The Water's Edge

by Karin Fossum

  'Yes and I don't believe in it. If the police come knocking, you're on your own.'

  'The police? Oh, please, get some perspective,' Alex said. 'Are you ashamed of me?'

  Johannes looked away.

  'That's it,' Alex exclaimed. 'You're ashamed of me. You're ashamed that you're gay, you're ashamed about everything. And all the good things in life are passing you by.'

  'I'm not ashamed. But there's a child-killer on the loose and people are talking about you.'

  Alex got up from the table. He went over to Johannes, leaned against the worktop and sighed. 'It's not like we're ever going to have children of our own,' he said.

  'Why would we want to have children?' Johannes said. 'We've already got a house full of them.'

  'But I've always wanted a son, that's all.'

  Johannes had been dicing vegetables. Now he stopped and slumped a little over the worktop.

  'Did you bring in the post?' Alex asked.

  Johannes put down the knife.

  'Yes,' he said quietly. 'I brought in the post, I always do.'

  He picked up the knife again and carried on.

  'Where did you put it?'

  No reply.

  'Johannes,' Alex said. 'Did you put the post on top of the fridge?'

  He tried to fathom Johannes's reluctance. On the top of the fridge he found a pile of junk mail, a few letters and a small picture postcard. It depicted a boy and a girl picking flowers on the edge of a cliff and behind them stood an angel with white wings. There was something profoundly touching about the image and for a moment Alex felt as if he was the guardian angel, that he would never let his pupils out of his sight. Perhaps someone else had thought exactly the same and this was their way of showing their appreciation. He turned over the card and read the message. There was a name, an address and a few brief lines.

  'Well?' Johannes asked.

  Alex turned his back to him and Johannes could see that he was clasping his mouth with his hand.

  'It's from the Parents' Association,' he stuttered. 'They've asked for a meeting.'

  CHAPTER 37

  Granås Farm consisted of a farmhouse, a storehouse, two cottages and a barn and three hundred and fifty acres of farmland. An avenue of tall birches led up to the farm and you could see that the wind from the loch had taken its toll on the treetops. The icy air hit Sejer and Skarre as soon as they got out of their car. In the hollow below they could see an old cottage. It was dilapidated, but it could be argued that it still retained a peculiar charm of its own. Some thriving, but untidy scrub grew along the walls and a fine layer of snow covered the grass surrounding the cottage.

  'What do you think?' Sejer asked.

  'Don't know yet,' said Skarre.

  The men walked around the cottage until they found the entrance marked by two old wooden posts covered by dried hops. Sejer looked at the farm. He saw the old greenhouse with its broken windows, a stationary tractor and a black cat slinking through the snow. A Toyota Carina was parked inside a lean-to of corrugated iron next to the barn. It was well maintained for its age and it was white.

  'He may or may not be in a wheelchair,' Sejer said, 'but he does drive a car. And why hasn't he had a ramp installed to his front door? How does he get up and down the steps?'

  He turned to Skarre.

  'Who were the officers who interviewed him the first time?'

  'Don't know.'

  Sejer looked towards the kitchen window. He could swear he detected movement behind the curtain, a face that quickly retreated. He went up the steps; nothing happened. He deliberately fumbled loudly with the door handle, then he waited, before knocking several times. Finally they heard noises from within. The door was opened slightly and a man peered out. The sharp light hit his face and caused him to squint. His hair was grey, almost straw-like, his skin was pallid and in dire need of some sunshine, as it had a bluish tint. He was sitting in a wheelchair, an older model, his hands resting on its wheels.

  'Wilfred Brein?' Skarre asked.

  The man scowled at them. His shirt, faded and worn, was hanging loosely outside his jeans. On his feet he wore brown leather slippers whose stitching was coming apart. But it was something else that caught Sejer's attention. The man's resemblance to Hans Christian Andersen was striking.

  'Police,' Sejer said. 'We would like to come inside for a few minutes.'

  Brein measured the men with his eyes. 'Why do you want to come inside?' he snarled. He kept his hands on the wheels as if, at any moment, he might reverse and slam the door.

  'Just a routine visit,' Sejer assured him, 'in connection with a case we're working on. We have a few questions, it won't take long.'

  Brein jutted out his chin. He clearly wanted to signal something, they were just not sure what because he looked so pathetic. Besides, there was something about his legs which aroused Sejer's suspicions. His thighs were muscular, they showed no sign of wastage.

  'It's to do with a witness statement,' Sejer said. 'There's something we need to clear up.'

  'A witness?' Brein said curtly. 'What do you mean witness?'

  'Witnesses claim to have seen you in Linde Forest. On Sunday the fourth of September in the afternoon. They saw you as you passed the barrier. You were heading for your car. I know it's been a long time, but I'm asking you to think back.'

  Brein's face became closed, his pallid cheeks turned hollow.

