The Water's Edge

by Karin Fossum

  CHAPTER 39

  Elfrid Løwe had come to the police station where she spent a long time talking to Jacob Skarre. He listened with kindness and attention, resting his chin on his hand.

  'Jonas was a quick and gentle boy,' she said. 'Nimble like a squirrel, up and down the stairs like the wind. Curious, eager and positive. Sometimes he would look at me with his large, blue eyes, hungry for love. He needed so much attention, and I could offer him an endless supply, it was just the two of us. At school he was quiet and shy, his teacher was always telling me so at parents' evenings. Jonas is a little passive, she said, it would be good if he could try to be a little more assertive in lessons. He suffered from a number of allergies, but he managed his medication himself. I thought it was going well on the whole, but I always worried about his asthma. And he was tiny. Perhaps that's what held him back. I'm sure you'll start growing soon and you'll be big and strong in a few years, I used to say. Mothers always say things like that because we can't bear our children's disappointment when something upsets them, it tears us apart.

  'But he was as good as gold, well-behaved and polite, so if an adult asked him to do something, I mean, like get into a car, because I suppose that's what happened, well, he would have got into the car because he was so trusting and because I taught him to be kind to everybody. So now I'm thinking it's all my fault. That if he had been a street-wise and shrewd boy then he would be alive today. But he thought the best of everyone and because of that he died, that's how it seems to me. I blame myself every hour of the day and I'll carry this guilt to my grave. The vicar has been to see me. I let him in because I don't want to hurt his feelings. He just stands there and he so desperately wants to help. He says that the only person who is to blame is the man who killed Jonas. He says I should remember Jonas with joy and cherish the memories, and I do because the memories are happy, but it's so hard. When I see other mothers with their children, I just want to scream. If I had another child, I would still have a reason to get up in the morning; now I'm just sitting there staring out of the window. My hands lie useless in my lap, no one needs me, no one bothers me. There's no point in going to bed at night, I don't need to get up in the morning. There is nothing to make me want to live the rest of my life.

  'I used to sit by his bedside every evening. He would curl up under the duvet and his eyes would plead with me for comfort and encouragement, he needed so much support. We would talk about the day that had just passed and the day that was to come. I would think of some treat to look forward to, something to make him fall asleep with a smile on his face. That we would cook something special for tea the next day or watch a film together in the evening, the two of us, snuggled up on the sofa. All children deserve to have a treat every single day, all children deserve to be pampered.

  'The worst moments are when my thoughts take control of me and I start to imagine what his last few hours must have been like. The pictures in my head are so disgusting they make me scream. What he had to go through. I don't know whether to think about it in all its horror so that I can suffer with Jonas or whether I should suppress it. The vicar says it's finished now and that Jonas isn't suffering any more, I'm the only one suffering now and he's right about that. I thought his funeral was so beautiful, the organ music and the flowers, and the poem that his teacher read out loud. I had to translate it into Norwegian for my parents, they don't speak any English. I visit his grave every single day. It took me for ever to choose his headstone; none of them was good enough. The one I chose was far too expensive. I had to take out a loan, but they were kind to me at the bank, they gave me a good rate. They all know about Jonas. The stone is heart-shaped with a cut-out in the middle and in it there is a lamp which lights up at night. There's an inscription underneath his name.

  You were my darling angel.

  Now there is only silence.

  'Sometimes when I'm walking towards the church I notice how people stop at Jonas's grave. They stand there with a mixture of embarrassment and curiosity. It doesn't upset me, I like it that people stop and think, and then I wait until they've gone because I don't want to make them feel uncomfortable. I have reserved the plot next to him for myself, we're going to lie close to each other and I look forward to that. I'm not scared of dying. Jonas has done it, so I can do it too. I don't know much about eternity, but perhaps it's all right. I talk and talk and you listen with reverence. Perhaps you think that I'll be fine eventually because I can put words to my feelings. But the reality is that silence terrifies me.'

  CHAPTER 40

  'I've realised something,' Skarre said. 'We're always too late.'

  'What do you mean?' Sejer said. 'Too late for what?'

  'Once we arrive, the disaster is already a fact. Someone has lost control and the worst has happened. We can't ease the pain, either: isn't that a depressing thought?'

  Sejer allowed himself a lenient smile. 'If you wanted to save lives, you should have become a fireman.'

  Skarre circled the room restlessly. They were both waiting for the fax machine from which the result of Brein's saliva sample would soon emerge. They were paying the lab extra for a quick response.

