The Water's Edge

CHAPTER 23

Kristine Ris pulled her nightdress over her head, the thin fabric caressing her back. She wanted Reinhardt to touch her like this, but he never took the time, and so it remained something she could only dream of. A finger tracing her spine from her neck to the small of her back and making her shiver. For a while she stood naked on the bathroom floor. It was seven in the morning, and Reinhardt was already dressed. She adjusted the water temperature and stepped into the shower, she lifted her head against the warm stream as she played a game. She imagined she was covered by a layer of worries and now they were being washed away like dirt before disappearing down the drain. She could hear Reinhardt pottering about, she heard the radio in the living room. Security, she thought, that's why I stay, that's why I put up with it. Dear God, I'm like a child. What I have now isn't what I dreamed of, but at least I know what each day will bring, I can see what the rest of my life will be like. She jumped when the door to the bathroom was opened. Reinhardt pushed the shower curtain to one side.

'What's happened?' she said quickly.

Clumsily she covered herself up with the bottom half of the shower curtain. Reinhardt gave her an outraged look.

'He's taken another boy.'

'What? Who's taken another boy?'

'Well, we don't know yet, but my money's on that man from Linde Forest,' he said. 'The missing boy is from Huseby. There's total panic now.'

'No,' she said, baffled. She shook her head in disbelief. Her hair was wet and drops of water trickled into her eyes.

'Is that what they were saying on the radio?'

'Yes, I've just heard it. But they didn't give away many details, you know, they never do at this stage. But it's a ten-year-old boy and he goes to the same school as Jonas August.'

Kristine stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel. She watched him with wide eyes.

'But where did they find him? Was he dressed?'

'No,' Reinhardt said, 'they haven't found him yet, they're still looking.'

'What do you mean they haven't found him?'

She took a smaller towel and wrapped it around her hair like a turban.

'Then how do we know what's happened to him?' she objected.

'Oh, they'll find him,' Reinhardt said, 'but by then it will be too late. Kristine! We're the only witnesses, the only ones to have seen him up close.'

Kristine got dressed. She was troubled by what Reinhardt had told her, by scenarios she did not want to entertain, by thoughts she did not want to think. They went down to the kitchen to have breakfast. Reinhardt made coffee.

'When I'm out and about I'll keep my eyes open. Just in case he might show up.'

Kristine took her usual place at the table. 'But what if you see someone, you tell the police and it turns out it's not him,' she objected. 'Imagine how awful that would be.'

'I really can't worry about that. If you think about it,' he added, 'not many people in this world can stop him from taking a third boy. But you and I can, we're in a unique position.'

It gives him a buzz, she thought, that it might be so.

She buttered a slice of bread.

'You might be right,' she said, 'but there's not much we can do in our unique position. Unless he shows up somewhere.'

'And he will, sooner or later. The question is: how many kids will he kill before that?'

'What's his name?' Kristine asked. 'The missing boy?'

'Something unusual,' Reinhardt said. 'Edwin. What a hopeless name for a small boy.'

She shrugged. 'He's probably named after someone. His grandfather, perhaps.'

'It doesn't suit him,' Reinhardt stated. 'Edwin is an adult's name. The name of someone who's fifty or sixty.'

'But he's going to grow up,' Kristine said. 'He's only a boy for the first ten years.'

She stopped talking. All he would get now was those ten years. She looked at Reinhardt. He seemed unperturbed. She had no idea what that signified.

'There's something about you men,' she said.

'Is there now?' He looked down at her. 'Why don't you tell me what that is?'

'You're so simple.'

'Are we really?'

'If someone gives you a ball, you'll chase it for hours.'

'Ha ha,' Reinhardt laughed, he was finding all this highly amusing.

'You never stop playing. Whereas we girls, we grow up when we turn twelve, because we know we'll become mothers one day. One child can't take care of another, we have to be responsible.'

Reinhardt's smile stiffened and became acidic.

'Besides, our brains are very different,' she continued. 'I saw something about it on TV once. They had created this image, which highlighted the differences. Active areas of the brain were coloured red.'

