Karin Fossum - The Water's Edge

'Well,' Skarre said in a somewhat patronising tone of voice, 'I know that paedophiles are human beings, too, even though they prefer kids. But it's difficult not to be repulsed by the mental images. It's hard to stay objective.'

'It is,' Sejer agreed, 'but we have to. It's one thing to have fantasies, quite another to carry them out. My guess is that the number of actual paedophiles is high and that's worrying. They have to hide away the whole time, they always have to pretend.'

'Why are they mainly men?' Skarre wondered.

'Well,' Sejer said, 'I'm no expert, but women are much better at intimacy and emotions than men. What we're dealing with here are men who aren't in touch with their own feelings. They need an object in order to connect to their feelings. They try to solve the problem by developing paraphilia. Paraphilia means "to love something else".'

He stopped at a red light. 'I mean, something outside the norm. Some desire very young children, others want them as they reach puberty. Some fall deeply in love with a specific child and others are attracted to children in general because they are small and fragile, and because they can be controlled.'

The light changed to green; he drove on. 'It's actually interesting,' he said. 'Whereas gay men have finally become accepted, paedophiles will forever be outcast. They will remain the object of the utmost contempt, they will never be understood.'

He pulled in and parked outside the green pharmacy. Shortly afterwards they noticed the white curtain twitch.

Åkeson opened the door to them before they even had time to ring the bell. He had not changed. His face was remarkably round and smooth, his eyes brown and alert, they lit up at the sight of the two men. He had very little hair left, just a few tufts, which looked like white candyfloss; a few strands kept falling across his forehead. He had a round body with short limbs and now he held out a hand and greeted them effusively.

'Well, I never,' he said. 'So you two gentlemen have come out for a stroll. Of course, I have read quite a lot about you in the papers recently, this is a serious business, that much I have understood. I recognise you, Sejer. You still tower over the rest of us, if I may say so, but it's meant as a compliment. Whereas you,' he looked at Skarre, 'I do believe I've forgotten your name. Or, rather, I only remember your curls. Do the police really allow you to grow your hair that long? I thought uniform guidelines were much stricter than that. What is your name again?'

'Skarre,' said Skarre.

'Of course. So it is. Skarre. And you roll your r's because you're from the south, how very charming. But please, do come in, come in, come in. It was only a matter of time before you would come knocking on my door, I knew that, but I also know that you know that I'm not involved, so I'm delighted to welcome you to my humble abode. Yes, truly delighted, I don't get many visitors. I do hope you're not in a hurry,' he said chattily, 'so we can have ourselves a nice long natter, I'd appreciate that, I really would.'

He padded into the house and showed them the way. His living room was cosy and a touch feminine with wall-to-wall carpet and wicker furniture. From the living room there was a view of the river and outside a few steps led into a small garden which ended right at the water's edge. A fat, sprawling cat was lazing about in an armchair on something that looked liked a goatskin. On the windowsills were flowering begonias, blossoming prodigiously.

Åkeson gestured towards the armchairs. 'Just chuck the cat aside,' he said speaking to Skarre. 'That cat is so lazy, I don't know what to do about him. Do you think he can be bothered to go hunting? Oh, no, he just lies there the whole day holding court. Can I tempt you with a cup of tea?'

He bustled around like an old woman.

'No, thank you, Åkeson,' Sejer said. 'Please sit down. You know we're very busy at the moment. And you already know why we're here. Or to put it another way, we don't have that many places to go.'

Åkeson let himself flop into the wicker armchair. He crossed his legs and folded his hands across his knee.

'True, and I have to say this,' he said. 'You've got to catch this man. We can't have this, I'm sure you'll agree.'

'We agree,' Sejer said kindly. His eyes rested on Åkeson's face and the sight of it made him smile.

Skarre shifted the cat on to the floor and sat down on the goatskin.

'He might strike again.' Åkeson said. 'I hope to God not, but that's how it is: once you've crossed that line, it's easy to keep going.'

'So you know something about this?' Skarre asked cautiously.

'I see things on the television,' Åkeson said, 'and I've been thinking that he might be a first timer.'

Sejer pricked up his ears. 'What makes you think that?'

'Well, he's kept a lid on things, a whole lifetime perhaps, possibly by being married. I'm only guessing here. His marriage breaks down and he's all alone in the world. He might have children of his own, but he no longer has any contact with them. The pressure grows until finally he snaps and when he comes to his senses again, he panics.'

Åkeson looked at them with his brown eyes.

'I mean,' he said theatrically, 'we need to ask ourselves the following question: are we looking for an experienced, predatory paedophile? Has this man invited boys to his house for years, has he been befriending them, giving them money, grooming them? And if so, why did it suddenly go wrong?'

Sejer and Skarre looked at each other.

'Are you sure you don't want a cup of tea after all?' Åkeson asked. 'I've got some custard creams. If you fancy some.'

'You're very kind,' Sejer said, 'but we're on duty and we can't stay for long.'

'Then I won't ask you again,' he said, 'though the golden rule for being a good host is to always ask three times. Anyway, you need to understand this man and what kind of preferences he has. Is he looking for any kid, or just boys, and in that case what type of boy? I mean, we're as discerning as anyone else, we don't swoon at just anyone coming our way.'

'Are you in touch with other paedophiles, Åkeson?' Skarre asked.

'Every now and then.'

'Have you noticed anyone in particular? Is there anyone who stands out?'

'No, not really. And there's not always much support to be had there, either, it depends on the individual. You know me, of course, and you know that I'm a simple soul who keeps myself to myself. So despite the tragic circumstances, I'm awfully pleased that you came to see me.'

Skarre struggled to suppress a smile; it was impossible not to be charmed by this short, gentle man.

'Jonas August came from Huseby,' Sejer said. 'He lived on Granatveien. And he went to Solberg School, he was in Year Three. Do you know a man who drives around in his car watching the children when they make their way home from school? A white car?'

Åkeson frowned. 'No, I don't know anyone like that. Rather risky, I would have thought. Personally I go into town. I sit on a bench in the centre and watch the kids, but I never touch them. You can always dream. My thoughts are free!' He erupted into a big smile.

Sejer and Skarre forced themselves not to laugh.

'So you stay away from schools?' Sejer asked.

'I don't draw attention to myself, is how I'd put it.'

Sejer had got up and was now studying a photograph on the wall. A black boy with dark eyes and bright white teeth.

'Isn't he gorgeous?' Åkeson said. 'I found him in a Red Cross calendar. I had to have him on my wall, I'm allowed that. But let me add that if I had been in Nigeria and actually met the poor lad, I would have given him something to eat first. I mean before I did anything else.'

'You've had therapy, haven't you, Åkeson?' Skarre asked.

'Indeed I have. I saw a psychosexual counsellor for quite a while.'