  'What are we going to do about Edwin?' Skarre asked. 'Even if we do get a perfect match, we have nothing to link Brein to Edwin.'

  'I know. It's going to be a long winter.'

  'That reminds me,' Skarre said. 'I was in Kaffebrenneriet the other day with some friends. And in a corner was a guy I recognised.'

  'Go on?'

  'It was Ingemar Brenner.'

  'Tulla Åsalid's boyfriend?'

  'Tulla's boyfriend with a younger woman. At least twenty years younger. Blonde, attractive and giggling.'

  'He must have finished with Tulla then,' Sejer said, 'and found himself a new girlfriend.'

  'Or he's defrauding her,' Skarre said. 'Like he normally does. And I can't bear to think of that. Given what else has happened.'

  'We mustn't jump to conclusions. Perhaps she's a relative. There's a lot we don't know.'

  'Relatives don't snog each other,' Skarre said. 'I think we should warn Tulla, I think we owe her that. She's got enough to worry about as it is.'

  'We're police officers,' Sejer objected. 'We don't get involved with people's love lives.'

  'But this isn't about love,' Skarre argued. 'He's after her money.'

  'I must remind you that Brenner has served his sentence. You have to give him a break.'

  Skarre shook his head. 'Tulla's the one who deserves a break.'

  'All right,' Sejer said. 'You win. Let's see if the right moment comes along.'

  Skarre went over to the fax machine, bent down and stared at it.

  'What are you doing?'

  'I'm summoning up an answer,' Skarre said. 'Human beings are filled with psychic energies which we never use. I'm summoning them now.'

  Sejer gave him a strange look. 'Now listen to me,' he said calmly. 'You don't like Wilfred Brein. You think he's a self-important and unsympathetic man and it would suit you very well if he turns out to be guilty. Elfrid Løwe would derive some small comfort and the general public would breathe a sigh of relief. But just because a man behaves brusquely towards the police doesn't mean he's guilty. Lots of people have very strong feelings about us.'

  'Why are you suddenly lecturing me?'

  'To save you disappointment,' Sejer said. 'The fact that he went up there doesn't link him to the crime. Besides, he does appear to have a bad hip.'

  'Very well,' Skarre said. 'So he abducted Jonas August on one of his good days.'

  He crossed the floor and opened the door to the corridor.

  'Come on,' he said. 'Let's go down to the canteen.'

  They found seats by the window and drank some Farris mineral water, faking a calm they did not possess. They waited. They watched people come and go. They studied the snowflakes falling outside. Muffled sounds drifted through the room, the clinking of glass and cutlery and muted voices. The smell of coffee. Skarre smoothed out a paper nap
kin. Sejer fiddled with his mobile phone, there were no new calls, no new messages. They waited. From time to time they glanced at each other across the table, then they looked away and sought out the window, the falling snow.

  Finally they could no longer contain their curiosity. They returned to the office and settled down in their chairs in deep thought. There was nothing more to say. It was during this loaded silence that the fax machine finally started whirring and the men shot up and rushed over to it. Sejer snatched the sheet, leaned against the wall, his eyes racing across the few lines. Then he let his hand drop.

  'So what have we got?' Skarre asked.

  'A match,' he said. 'Irrefutable, undeniable proof.'

  CHAPTER 41

  Brein opened the door. He was standing on his own two feet this time, but when they told him why they had come, he collapsed against the door frame.

  'No!' he screamed. 'I want you to leave me alone!'

  They allowed him a few minutes to sort out of a couple of essential things such as packing his blood-thinning medication, which he claimed his life depended on. He asked to call his father, but they told him no. He put a packet of cigarettes in his pocket and followed them to the police car. He did not utter a single word during the thirty-minute drive to the station. Sejer watched him in the mirror. Now it was Brein's turn to look like a small boy who had been abducted.

  Once they reached the station he was placed in a cell, where he sat for four hours. He perched on the edge of the bench and stared down at his lap, at his hands with their blue veins. Several times he got up and went over to look out of the window. The cell faced a backyard with a brown Portakabin and several parked patrol cars. He saw Volvos and Fords. A row of green wheelie bins was lined up against the Portakabin. He paced the floor. He could take only a few steps before he had to turn around. He thought about those who had occupied the cell before him, thieves and robbers, murderers. He had nothing in common with them. He sat down on the bench once more and folded his hands. No one had come to check up on him, to see if he was all right, didn't they have to do that? They had promised him something to eat, but no food had arrived.