'Good heavens,' Reinhardt chuckled.

'And inactive areas were coloured yellow.'

She swallowed another sip of her coffee. 'And do you know something?'

Her eyes met his across the table.

'The male brain showed just a small red spot,' she said. 'The active parts were limited to a small area. Whereas the female brain was almost entirely red. Because we're capable of thinking about many different things simultaneously,' she said triumphantly.

'While we focus on one thing,' Reinhardt said. 'And that's why we achieve more than you do. Whereas you busy yourselves with trifles and that's why everything you do is mediocre and halfhearted.'

The discussion was starting to make her dizzy.

'You're always the ones to stop when there's been a road accident,' she said, 'or a fire. Or any other disaster, for that matter.'

'So what?' he replied. 'We like the adrenalin, Kristine: that doesn't make us inferior human beings.'

'That's not what I said,' she defended herself.

'I know you,' he said, 'and I know what you're thinking. But I don't mind admitting it. I'm interested in the missing boy from Huseby.'

She risked touching a sore point. 'Only a man who has no children of his own would say that,' she said.

He nodded. 'A good reason for not having any, wouldn't you agree? If you have a kid and then lose it, the rest of your life's ruined.'

'We can't think like that,' she protested.

He washed down his bread with milk.

'That is precisely how we should be thinking,' he said. 'Every eventuality must be taken into consideration. We have a child and he gets sick. Or we have a child and he is knocked down by a car. We could have a disabled child, born without arms or legs perhaps. We might have a badly behaved child. And we are left with the guilt and the shame. Or,' he concluded, 'we might have a child that gets murdered.'

'But why should that happen?' she said, aghast.

'Sweetheart,' he said, 'it happens all the time, and we're at the centre of it. You're hopelessly naive, you never think that such a tragedy could hit us. Do you really think we're that special?'

She brushed some crumbs off the table. 'But we have to concentrate on living,' she argued. 'If we always thought like that, we would never do anything, and we would never achieve anything.'

'I think like that,' Reinhardt said, 'and I enjoy my life.'

A pause arose. Kristine added sugar to her coffee and Reinhardt buttered another slice of bread. He had very forceful hands with coarse hairs on the back. She looked out of the window: on the small patch of garden a crow leapt about eagerly. She kept watching it. It struck her that she had never looked properly at a crow. It's pretty, she thought, and perhaps it really was a bearer of bad tidings, there was something mysterious about it, something secretive. Suddenly it raised its head and looked at her through the window.

Reinhardt interrupted her train of thought.

'He's got nothing to lose now,' he said. 'He's crossed the line. It might cause him to lose control completely.'

'You're just guessing now,' she said. 'Perhaps they'll find the boy alive and well.'

She swallowed a mouthful of bread.

'You're just being naive again,' he declared.

'I can't bear the thought,' she said, 'that a grown man would do that to a child.'

'You've always been so sensitive,' he said, 'but that's what I like about you.'

He got up from the table. As he did so, he gave her a look she had never seen before.

'If you ever leave me, I'll beat you to within an inch of your life.'

She wanted to laugh, but was unable to. Why would he say something like that? Two more crows had joined the first one on the lawn, they had settled by the hedge. While she sat watching them another two arrived and soon a whole flock had gathered.

'Look,' she said, pointing at the birds.

Reinhardt spotted them.

'They're eating something,' he said. 'I'll pop out to check.'

He disappeared out into the hall. She heard the door slam. More crows came flying, each one landing by the hedge. There was a mass of black and grey colour, she could see how they sat there pecking away. And she was reminded of a Hitchcock film she had once seen, The Birds. Then she saw Reinhardt walk across the lawn. The crows scattered and took off. He bent down to have a look, placing his hands on his knees for support: there was something in the grass and he was studying it carefully. He returned, smiling broadly.

'You ready then?' he asked. 'Time to get going.'

She got up from the table.

'So what was it?' she asked.

'A rotting badger,' he said, 'a huge, fat one, well over a metre long.'