Karin Fossum - The Caller

‘Maybe he was balancing on the wall of the dam,’ Skarre said. ‘Then fell. Maybe he couldn’t swim.’

Sejer stared at the sluice, where the water gushed through the black pipe. ‘Why would he do that?’

‘I’ve heard it’s a tradition out here. For graduating students. In the middle of May.’

‘Johnny wasn’t graduating,’ Sejer said. ‘And it’s mid-October.’

Skarre noticed the inspector’s gloomy face. ‘What are you thinking about?’

‘This is where Johnny Beskow’s story ends.’

‘And not a soul in the world will miss him,’ Skarre noted.

‘Don’t say that.’

‘Perhaps his remorse got the better of him,’ Skarre said.

Sejer’s mobile rang just then, a cheerful tone. He let it ring. ‘I don’t believe so,’ he said. ‘I mean, he didn’t repent. But there’s another possibility.’

‘That someone helped him over the edge,’ Skarre said. ‘Aren’t you going to take that call?’

‘Yes. Don’t pester me. When is Schillinger’s trial?’

‘In January. He’s banking on reasonable doubt. If he gets reasonable doubt, he’ll be able to take home new dogs. You’ve got to take that call. Maybe it’s important.’

Sejer walked over to a tree and leaned against the trunk. He stood there for a moment, his gaze on the dead body on the stretcher, while the mobile continued its cheerful melody.

‘He’s taking some secrets to the grave,’ he said. ‘Don’t you think?’

Skarre nodded. ‘Where they won’t be disturbed.’

‘It’s very possible someone helped him over the edge,’ Sejer said, pulling out his mobile. He held it to his ear and starred at Skarre. ‘I can think of a few people with a good motive. But you know what? We’ll never be able to prove it.’

From a distance she resembled a little boy, with her short red hair. She didn’t know the two men, but she made note of what they looked like and how they were dressed. When they walked back from the water, she skittered quickly away and sank down against the trunk of a tree. She squatted until her thighs hurt, and she hardly dared breathe; she made note of the car. A Toyota Land Cruiser. The paint gleamed golden in the sun. The men didn’t talk to one another, but they glanced vigilantly around before climbing into the car. Luckily for her, they didn’t notice her bicycle a little way off in the heather. She curled herself into a tiny ball. She thought her heart would burst, thought her blood pumped so forcefully inside her they would hear it through the roar of the water thundering against the dam wall .

But they didn’t hear a thing .

They drove away, and everything grew silent .

And Else Meiner got on her blue Nakamura bicycle .