Karin Fossum - He Who Fears The Wolf

"We can put the wardrobe over it."

"That won't help."

"Please!"

"They're looking for us. They could be here any minute. We don't have time. And we can't carry him down to the water without getting covered in blood. It's no use, Kannick. Besides, you're too young to end up in prison. You'll get off. Just like Errki would for murdering that old woman, because he's nuts. But I," he yelled, pounding his fists in fury on the floor, "I'm not going to get off. I don't have any damned excuse!"

He groaned and yanked at his hair, trying to remember how the day had begun. It struck him how unbelievably long it had been. It felt like an entire lifetime. A terrible feeling of paralysis overwhelmed him. His brain refused to function. It was that fucking whisky. Kannick was stretched out on the floor, gasping.

"There's a steep slope behind the house," he sobbed. "Maybe he would roll downhill all by himself."

"Jesus Christ. I can't take any more of this!"

Kannick stood up, walked across the room, and began shaking Morgan vigorously. "You have to. You have to!"

"No, I don't."

"We'll do it together. And then we'll take off. We have to! Nobody is going to miss him."

"You're wrong," Morgan said quietly. Surprised, he realised how true this was as soon as he said it.

He peered out the window, sobbing. The landscape off in the distance looked hazy. He had to get away, or go crazy, like Errki. He would start rambling right now, if he allowed himself to. He could feel it: how he could sink down and leave the world behind. How he could look in astonishment at people talking, unable to understand what they said. But he wouldn't care. He would just let them carry on. It's not my concern. This society is fucked. There are too many things to think about. Like the blackmailer waiting in prison. Like the fat, unhappy boy standing in front of him.

"We've got to do it," Kannick screamed.

Morgan let his head fall on to his chest. He could hear Kannick gasping, and something else, off in the distance, something that was getting closer. Dogs barking, far away.

"It's too late," he groaned. "They're coming."

Sejer studied the map.

"We're getting near the old homestead sites." He squinted and pointed. "I'll bet they're hiding out in one of those old houses over there."

"What are we going to do when we find them?" Skarre asked.

Sejer looked at each man in turn. "I don't think we should do anything dramatic. I suggest we stop a good distance away and give a good shout, making it clear how many men we are and that we're armed."

"But what if he comes out with the hostage in front of him, holding a gun to his temple?"

"Then we let him go. He won't get far. We're five against two."

Skarre wiped the sweat from his face.

"Nobody draws his gun," Sejer said. "I don't want to end up having to carry one of you home in this damned heat. When it's all over, we're going to have to explain every minute. In writing. Truthfully, and with a clear conscience. Nobody even looks at his gun without my say-so. If I change my mind, I'll let you know."

He started walking, and the others huffed and puffed after him. They had complete confidence in him, if sometimes they thought him a little overcautious. Assignments like this were rare. Not that they really wanted to be here, in this sweltering forest, but the taste of adrenalin was sweet.

"I think Himmerik Lake must be down there," Sejer said, pointing. "It's close, according to the map, although I can't see it from here. I bet you a round of beer that the dogs head in that direction."

"I can't see any buildings." Ellmann shaded his eyes with his hand, and peered at the dense grove of trees ahead of them.

"Maybe beyond those trees over there. At least they won't be able to see us."

They kept going. The dogs raced ahead, straight towards the grove. Now and then Skarre looked up at the sky, hoping that the good Lord was keeping an eye on them. There was something menacing about the quiet woods. There was a sense of foreboding about the silence, as if it were gathering force for a vicious storm. But there were no clouds, only a faint haze above the trees. Steadily and relentlessly the ground was being sapped of all moisture; it rose up and settled like a milky mist over the landscape. Maybe the two men were waiting for them at an open window, with weapons ready. Or maybe they had gone over the ridge long ago. The grove of trees slowly came closer. No dwelling in sight.

They decided to use Zeb to listen out. Ellmann called him in and the men stood and watched the big black dog. His great head swung from side to side, his ears turned like antennae, quivering a little. Suddenly they pricked up, and Zeb pointed his head towards the trees. His ears stood straight up, and he stood as if aiming at a place they themselves couldn't see. In his mind's eye Ellmann drew a line from the dog's ears into the woodland.

"There's someone in there," he whispered.

Sejer went to investigate. Zeb tried to follow, but was held back with a yank on his leash, which made him utter a sharp yap. Sejer's hair shone like silver against the green as he walked forward. The seconds ticked by. Skarre was sweating. The men stroked their dogs. Sejer kept going. Just as he reached the thicket he veered to the left and stepped into the undergrowth at the edge. He tried to make his body relax. He could make out something in the trees now, something darker and denser. He put one hand on his gun. The leather holster felt hot to the touch. Soon the trees began to thin out, giving way to a clearing ahead, and in the clearing was a house. Dark and heavy. A log cabin. He stared at the windows. They were all broken. There was no-one in sight. He crouched down in the grass, certain that he couldn't be seen from any of the windows. Of course they might still be inside, even though it was quiet as the grave. Maybe they were sleeping or resting. Maybe they were waiting for him. Grass was growing on the roof of the house, dry and sun-scorched. The windows were small, with mullions, and didn't let in much light. It was probably nice and cool inside. He could sense that someone was there, but still didn't hear a sound. Standing up and walking to the door seemed unthinkable. They might jump up and start firing in blind terror. He stayed where he was. A pine cone would make a dull thud if he threw it against the wooden wall, and might be enough to make one of the men come to a window to investigate. He searched under a dry pine tree and found a big cone. Maybe he should aim for the door. If anyone was there, they'd hear it. He could see a dark, brownish-red patch on the stone steps. It looked like blood. He frowned. Was someone injured? He raised his arm and threw the pine cone. It made a small tap. Quickly he sank back down to a crouch. Nothing happened. He gave himself a full minute. The seconds ticked by. It was hard to crouch wearing overalls that were barely long enough in the legs. The minute passed. He turned around and crept back.

"I'm going into the house."

Skarre gave him a worried look. "I don't think they're in there. It seems too quiet."

"Zeb heard something," Ellmann said.

Sejer and Skarre walked back to the cabin while the others stayed with the dogs. Sejer gave the door a shove.

"Hello! Police. Is anyone there?"

No-one answered. Everything was quiet. He didn't expect the bank robber to storm out and shoot him. That wasn't how he was going to die. Besides, the house seemed completely deserted. He peeked inside the living room. Caught sight of a green sofa, an old wardrobe, and, of all things, a grey case. He took a few more steps, and whispered over his shoulder to Skarre, "They've been here."

For a moment he stood in the middle of the dusty floor and looked around the room, letting his eyes adjust to the dim light. Then he noticed the figure in the corner. A gaunt man with dark clothes and black hair. He was half-sitting and half-lying, his head leaning against the wardrobe. It looked very uncomfortable. Sejer was no longer thinking about his own safety, about whether someone might come rushing out at him. He walked across the room and knelt down beside the lifeless man. The first thing that struck him was how small he was. Thin and delicate and lacking any sign of strength. His eyes were closed, his face ghostly pale. He looked like a badly undernourished child, with a tangle of black hair reaching to his shoulders.