, and you'll keep quiet about me. We can split the money, there's enough for both of us. We have to get across the border to Sweden!"

Morgan tried to speak calmly, so as not to provoke him. He was taking big gulps of whisky, his wide eyes fixed on Errki. At any second the man might kill him with his bare teeth.

Errki had nothing to say. Morgan's nose started to pulsate in a disturbing way. He imagined that the infection had already begun to spread. Errki was sitting on the floor again, leaning against the wall under the window that faced the yard. Morgan was glad to have him at a safe distance. He actually looked quite harmless. And besides, they had been together for a long time now, and if Errki had wanted to kill him, he would have done it long ago. He'd even had the gun down by the water. There was still no sign of dusk, but the light had changed character and seemed more intense. What had in fact happened? Had something slipped out of place and shunted him off on to a sidetrack? On a course that couldn't be changed?

Morgan set the bottle on the floor. He was alone with an insane murderer, and it was important to stay alert, although he didn't feel very clear-headed right now. His mind was fuzzy. He was asking himself why in heaven's name he had ever brought this damn hostage along. He could have got away without him.

"So a witness saw you," he said slowly, staring at Errki. He looked as if he were asleep.

"A fat little boy," Errki muttered. "A butter mountain of a teenager with tits as big as my mother's."

He turned to look at Morgan with an inscrutable expression. "Her brains were running down the steps."

"Shut up! I don't want to hear about it!" His voice had an undercurrent of panic, like a raw drone.

"You're scared," said Errki.

"I'm not going to listen to you! There's nothing but insane babble coming out of your mouth! Why don't you talk to your voices instead. I'm sure they understand you better."

A long silence followed. The erratic buzz of a fly on the windowsill was the only sound. Morgan wondered whether he should go to his sister's place in Oslo and hide there. She'd give him a good piece of her mind, but she wouldn't turn him in. She was a hopelessly silly woman who couldn't stop talking, but Morgan was her little brother. He had robbed a bank, but he hadn't killed anyone, least of all an old woman.

"No!" Errki shrieked and stood up. He leaned towards the window and stared outside.

"What are you screaming about? Are they hassling you? Cut out the bullshit, it's making me tired. There's nobody in there!"

Errki put his hands over his ears.

"Good Lord, the way you carry on, man!"

Morgan touched his nose again. It was throbbing harder now. He felt like laughing. The guy was raving mad. Maybe he couldn't even remember that he'd killed someone.

"Hey," he said in a hoarse voice, "maybe it'd be better if you went back to the asylum. What do you think?" His voice sounded tiny and thin.

Errki pressed his forehead against one of the dark mullions of the window frame and felt the fragrant heat outside fill his nostrils. There was a vulnerability about the room which he liked and disliked. It reminded him of something. There was a faint grumbling down in the cellar.

"This is totally ridiculous, it's insane," Morgan said. "Here I am with a mutilated nose and a bag full of money, while you stand there babbling to yourself, with a murder on your conscience. And we're both wanted by the police. It's unbelievable!" He shut his eyes and made a few strained attempts at laughter.

"I don't give a damn," he said. "I really don't give a damn what happens. We're all going to die anyway. We might as well die right here, in this dusty shack."

He lay back down on the sofa, feeling as if he were dissolving, with something swarming inside him that took off and flew away. He was so lethargic. Maybe his mind was seeping out.

"I'm going to sleep for a while."

Errki was still standing at the window. He tried to remember her dress but discovered that he was having trouble recalling whether it was red with green checks or green with red checks. He couldn't picture it. But he did remember her braid. And her resigned expression as she hacked at the dandelions in the grass. It was so simple. The weeds were ruining her lawn and had to be removed. And then she had called to him with her voice full of fear.

"Shut up!" he screamed, trembling.

"Excuse me," said Morgan wearily. "I just wanted to tell you that I really don't give a damn what happens."

"I'll do whatever I want. You can't tell me what to do!" Errki shouted, shaking his fist at the world outside the window.

"That's exactly what I'm saying," Morgan mumbled. He rolled over on to his side, keeping one hand like a protective shield over his nose. "When I wake up I'm going to be very sick. Maybe you should go down to the village to get help. I wouldn't mind if you did. I just don't care any more. I promised to get the money, and I did."

"My name is Errki Peter Johrma. I'm going to lie down."

"Do whatever you want," Morgan muttered. His voice was scarcely a whisper in the silence.

Errki went into the bedroom. He leaned down and rummaged under the mattress until he found the gun, and stuck it into the waistband of his trousers. He was ready. He curled up with his jacket under his head and fell into a deep sleep.

"What Kannick needs right now is to win a trophy," Margunn said firmly. "One he can keep shiny and polished and show to his mother. He could do it, he's certainly good enough. In fact, archery is the only thing he is good at." She nodded twice to emphasise her remark.