The Water's Edge

CHAPTER 35

One day Sejer and Skarre drove to Linde Forest.

The road up there was narrow and steep with hairpin bends, the unstable verges offering little protection from the sheer drop down to a brook at the bottom of the ravine. The Highway Department had created a passing place halfway up, but they met no one on the five-kilometre drive. At the top was a small car park with room for three to four cars. Sejer pulled in and stopped at the red-painted barrier.

'This is where they saw the man in the blue anorak,' he said. 'Reinhardt and Kristine Ris. Right here by the barrier. There's no doubt that they got a good look at him. It was sunny on the fourth of September and visibility was fine.'

'But how does that help us,' Skarre asked, 'when Ris orders our officers to go and look for a man who turns out to be in a wheelchair?'

'I don't understand it,' Sejer said. 'Something must have happened. A mix-up. We need to look into it.'

The men began to walk. They left the path and wandered between the spruces until they got to the spot where Jonas August had been found. The memory of the half-naked boy was still vivid in their minds.

'He'll refuse to explain himself,' Skarre said. 'His defence counsel will advise him not to say anything.'

Sejer smiled briefly.

'He feels he's the victim. Poor me, I have such strong urges, I just can't control them.' Skarre's voice was dripping with irony.

'He's only trying to solve a problem,' Sejer said. 'We agreed that, didn't we?'

'He drove along the road,' Skarre said. 'He abducted a child, it's inexcusable.'

For a while they looked around. The hush from the tall trees put them in a reflective mood. Skarre walked towards the pile of logs where Kristine Ris had sat on the 4th of September. He sat down and lit a Prince cigarette.

'But all the same,' he stated firmly, 'he's not feeling good. He probably doesn't have a moment's peace. He is frightened to death at the thought of the hatred, the shame and the newspaper headlines. It might even kill him.' He inhaled deeply. 'People do die from things like that.'

Sejer sat down next to him. 'We expect to love and be loved,' he said, 'but paedophiles are supposed to control themselves. Saying that, love is never straightforward for any of us. Everybody seems to be breaking up these days.' He stopped talking at this point, he was entering unfamiliar territory. 'What about you, by the way? Still single?'

Skarre smiled broadly. 'Why would I need a wife,' he quipped, 'when I've got you?'

Later they drove to Guttestranda and sat on the jetty. For a while they savoured the unique feeling people experience in the presence of water. Sejer tried to glimpse the bottom, but failed. Then they saw a man walking along the beach some distance away.

'We have a visitor,' Skarre said.

The man had a brisk, energetic walk, he was short of build and bald, and he was wearing a navy blue puffa jacket and faded jeans. He raised his hand and greeted them solemnly. He reminded them of a little kid bursting with exciting news.

'My name's Andor,' he said. Sejer and Skarre looked at him with interest.

'You're detectives,' he stated.

They nodded.

He took a few steps closer to them and crouched down. He smiled confidently. His skin was strangely smooth and clear as if life had left no trace on him.

'I live in the yellow house up there.'

He turned around and pointed. 'The big one with three storeys. Behind that long balcony is my bedroom. I've just noticed I've left the window open. I'd forgotten all about that. I hope it doesn't start to rain or my bed will get soaked.'

Sejer and Skarre looked at the yellow house.

'It used to be a railway station,' he explained. 'The railway line went all the way down to the water.'

'Really?' said Sejer. He studied the man who had introduced himself as Andor. He estimated him to be around forty, he had small, chubby hands with stubby fingers and a budding beer belly. Was he mentally disabled? Sejer wondered. No, not that, just different. Someone at ease inside his own kingdom where he reigned supreme.

'I live with my mother,' Andor explained.

Skarre smiled broadly. Andor was obviously on benefits.

'Mother cooks,' he said, 'and I earn the money. I see people, every day, between ten and two o'clock.'

'You see people?' Skarre frowned.

