Karin Fossum - He Who Fears The Wolf

"Do you think she was scared of him?"

"She wasn't scared of much, I'll tell you that. But Errki's the kind who just takes whatever he wants. In the shops. Maybe he went right into her house. That's how he is."

"And she got furious?"

"She could get really angry if we didn't do what she said. Errki never does what people say."

"I see. So it's probably best if we find him, wouldn't you say?"

"Will they put him in a straitjacket?"

Sejer laughed. "Let's hope he doesn't have to go through that. But maybe you boys should stay close to home while this is going on, and not go running off to the woods for a while. Until we find out what happened."

"That's OK with me," said Kannick. "Anyway, Margunn confiscated my bow."

The boys stood in a group, watching Sejer as he got into his car. He didn't have time to talk to them, to bring a little breath of fresh air from the outside into the closed world in which they lived. They looked at him with a mixture of defiance and awe. A few of them had already had trouble with the police, some several times; others lived with it hanging over their heads as a constant threat. The small dark-haired boy named Simon waved as Sejer drove off. He thought about them as he headed towards the Municipal Hospital. That small group of sullen boys who hadn't managed to find their place in the world. The kind of group that would interest Sara Struel. A group of rebels.

"Elsi Johrma." Sejer wrote the name for the nurse at the reception desk. "She was born September 4th, 1950. She died in an accident on January 18th, 1980, and was brought here to the Municipal Hospital. I don't know whether she was dead on arrival or whether she died later from her injuries. But somewhere in this building there must be a file on her. Would you please see what you can find?"

Curiosity was apparent in the nurse's eyes, but at the same time she looked reluctant. It was holiday time, they were understaffed, and it was unbearably hot. Sejer looked around the room, a cramped office with files and books piled up in big heaps. The place was not exactly spacious.

"That was 16 years ago," she said, as if he hadn't worked that out for himself. "Since then we've acquired computers, but her case is unlikely to be entered in the database, so I'll have to go down to the basement archives to look for it."

"Look under 1980, the letter 'J'. I'm sure you know your way around down there, and I have time to wait," he told her.

She was in her mid-twenties, tall and sturdy with her hair in a ponytail. She slid her glasses down her nose and stared at him over the rims of the red frames.

"If I don't find anything straight away, you'll have to come back later."

She left, and he sat patiently, looking around for something to read. The only thing he found was the Cancer Association journal, which didn't tempt him. Instead he sat lost in thought. In a place like this he couldn't keep at bay the memories of the time when restlessly he wandered endless corridors, while Elise's body was being tested and analysed, medicated and irradiated, growing weaker and weaker. It was the smell, and the sound of muted voices. He was worlds away when the nurse appeared in the door.

"This was all I could find."

She handed him a one-page admittance report.

"But what about the autopsy report?" he asked.

"It wasn't there."

"But could you look for it? It's very important."

"It'll have to wait until Sunday, if I have some extra time. For now, this was all I could find."

"Thank you," he said humbly. "Can I take it with me?"

She handed him a form, which he signed.

"Do you have two minutes, while I read through it?" he asked. "I expect there's some terminology that I won't understand."

She let her eyes slide over the page and then read aloud: "Admitted, January 18th at 4.45 p.m. Dead on arrival. Visible fracture of arm and jaw. Significant blood loss."

"Excuse me?" Sejer said. "Significant blood loss? Didn't she fall down the stairs?"

"I wasn't there. I was only ten at the time," she said pertly. But then curiosity got the better of her. "She really fell down the stairs?"

"That's what I was told. Her son was there when it happened," he explained. "But he was only eight."

"I suppose it's possible," she said uncertainly. "But I can't help you with this. Not unless I have the autopsy report."

She read through the document again. "Yes," she said at last, "it's strange. There was a great deal of bleeding, and that alone could have taken her life. But what they determined to have been the cause of death it doesn't say here."

"How badly can you injure yourself by falling down the stairs?"

"Badly enough," she said. "Especially if you're elderly."

"But she wasn't elderly." He pointed to the document. "Elsi Johrma, born in 1950. That means she would have been 30 or so when she died, isn't that right?"

"Can't you ask her son? After all, he was there when the accident happened."

"Very sensible," he said thoughtfully, "we're trying to find him now."

He stood up and thanked the nurse. When he was outside he stopped and stared at the Institute of Forensic Medicine. Halldis's body was somewhere inside there. He headed towards the main entrance without really knowing what he was going to do. It was much too early to be asking questions, it would be at least a week, or more, before it was Halldis's turn for an autopsy. He showed his ID at the reception and was immediately allowed in. Snorrason was in one of the autopsy rooms, just as Sejer had expected. He was standing with his back turned, pulling on a pair of rubber gloves. On the table lay a white form, not very big. In fact, it was no bigger than a dog. The idea that it might be an infant made Sejer frown.

The doctor turned around and raised one eyebrow. "Konrad?"

"Who's that?" Sejer asked, nodding at the white form.

Snorrason looked at him. "It's not Halldis Horn, but I'm sure you can see that. I am, however, wondering what you're doing here at this unlikely hour."

Sejer smiled crookedly. "Of course I know that you haven't got around to her yet. But I was at the hospital and thought, on the off chance, I might find you here."

I see.

"Just to have a look at her. Nothing else. To get me thinking."

"Perhaps you are hoping that she'll talk to you?"

"Something like that."

Snorrason pulled off his gloves. "She doesn't have much to say."

"No, well, I'll just take a quick look. Maybe I can say a few words myself, if the silence gets too oppressive."

"But you'd rather I stood next to you, thinking out loud. That's what you're hoping, if I know you. Even though you know I hate doing that."

"Just a quick look."

"Didn't you see her at the crime scene? And didn't you get some good photos of the lady?"

"Yes. But that was yesterday."

Finally Snorrason gave in. Sejer followed him out to the left and down into the bowels of the building, to the refrigerated room where Halldis lay. After ferreting in the files for the correct number, he pulled one of the drawers out.

"There you are, sir." He lowered the sheet.

She was not a pretty sight. The eye that was still intact was black as pitch. In the place where the other eye should have been, the hoe had made a deep gouge. It had sliced the nose in half, and internal bleeding had stained the forehead and the temples a dark reddish-violet.

"Eight and a half centimetres wide, 14 centimetres deep. The exact width and length of the blade," Snorrason said briskly. "A slight defensive wound on the underside of the right arm, where the blade just caught her. Obvious monocular haematoma in the loose connective tissue of the right eye. Secondary to the broken bones in the skull."

Sejer forced himself to bend closer to the face of the dead woman. "Can you say anything about the angle?"