  'I know it's difficult to remember after all this time, but might they be right?' Sejer asked.

  Brein rolled his eyes theatrically.

  'You're barking up the wrong tree completely,' he muttered. 'Haven't you got eyes in your head?' He banged his fists against the wheels of the chair.

  'Please excuse me,' Sejer said, 'but I presume that you only use your wheelchair occasionally. And that you have better days when you can get about unaided. Given that you have also been seen in the ICA superstore, and furthermore you drive an old Toyota Carina. Which hasn't been adapted for wheelchair use. Or has it? Do you mind if I check?'

  He nodded in the direction of the Toyota.

  Brein grimaced. 'I walk with great difficulty,' he maintained.

  Sejer nodded sympathetically. 'Precisely. But there are clearly exceptions. Perhaps the fourth of September was one of them, perhaps it was one of your better days and you went for a walk in Linde Forest.'

  'I couldn't possibly go for a walk with this hip,' Brein said, placing a hand on his right hip and giving Sejer a look of suffering.

  'It was crushed by a Volvo on a pedestrian crossing. The joint is stainless steel and it aches.'

  'I see,' said Sejer, still being exquisitely polite. 'But there may have been something you needed to do up there?'

  'Which case is this?' Brein asked. His eyes had become evasive now. They flickered around the farmyard, to the barn and the stationary tractor.

  'Jonas August Løwe and Edwin Åsalid,' Sejer said. 'We've appealed for you to come forward in the newspapers and on every TV channel, several times. To put it plainly, we've been looking for you for nearly four months.'

  Brein placed his hands on his knees. He had large hands with yellow fingernails.

  'I read about it in the papers,' he said. 'About the two boys.'

  He tried to get comfortable in the chair and did so with exaggerated effort.

  'They were in all the papers. Huseby was invaded by journalists for weeks. I don't see how it concerns me, what all this fuss is about. This is the second time you've come knocking on my door. And I've told you all I'm going to tell you,' he added.

  'Did you go to Linde Forest on the fourth of September?' Sejer asked him.

  'I have been known to drive up there,' he said. 'People up there would recognise me because I used to live on Linde Farm when I was a boy. We rented the brewer's cottage.'

  'Did you see two people?' Sejer asked. 'A couple in their thirties, right by the barrier?'

  'Are you deaf?' Brein yelled. 'I wasn't there on the fourth of September. My hip was playing
up.'

  Skarre took a step forward. 'You were seen,' he said firmly.

  Brein tightened his grip on the wheels. 'Your witnesses are mistaken,' he said.

  'Please let us in,' Sejer persisted. 'Let's have a talk. You're very important to us because if you were up there, you might have seen something that can help us.'

  'I saw nothing.'

  'They noticed that you walk with difficulty,' Skarre said. 'Because you do, don't you?'

  Brein shrugged.

  'I'm not the only man with a limp around here,' he retorted.

  'Of course not,' Skarre said. 'But we have good reason to believe that it was you. It's to do with your appearance. What was your business up there, can you tell me something about that?'

  Brein fished a packet of cigarettes out of his shirt pocket. The men followed his movements as he stuck a cigarette in his mouth. He found a disposable lighter and inhaled greedily.

  'Well, what might a man be doing in a forest,' Brein speculated. 'Berry-picking, perhaps?'

  Sejer made no reply. The fact that Brein had lit a cigarette might mean that he was prepared to continue talking to them, so they stayed where they were.

  'No, honestly, I don't go to the forest very much,' Brein said casually. The cigarette glowed against his pale face.

  Obviously he's a suspect, Sejer thought, he confirms all our prejudices. All the same, he might be innocent. We must proceed with caution.

  'If you happen to think of anything later,' Sejer said, 'something you need to tell us, we would really like you to get in touch.'

  'You don't say,' said Brein.

  Sejer considered the disturbing fact that they had no grounds for interviewing him. He had been spotted in the relevant area, but he had no previous convictions and there was nothing that linked him to the crime. I've only got one card left to play, he thought, and I've got to play it now.

  'However, there's an easy way,' he started, 'to put an end to this. But it requires your co-operation.'

  'It would be a relief to get this over with,' Brein said.

  He was angry now. Angry that they harassed him when his life was already filled with anguish and misery.

  'It so happens,' Sejer went on, 'that we have obtained some evidence. And with your help we can eliminate you.'

  'What are you talking about?' Brein asked suspiciously.

  'You volunteer to give us a saliva sample.'

  A deathly silence followed. Brein's eyes narrowed.

  'I refuse to be treated like a criminal,' he exploded.

  'A DNA test would also prove your innocence,' Skarre argued.

  'I haven't killed those boys,' Brein raged, 'and that's God's honest truth. I've got nothing else to say to you!'

  He flicked the cigarette away and reversed the wheelchair back down the hallway. He struggled considerably to shut the door, but after several clumsy attempts he finally managed to slam it.

