Karin Fossum - The Water's Edge

'But he was as good as gold, well-behaved and polite, so if an adult asked him to do something, I mean, like get into a car, because I suppose that's what happened, well, he would have got into the car because he was so trusting and because I taught him to be kind to everybody. So now I'm thinking it's all my fault. That if he had been a street-wise and shrewd boy then he would be alive today. But he thought the best of everyone and because of that he died, that's how it seems to me. I blame myself every hour of the day and I'll carry this guilt to my grave. The vicar has been to see me. I let him in because I don't want to hurt his feelings. He just stands there and he so desperately wants to help. He says that the only person who is to blame is the man who killed Jonas. He says I should remember Jonas with joy and cherish the memories, and I do because the memories are happy, but it's so hard. When I see other mothers with their children, I just want to scream. If I had another child, I would still have a reason to get up in the morning; now I'm just sitting there staring out of the window. My hands lie useless in my lap, no one needs me, no one bothers me. There's no point in going to bed at night, I don't need to get up in the morning. There is nothing to make me want to live the rest of my life.

'I used to sit by his bedside every evening. He would curl up under the duvet and his eyes would plead with me for comfort and encouragement, he needed so much support. We would talk about the day that had just passed and the day that was to come. I would think of some treat to look forward to, something to make him fall asleep with a smile on his face. That we would cook something special for tea the next day or watch a film together in the evening, the two of us, snuggled up on the sofa. All children deserve to have a treat every single day, all children deserve to be pampered.

'The worst moments are when my thoughts take control of me and I start to imagine what his last few hours must have been like. The pictures in my head are so disgusting they make me scream. What he had to go through. I don't know whether to think about it in all its horror so that I can suffer with Jonas or whether I should suppress it. The vicar says it's finished now and that Jonas isn't suffering any more, I'm the only one suffering now and he's right about that. I thought his funeral was so beautiful, the organ music and the flowers, and the poem that his teacher read out loud. I had to translate it into Norwegian for my parents, they don't speak any English. I visit his grave every single day. It took me for ever to choose his headstone; none of them was good enough. The one I chose was far too expensive. I had to take out a loan, but they were kind to me at the bank, they gave me a good rate. They all know about Jonas. The stone is heart-shaped with a cut-out in the middle and in it there is a lamp which lights up at night. There's an inscription underneath his name.

You were my darling angel.

Now there is only silence.

'Sometimes when I'm walking towards the church I notice how people stop at Jonas's grave. They stand there with a mixture of embarrassment and curiosity. It doesn't upset me, I like it that people stop and think, and then I wait until they've gone because I don't want to make them feel uncomfortable. I have reserved the plot next to him for myself, we're going to lie close to each other and I look forward to that. I'm not scared of dying. Jonas has done it, so I can do it too. I don't know much about eternity, but perhaps it's all right. I talk and talk and you listen with reverence. Perhaps you think that I'll be fine eventually because I can put words to my feelings. But the reality is that silence terrifies me.'

'I've realised something,' Skarre said. 'We're always too late.'

'What do you mean?' Sejer said. 'Too late for what?'

'Once we arrive, the disaster is already a fact. Someone has lost control and the worst has happened. We can't ease the pain, either: isn't that a depressing thought?'

Sejer allowed himself a lenient smile. 'If you wanted to save lives, you should have become a fireman.'

Skarre circled the room restlessly. They were both waiting for the fax machine from which the result of Brein's saliva sample would soon emerge. They were paying the lab extra for a quick response.

'What are we going to do about Edwin?' Skarre asked. 'Even if we do get a perfect match, we have nothing to link Brein to Edwin.'

'I know. It's going to be a long winter.'

'That reminds me,' Skarre said. 'I was in Kaffebrenneriet the other day with some friends. And in a corner was a guy I recognised.'

'Go on?'

'It was Ingemar Brenner.'

'Tulla Åsalid's boyfriend?'

'Tulla's boyfriend with a younger woman. At least twenty years younger. Blonde, attractive and giggling.'

'He must have finished with Tulla then,' Sejer said, 'and found himself a new girlfriend.'

'Or he's defrauding her,' Skarre said. 'Like he normally does. And I can't bear to think of that. Given what else has happened.'

'We mustn't jump to conclusions. Perhaps she's a relative. There's a lot we don't know.'

'Relatives don't snog each other,' Skarre said. 'I think we should warn Tulla, I think we owe her that. She's got enough to worry about as it is.'

'We're police officers,' Sejer objected. 'We don't get involved with people's love lives.'

'But this isn't about love,' Skarre argued. 'He's after her money.'

'I must remind you that Brenner has served his sentence. You have to give him a break.'

Skarre shook his head. 'Tulla's the one who deserves a break.'

'All right,' Sejer said. 'You win. Let's see if the right moment comes along.'

Skarre went over to the fax machine, bent down and stared at it.

'What are you doing?'

'I'm summoning up an answer,' Skarre said. 'Human beings are filled with psychic energies which we never use. I'm summoning them now.'

Sejer gave him a strange look. 'Now listen to me,' he said calmly. 'You don't like Wilfred Brein. You think he's a self-important and unsympathetic man and it would suit you very well if he turns out to be guilty. Elfrid Løwe would derive some small comfort and the general public would breathe a sigh of relief. But just because a man behaves brusquely towards the police doesn't mean he's guilty. Lots of people have very strong feelings about us.'

'Why are you suddenly lecturing me?'

'To save you disappointment,' Sejer said. 'The fact that he went up there doesn't link him to the crime. Besides, he does appear to have a bad hip.'

'Very well,' Skarre said. 'So he abducted Jonas August on one of his good days.'

He crossed the floor and opened the door to the corridor.

'Come on,' he said. 'Let's go down to the canteen.'

They found seats by the window and drank some Farris mineral water, faking a calm they did not possess. They waited. They watched people come and go. They studied the snowflakes falling outside. Muffled sounds drifted through the room, the clinking of glass and cutlery and muted voices. The smell of coffee. Skarre smoothed out a paper napkin. Sejer fiddled with his mobile phone, there were no new calls, no new messages. They waited. From time to time they glanced at each other across the table, then they looked away and sought out the window, the falling snow.

Finally they could no longer contain their curiosity. They returned to the office and settled down in their chairs in deep thought. There was nothing more to say. It was during this loaded silence that the fax machine finally started whirring and the men shot up and rushed over to it. Sejer snatched the sheet, leaned against the wall, his eyes racing across the few lines. Then he let his hand drop.

'So what have we got?' Skarre asked.