'They come from all over eastern Norway. There are all sorts of things wrong with them. I have warm hands.'

'You're a healer,' Skarre exclaimed.

'Correct,' nodded Andor. He planted his hands firmly on his hips, exuding pride in his own abilities. He looked superior.

'How exciting,' Skarre said generously.

Andor looked at Sejer, his eyes sharp now. 'You suffer from psoriasis,' he stated.

Sejer's eyes widened. 'Yes,' he gasped, 'you're right. How did you know?'

'I can see it,' he said simply. 'And it's bad right now. Because you haven't been able to find Edwin.'

'I'm impressed,' Sejer said. 'Yes, it's particularly bad right now. Do you have any advice for me?'

Andor nodded calmly.

'You need to move your chair,' he said. 'The one you sit in every evening.'

'Move my chair?' Sejer said baffled. 'But I like where it stands, by the window. That way I have a view over the city.'

'Well,' Andor said. 'I didn't say you had to move it to the other end of the room. Just shift it a bit. The point is to get you out of the space you're in now and into a different one.'

Sejer nodded obediently.

Andor walked to the end of the jetty where he stood for a while watching the water. He made no sign of wanting to leave or to chat. He stood there like a statue, yet it seemed as if he was offering them something. After a while Sejer worked out what it was.

'Did you know Jonas and Edwin?' he asked.

Andor turned around slowly. 'I know everyone in Huseby.'

Sejer scrambled to his feet. He walked to edge of the jetty and stood next to him.

'Where should we be looking?'

Andor looked up at the considerably taller inspector.

'I know it sounds a bit strange,' he said, 'but I'm only telling you what I'm seeing. It's up to you what you make of it.'

'What do you see?'

'Hasselbäck,' he said. 'That's all. I think about Edwin and the word Hasselbäck appears. I found it on the map, it's in Sweden. In Västmanland.'

Sejer frowned. 'Are you telling me that someone's taken him to Sweden?'

Andor became irritated. 'No, that's not what I'm saying,' he said. 'That's your interpretation. I see what I see. You can't expect me to tell you what it all means.'

He turned abruptly and walked quickly up towards the yellow house, leaving the two now somewhat bewildered men to sit down again.

'Hasselbäck,' Skarre said pensively. And then looking at his superior. 'Do you believe people like him?'

Sejer shrugged.

'Yes,' he said after a pause. 'I believe they see things. But then again, we all do, we just don't attach any special meaning to them. Fancy him knowing about my psoriasis, though. What are the chances of that?'

'So if Andor's right,' Skarre said, 'then Edwin might be in Sweden. Or his killer might be from Hasselbäck, or Edwin might have been taken to Hasselbäck, dead or alive.'

Sejer fixed his eyes on a small island some distance away.

'What are you thinking about?' Skarre asked.

'I'm thinking about Tulla Åsalid,' he said. 'I've spoken to her parents and they're worried. They told me that Tulla has changed since she started seeing Brenner. That Edwin came second. That they had never seen her so crazy.'

'Crazy?'

'That's how they put it. And it's all very well that two people love each other, but the greatest love should be reserved for our children. They are the ones we would die for. Wouldn't you agree?'

'It's been known for a mother to kill her children to get a man,' Skarre said. 'Do you remember that case in the States? A mother of three became infatuated with someone, but he wasn't thrilled at the prospect of taking on her three children. So she put them in her car and rolled it off a jetty.'

'I think Edwin's disappearance is about something else,' Sejer said.

'But Brenner might be a man like that,' Skarre said.

'A man like what?'

'A man who wants Tulla, but isn't interested in Edwin.'

He took a few steps, stopped, then raised his hand to shield his eyes from the sun.

'Talking about love,' Sejer said. 'Look at that little island out there. It's called Majaholmen. It reminds me of another island, in Hvaler, called Gunillaholmen. It's nothing but a few rocks and some windswept pines, but it was the scene of an ancient and horrific love story.'

