The Water's Edge

CHAPTER 3

'We'll go back a different route,' he called out.

He cut through the forest, holding back the branches so they would not swipe her face. Again they walked themselves warm in the low sunshine and after half an hour they stopped for a rest. In front of them lay a clearing surrounded by spruces, an open, golden area with tufts and heather. Then the brutal scene hit them.

'No!' Reinhardt yelled.

And again, a few seconds later. 'No!'

Kristine gave him an uncomprehending look. He was squeezing her arm so tightly that she started to whimper, she had never seen his strong face display such terror. She followed his gaze and spotted a cluster of trees.

Something lay at the foot of the dark tree trunks.

Reinhardt was speechless. She was not used to this, he was always the one who took action, who would have something to say about every situation. She stared at the bundle at the foot of the trees, it was slim and white. She was struck by the awful thought that this might be a small person.

'It's a little kid,' Reinhardt whispered. He still did not move. Nor did he let go of her arm; his grip was vice-like.

'For Christ's sake, it's a little kid,' he repeated.

'No,' she said. Because it could not possibly be true, not here, not in Linde Forest.

Reinhardt took a step forward. He was no longer in any doubt, he could see arms and legs. A T-shirt with some writing on it. Kristine clasped her mouth. They stood like this for what seemed an eternity. The bundle lay immobile on the green moss. Kristine looked up at Reinhardt, her green eyes desperately pleading with him to do something.

'We must call the police!' she whispered.

Reinhardt started walking towards the cluster of trees, his body exuding reluctance. Ten paces, fifteen, they saw a foot and a fragile neck. It was a boy. He was lying on his stomach, he was naked from the waist down, and between his legs they could see blood, which had coagulated into rust-coloured scabs.

Kristine turned away in horror. But she could only look away for a few seconds. She had to look again, those green eyes had to see everything. The boy's short hair, his T-shirt with 'Kiss' written on it. The soles of his feet, pale pink against the dark moss.

'We have to call the police,' she whispered. 'We have to call the police now!'

Then she lost control of her body and started to shake. First her hands, then her shoulders. She had nothing to hold on to so she stumbled.

Reinhardt reached under her armpits and helped her back to her feet.

'Calm down now, calm down!' But she was unable to calm down. Inside her head she was issuing commands which never reached her arms and legs.

'112,' she whispered. 'You need to call 112.'

He quickly reached into his pocket for his mobile. 'You're sure it's not 113?'

She protested weakly, her body was rebelling: '112,' she repeated. 'The police!'

He entered the number at breakneck speed, started walking up and down while throwing quick glances at the dead body.

'We're calling from Linde Forest,' she heard him say. 'We're thirty minutes from the lake. We've found a small boy.'

Then he was silent for a few seconds, pressing the mobile against his ear.

'Yes, my name's Ris. Reinhardt Ris, we've been out for a walk. We've found a dead boy. You need to send someone.'

Again silence. Kristine gave in to the shaking, she sank down on to her knees and pressed her hands against the earth for support.

'No, there's no pulse,' Reinhardt shouted. 'Of course I'm sure. We can see that he's dead, he's gone all white!'

He came over to her, stopped, the sandy-coloured tuft stuck out.

'Yes, we can walk back to the barrier, our car's parked there, we'll wait for you.'

With considerable effort Kristine managed to stand up, and she started walking towards the edge of the clearing. Someone had stacked logs in a large pile and she slumped on to a log. She sat there watching the husband she knew inside out. Because she did, didn't she? Didn't she know every fibre of his powerful body, all his moods and his strong, commanding nature? He stood for a long time staring helplessly in every direction, a large man between the trees. All the qualities she normally associated with him sparkled by their absence. Authority, assurance and calm. Will and determination. It seemed as though he was prevaricating. She saw him walk back to the boy, saw him kneel down, he lowered his head and raised his hands to his face. What's he doing? she thought, baffled, is he crying, is that possible? Is he sitting there sobbing like a child? Have I misjudged him all these years, is he, in fact, a sensitive and emotional man?

Then the truth dawned on her.

He was taking pictures of the dead boy with his mobile.