Karin Fossum - He Who Fears The Wolf

Skarre gave him a long look. "Is that likely? He's just a boy who's terrified out of his wits."

"Children are observant," Sejer said stubbornly.

"Not really. They just notice different things from grown-ups."

"And that could be useful to us."

Skarre frowned. "You've got something going, haven't you?"

"What do you mean?"

"It seems as though you can't accept what happened. And that's not like you."

"I'm curious that's all," Sejer said.

"You look tired."

"I was itching all over last night!" And with that startling piece of information, Sejer disappeared into his office.

"Your name is Morten Garpe?"

"That's right."

"But you call yourself Morgan?"

"My friends, if I had any, would call me Morgan."

"You don't have any friends? So why do you call yourself Morgan?"

"It sounds a lot cooler, don't you think?"

Skarre's notes failed to mention that at this point they both laughed.

"So, Morten, you're all alone in the world, is that it?"

"I'm short on buddies. I have only one, and he's in prison. Plus a sister in Oslo."

"He's in prison?"

"For armed robbery. I drove the getaway car. He didn't tell the police about me. The money was for him."

"So he's had his hooks into you for a long time, is that right?"

"Yes."

"And you wanted to put an end to it?"

"I suppose I'm going to get such a long sentence that it doesn't matter any more."

"You're right. It doesn't. We'll talk about the robbery later. Tell me about Errki."

Skarre indicated that Morgan paused for a long time before he spoke.

"He told me everything about his mother and what happened to her. Errki and I are both Scorpios. He was born a week after me. The best and the worst people are Scorpios, did you know that?"

"No. What do you mean by telling you everything?"

Sejer lifted his eyes from the report and thought about the experts who for years, and with great cunning, had tried to coax the truth out of Errki. This man seemed to have succeeded in a matter of hours.

"Did he seem to remember anything about the murder of Halldis Horn?"

"Not much. He said that she screamed and threatened him. He had a faraway look in his eyes when he thought about it."

"Did he tell you that he killed her? Did he say that in so many words?"

"No. He looked at me with those strange eyes of his and said, 'Things just happen.'"

"Did he seem like a violent person?"

"You saw my nose. It's going to look really pretty when it grows back. Not that it makes any difference. Frankly I don't care. The only thing that makes me happy is the thought of Tommy's ugly mug when I bang on the wall from my cell next door, and he realises there isn't going to be any money."

"His name is Tommy?"

"Tommy Rein."

"Is that so! What did you and Errki talk about during the hours you spent together?"

"I can't really remember it all. He said so many weird things. We talked a lot about death. Have you thought about that? That we're actually going to die? I see people dying around me, but I can't comprehend that it's ever going to happen to me. I tried to imagine it today, several times. But it's like some trick mathematical equation that I just can't get into my head. Do you get it?"

"Get what?"

"The fact that you're going to die?"

"Yes, I do."

"Then I suppose there's something wrong with me."

"Don't worry, it will sink in sooner or later. I know lots of people older than you who haven't faced up to it yet. Where did Errki get the gun?"

"I asked him about that. He muttered something strange, like if your neighbour wishes for a cow, God will send you an ox."

"How drunk was he towards the end?"

"Not nearly as drunk as I was, but he was really unsteady on his feet."

"What did Errki and Kannick say to each other?"

"Not much of anything. They were watching each other like dogs. Kannick was scared out of his wits. He hardly dared look at Errki."

"Did Errki seem threatening towards the boy?"

"I wouldn't say so. We treated him well, we didn't harm him in any way, we were just drunk. By the time Kannick showed up, the seas were high, to use a figure of speech. The strange thing was that after a while it seemed as though the boy rather enjoyed being there. He settled down. In some way, we belonged together, the three of us. Nobody felt like doing anything. We were just waiting for you."

"What was Kannick's reaction when you discovered that Errki was dead?"

"He panicked. Begged and pleaded with me to help him."

"Help him do what?"

"Convince you that it was an accident."

"Was it an accident?"

"Definitely. He was aiming at the door. He didn't know that we were inside, or that Errki was going to open the door at that very moment."

"I see. What else?"

"What do you mean?"

"Did he make any suggestions about running away or trying to hide the body?"

"No, no. Absolutely not. I persuaded him not to."

"So he did suggest something like that?"

"Eh, no, not really. He didn't know what he was saying. He was in a state of panic. And that's not so strange, is it? Lucky for him that he's only twelve and still a minor."

Sejer sank behind the wheel and slammed the door shut. Even though he had not slept well, he suddenly felt inexplicably clear-headed. He had a strong feeling that this was a decisive moment. He could definitely feel it. Time stood still. He stared out of the car window, trying to find something outside that would explain this sensation. He felt petrified, couldn't move. It wasn't unpleasant, just odd. He looked at his hands on the steering wheel. At every single hair on the back of his hands, at the fine lines across his knuckles. At the white fingernails, clean and even. At his watch and the little gold crown on the watch face. He met his own eyes in the rear-view mirror. His face looked older than he remembered, but tremendously alert. The honking of a horn roused him. He put the car in gear and drove across the square, past the rows of parked cars.

The boy was standing up straight, his left foot pointed out, his right foot pointed forward. He raised his head and lifted his chin. His arms hung loosely at his sides. He took a long, deep breath, and then slowly exhaled. He turned his head to the left, cautiously, almost surreptitiously. Not hurried, but gentle, very gentle. He squinted and looked at the gold circle 30 metres away, noting how it grew sharper. Again he took a breath, a deep one, and held it. His enormous chest expanded, and at the same moment he raised the bow to eye level. He drew, anchored, and took aim. Saw the little red dot touch the bottom edge of the target. He wanted a ten right now. He was good enough to do it, at those perfect moments when everything clicked. The arrow flew from the bow. The string thrummed and then, in a gesture that was as elegant as it was practised, he lowered the bow just as the arrow plunged into the bull's-eye with a sharp thwack. He expelled the rest of the air from his lungs and felt in his quiver for another arrow without moving his eyes, without shifting his feet. Nocked the arrow into the string. He wanted three tens. If he was lucky, the second arrow would land next to the first one with a clattering sound. He inhaled and closed his eyes. Then he opened them and stared at the target and the red feathers of the first arrow that were visible in the centre of the gold circle.

He heard a noise, but tried to ignore it. A good archer doesn't allow any distractions, he continues without losing concentration. The noise got louder and stronger. He didn't like it. He wanted to complete the series of three arrows. It was a car. Arrow number two flew from the string. Eight points. He grunted with annoyance and turned his head. A police car drove into the courtyard.