'Enlighten me,' Skarre said.

'The fjord is filled with shallows beyond Gunillaholmen. Gunillaholmen itself is a desolate place and it's not even named on the map, but it got its name after Gunnhild Taraldsdotter. At the start of the seventeenth century she gave birth to a child in secret, you know, in the fields. She killed it, of course, out of sheer desperation, fearing the shame and the punishment that went with having an illegitimate child. You know how they thought in those days.'

Skarre nodded.

'But the body of the baby was found soon afterwards, though by then it had been partly eaten by swine,' Sejer continued. 'The poor, wretched farm girl confessed immediately and was arrested. The judges unanimously agreed that she should be decapitated and her head put on a spike as a warning to others. It was placed on the island where it stood for fifty years. The seagulls stripped her skull in less than a fortnight.'

'What about the child's father?' Skarre wanted to know.

'His name was Jon Mickelsen,' Sejer said, 'and he was let off with a fine.'

For a while they were both silent.

'I've always believed that crime stems from desperation,' Sejer said. 'Conditions in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries led many to kill their infants; now there are very few cases because single mothers are treated far better. We've never had it so good, yet the number of crimes committed has soared.'

'Desperation takes many forms,' Skarre suggested.

'Yes,' Sejer said, 'I suppose you're right. And sometimes I imagine that our offender is someone who stands on the sidelines, watching life from a distance, like it's a party to which he hasn't been invited.' This notion made him think of Edwin. 'How much do you remember about being ten?' he asked.

'A lot,' Skarre said. 'I was in Year Four. I sang in the school choir and I had a crush on a girl called Else. We had a mean arrogant teacher. His name was Lundegård. I've no time for stupidity, he used to say, if we got low marks in a test. He talked a great deal about World War Three, about how we should prepare ourselves for it. Don't be naive, he would say, because it's going to happen. My heart used to skip a beat every time I heard an aeroplane.'

Skarre slammed his hand on the edge of the jetty. 'How about you? What do you recall?'

'We lived on Gamle Møllevej, outside Roskilde, in Denmark,' Sejer reminisced. 'The house was white with blue shutters and in the summer it was overrun by hollyhocks. We kept bantams and it was my job to collect their tiny eggs every morning. And we had a wirehaired dachshund called Ruth. My mother had a small ceramics workshop, where she made pots and little sculptures. Our house was filled with them and she liked giving them away to people who came to visit us. I did well at school, but I was rather shy. We had a nice teacher, Mrs Monrad was her name. She was an inspiration. What do you think? Are there still people like her around today?'

'Some, but they are few and far between,' Skarre declared. 'Alex Meyer may be one such teacher. And that might be why the rumours started to spread. He's too good to be true, people begin to doubt his motives.'

'Meyer doesn't have a record,' Sejer said. 'I've checked him out.'

'I would expect you to,' Skarre said, 'but there has to be a first time for everything. And the people who hurt us are more likely to be someone we know rather than total strangers. He might have had a thing for Edwin. He gave him a special chair and placed him at the front desk.'

'Perhaps he did that to protect him,' Sejer suggested.

'Possibly. I'm merely passing on my observations,' Skarre said. 'You told me to look out for the little things.'

They fell silent once more and gazed out over the loch, towards Majaholmen.

'Can you feel that icy wind?' Skarre asked. 'We're not going to find Edwin before the frost takes hold.'

'What do you think Maja did wrong since she's got her own island, too?'

'Can you see that church spire on the other side of the loch?' Sejer asked.

Skarre nodded.

'She had been to a christening and was rowing back across the loch when her boat capsized, right by the island. She was wearing national costume and it dragged her down.'

He got up to leave. 'Think about it, a waterlogged national costume weighs as much as a grown man. Ah, well. Edwin in Sweden? Highly unlikely. But there's no harm in listening to good advice. Anyway, it's time for me to go home and move my chair.'