Karin Fossum - He Who Fears The Wolf

"Errki," Sejer whispered.

The body was lying in a pool of blood. He felt for a pulse in the thin neck, but found none. It was hard to tell where the wound was, probably he had been hit somewhere in the abdomen. There was still a little warmth left in the body. Sejer was about to stand up when he heard a sound. He thought at first that it was Skarre, but suddenly something dark slid into his field of vision. He heard an ugly creaking noise. The wardrobe door swung slowly open on its squeaking hinges. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. He took a big breath. The creaking stopped, there was no-one there. He couldn't see inside the wardrobe from where he was sitting, but no-one could be inside. The bank robber wouldn't shoot his hostage and then hide inside an old wardrobe. He must have got away. The door had swung open, but only because Sejer had walked across the floor and shaken the floorboards. He moved back and took a few steps, then stared inside the wardrobe. There was a flash of metal.

The weapon was shaking violently. Sejer gasped in surprise and went to reach for his own gun, but changed his mind. He stared in bewilderment at the creature standing there gaping back at him, at the terror in the pale face, at the raised gun. Inside the wardrobe stood Kannick. Sejer didn't understand it. He stared at the gun and the way the boy was holding it.

No mistakes, now. Steady, very steady. The boy is at breaking point and has to be unpredictable. Stay calm, keep your voice calm too. Don't show you're afraid.

"I didn't mean to do it!" Kannick screeched. His voice cut through the silence and made Sejer jump, even though he was prepared for it. "He got in the way! You can ask Morgan!"

He was aiming at Sejer's chest and would certainly hit him. If he were able to fire.

Sejer let his hands fall. "It's not cocked, Kannick." And then he added, "Who's Morgan?"

Kannick stared in surprise at the pistol. Confused, he began fumbling with the safety catch, but his fingers were numb with fright and refused to obey. At last he managed to do it. But Sejer had pulled out his own gun, and behind him stood a curly haired man, also holding a raised gun.

"He's in the bedroom," Kannick sniffled. And with that he dropped the pistol to the floor, bent double, and began to vomit again and again. He was still inside the wardrobe, vomiting over the rotting planks. Stew and whisky, everything poured out. He leaned against the wardrobe and let it happen. Sejer waited until he was done. Then he kicked the pistol behind him to where Skarre was, and went off to find the bedroom.

Morgan had been standing behind the door, waiting. Now he made for the woods, using what little remaining strength he had to race across the yard towards the trees. Ellmann saw the blond hair and colourful shorts from his hiding place. The poor man didn't have a chance.

The officer leaned down, patted the big dog's head, and whispered in his ear, "Zeb. Attack!"

The animal leaped up and raced in pursuit like a furry bolt of lightning. Morgan was running. He didn't hear the dog come chasing after him, or anyone shouting. In fact, he heard only his own crashing feet. He ran, but all his strength was drained in an instant. Zeb saw the white hands and aimed for the left one. There was nothing aggressive about what the dog was about to do; it was years of training and a clear command, nothing more. Morgan stopped and gasped for breath. His knees were about to buckle under him. He had to check to see if anyone was after him. At that moment he stumbled and landed on his stomach. He rolled over and sat on his behind in the grass. Terrified, he stared at what was coming towards him. A black animal with gleaming jaws, his red tongue, the yellow teeth. The dog crouched down, preparing to jump. The white hands that he had been aiming for were gone. All he saw now was the red face, and in the middle of it, the yellow cloth. A perfect target. With one mighty leap he rushed forward and snapped his jaws. Morgan gave a heart-rending shriek. When the men reached him, he was sitting there, sobbing, with his face buried in his hands. Sejer paused for a moment to listen. The whimpering held a clear element of relief.

Sara sat very still, on the edge of her chair. Sejer was telling her the whole story. She wanted to know everything: what position Errki was lying in, whether he had felt any pain. Sejer said he didn't think so. Most likely he was exhausted, and the loss of blood had drained him of all strength. Perhaps he felt as if he were falling asleep. Sejer sat there for a long time, trying to remember all the facts. There was only one small detail remaining.

"I can't believe that Errki is dead," she whispered. "That he's really gone. In fact, I can see him in my mind, quite clearly. Somewhere else."

"Where?"

She smiled with embarrassment. "Floating around in a vast darkness, without a worry in the world, looking down at us. Maybe he's thinking: if only they knew how beautiful it is, all those people down there, struggling away."

The image brought a smile to Sejer's face, a brief, melancholy smile. He searched for something to say, something that might take away the sting of what he was going to have to tell her.

"I untangled the toad," she said.

"Thanks. That's a relief."

She was wearing a thin jacket, which she pulled tighter. He hadn't turned on the ceiling lights, only the lamp on his desk, with its green shade casting a watery glow over the office.

"There's something you should know."

She looked up, and tried to read his expression.

"We found a wallet in Errki's jacket." He cleared his throat. "A red wallet, which belonged to Halldis Horn. In it, there were approximately 400 kroner in notes."

He fell silent, waiting. The greenish light made her look pale.

"One-nil, in Konrad's favour," she said, smiling sadly.

"I haven't won." He couldn't think of anything else to say.

"What are you thinking about?" Sara asked.

"Is someone going to collect you?"

The question slipped out before he had time to think. Of course he could drive her home. But Gerhard no doubt had a car, and if she called him, he'd be there in no time. He pictured the man in his mind. He was sitting in a living room somewhere, staring at the clock, glancing at the telephone, ready to come and get the woman who belonged to him.

"No," she said, shrugging. "I came by taxi. The boss is in a wheelchair. Shut up in the house with me. He has multiple sclerosis."

Sejer was surprised. He couldn't imagine Sara with an invalid husband. He had pictured things so differently. A thought that wasn't entirely pure crossed his mind.

"Why don't you let me drive you home?"

"Would you mind?"

"There's nobody waiting for me. I live alone."

It didn't make a difference, one way or the other, that he had managed to say it.

I live alone.

Had he ever described himself that way before? Or called himself a "widower" or "single"?

Neither of them spoke in the car. Out of the corner of his eye he could see her knees; all the rest was but a presence, an inkling, a longing. His hands on the wheel seemed to give him away. Sejer felt as though they were screaming out loud that they needed something to hold. What was she thinking? He didn't dare turn and look at her. Errki was dead. She had worked with him all those months, and she had not been able to save him.

She gave him directions to her street. When he arrived at her door, he thought how much rather he would have preferred to drive with Sara beside him to the ends of the earth and back.

"I know it's silly," she said suddenly. "But it's so hard for me to comprehend."

"That Errki's dead?"

"No. That he could have killed Halldis."

He sat with his hands in his lap, twisting and turning them, and said awkwardly, "There was something you said, earlier today. That sometimes, once in a great while, things happen which we can not possibly explain."