  Sejer and Skarre looked at each other. They were both grinning broadly.

  'What do you think the court will say?' Sejer said.

  'They might throw it out,' Skarre suggested.

  'They might,' Sejer said, 'but we're not doing anything illegal.'

  'No.'

  'And evidence gathered in this way would be admissible in court. Wouldn't it?'

  'And no one can claim that we lied to Brein. Or entrapped him.'

  'No, they can't.'

  'We've just had an incredible stroke of luck. And what if we get a match?'

  'Then it becomes his defence counsel's problem,' Skarre said. 'Let's risk it.'

  'Let's risk it,' Sejer agreed.

  He squatted down and looked closely at the cigarette Brein had tossed aside.

  'Do you have an evidence bag?'

  CHAPTER 38

  Sejer looked at the photographs of Edwin and Jonas August.

  'Have you considered that it would take three Jonases to make one Edwin? Jonas weighed twenty-eight kilos. Edwin weighs nearly ninety.'

  Skarre studied the boys. One tiny and skinny, the other huge and obese. 'Just as well the public can't see us now,' he said, 'sitting here, making fun of the boys. Where are you going with this?'

  'I'm not making fun of them. It's a fact.'

  'But is it relevant? That they are extremes?'

  'I don't think it means anything in particular. They were walking along the road when he drove by. They both got into his car, which might mean that they knew him. However, I doubt that they would know Brein and that's why I hesitate. And I'm not buying the wheelchair story.'

  'Surely people don't have a wheelchair in their home unless they need it?' Skarre protested. He felt restless. He started pacing the floor. 'What if Brein does a runner while we sit here twiddling our thumbs.'

  'We're not twiddling our thumbs,' Sejer said, 'and I can't imagine that he is going anywhere with that bad hip of his. You need to calm down. You're pinning everything on him. Don't do it: you could end up terribly disappointed.'

  Skarre walked to the door. 'Come on,' he said. 'We're going out. We can walk and talk, I need some fresh air. It's got to be him, it's got to be Brein. I can't bear another dead end, not after all this time.'

  They went out into the city. A little more snow had fallen, a fine powdery layer. The sight of the snow made them feel ill at ease. They thought of Edwin Åsalid and images of a frozen body started taking shape in their minds.

  'So you think Brein's our man?' Sejer said. 'Does he confirm all our prejudices?'

  'He's on benefits,' Skarre said. 'He's a loner. He has little money, dresses badly, finds it hard to interact with adults. Rather scruffy, a bit of a loser. Yes, of course he fits the profile. But there might be another side to him, which so far we've failed to see. Something noble, even, what do I know?'

  'Something noble? Why noble?'

  'I don't know. I just don't want to be prejudiced, though I think it's probably too late for that. You saw him too, you must have formed an impression?'

  'We're all prejudiced,' Sejer said. 'It's a vital part of our survival instinct. What did you think when we were standing outside Brein's front door? Your gut reaction. Be honest.'

  'I thought that it might be him. That he might have killed Edwin and Jonas August. What did you think?'

  'That he might be innocent. We've got to be very careful.'

  'I knew it,' Skarre said. 'You're a better person than I am.'

  A few snowflakes had landed on Sejer's grey hair. His sharp profile stood out clearly against the white background.

  'We have nothing to fear, we live in a country with a decent legal system,' he said. 'If it turns out we have a DNA match, Brein will have access to a defence counsel and anything else he might need. He will be treated humanely and given plenty of time to tell us his side of the story. Jonas August won't have that privilege and neither will Edwin. They have lost the rest of their lives, and their deaths were horrific. They were alone and they were terrified. I think about that a great deal.'

  'I try not to,' Skarre admitted. 'The thought of it chills me to the bone.'

  'It has its uses,' Sejer said. 'You need to keep the crime in mind and remember how evil it was. And for that matter, the role we play in all this.'

  'Which is what?'

  'Well, you know,' Sejer said. 'We get involved and we restore order and dignity.'

  'Good heavens,' Skarre exclaimed. 'That's beyond us. All we can do is clean up, Konrad.'

  'Don't underestimate yourself or your own purpose.'

  'What do you think the prosecutor will say?' Skarre said.

  'That Jonas August died in particularly aggravating circumstances. And that the punishment should reflect it. But the man in the dock, if we end up with a man in the dock, will be preoccupied with saving his own skin, and that's his right. But I can't stop myself from saying that a little remorse would be appropriate. There is not enough remorse in Norwegian prisons. And remorse would help the victim's family. Mankind can be very magnanimous, given the chance.'


  'Is that your honest opinion?'

  'It's a belief that sustains me.'

  Skarre bent down and scooped up some snow in his hands, pressing it together into a rock-hard ball.

  'Here we are waiting for the results of the DNA test,' he said, 'and Brein is pottering about in blissful ignorance. I can't stand it.'