  He felt a sudden urge to lie down and close his eyes, but it would be like surrendering, and he did not want to surrender, he was going to fight. So he continued to perch on the edge and to despair. He listened to the sounds outside, the traffic, scattered voices and shouts. Sometimes he would shudder violently, his heart racing; he had nodded off and woken up with a jerk. A cup of coffee would have been nice, he thought, another human being, a voice.

  The four hours turned into a restless walk between the bench and the window; all the time he was trying to prepare himself for what lay ahead. Listen to me, he wanted to say, I can explain, it's not what you think! They seemed friendly enough and polite, and they did have rules to follow, but he didn't want to be naive, he didn't want to weaken, they weren't going to get him, they weren't going to pin something on him which wasn't true. For a moment he raged with indignation at everything that had happened. He had been carried along by life itself, temptation had dropped right into his hands, and he had acted in accordance with his desires, it was like falling into a river and being swept along by the current. Wasn't he merely being human? He sensed how the heat surged through his body, and then he collapsed once more, because deep down he knew better, of course he did. They would show him no mercy, they would reel off their accusations, drag him through the mud like he was something inferior. Distraught, he tried to keep control of his thoughts, because it felt safer, but they overpowered him and he bowed his head in shame.

  CHAPTER 42

  Wilfred Arent Brein was not a handsome man. Nature had not been kind to him. He had a gaunt face and thin lips devoid of colour. He was conscious of his shortcomings and it showed; his eyes were evasive and changed, at times, to a sullen look.

  'I was promised something to eat,' he began.

  Sejer was reminded of a stray dog begging.

  'Oh?' he said. 'Were you? We'll see to it. Presently.'

  He sent Brein a questioning look. 'You haven't eaten much recently?'

  Brein scowled at him. 'I think you owe me an explanation.' He tried to sound assertive, but there was not much strength left in his feeble voice.

  Sejer leafed through a pile of papers on the table, checked the time and read a few sentences on a document.

  'Why haven't you been eating?'

  'Surely it's my own business how much I eat,' Brein said. He jerked his head. It was a repetitive, nervous twitch.

  'Of course,' Sejer said. 'I was just expressing concern. You've been having problems?'

  'I live with a great deal of pain,' he said. 'I have done for years. Some days all I can do is lie on the sofa and groan. But you need to explain to me why I'm sitting here,' he added. 'You owe me that much.'

  'I owe you nothing,' Sejer said, 'for the time being. If it turns out I've made a mistake, you'll get an apology. So far I haven't made a mistake.' Then, in a friendly voice, 'Did you know Jonas August?'

  Brein jumped instantly. He had not meant to, he knew he had to be strong to save himself, but the boy's name rang like a bell in his ears and he shuddered. The room they were in was white, bare and windowless. The table, which separated them, had yellowed with age and the varnish had started to peel. There was something shabby about the furniture, as though it had been bought from some second-hand shop. On the ceiling a fluorescent tube cast a garish light over the stone floor. A camera had been placed in a corner of the ceiling. The lens followed him like an evil, foreboding eye. Sejer repeated his question.

  'Did you know Jonas August?'

  'I think you need to explain why I'm here,' Brein said again.

  'You have no idea why you've been arrested?'

  'No. I mean, come on. You can't just pick up people and put them in a cell like this,' he complained.

  'Yes,' Sejer said, 'we can and I'm happy to get straight to the point. Let's not waste time; after all, you're hungry. This is about Jonas August Løwe. He was found on the fourth of September up at Linde Forest. The forensic pathologist has established that he was subjected to a violent attack, which caused his death, and we can link you to the crime with irrefutable evidence. Did you know him?'

  Brein shook his head in disbelief. He was still unable to grasp the situation. Sejer's confidence frightened him, his composure and authority were menacing.

  'Irrefutable evidence?' he stammered. 'No, I don't believe that.'

  'DNA,' Sejer explained.

  Brein rummaged around his memory feverishly, but he failed to see the connection.

  'I haven't given you a sample,' he said. 'You're trying to entrap me.'

  'You're already trapped. And if you're interested in telling your side of the story, then now is your chance. It's your best option. Jonas August didn't have that chance.'

  Brein shook his head again. 'This is some sort of trick.'

  'No,' Sejer said, 'it's very simple.' He changed tack. 'Did you know him?'

  'I didn't kill those boys,' Brein said.

  'I didn't say you had.'

  'But that's what you're thinking. You think that I killed Jonas and Edwin, but I didn't!'

  'We want to make sure we find out what really happened,' Sejer said. 'In order for us to do that, you need to work with us.'

  'All right. But then you have to believe me, because I'm telling you the truth. I didn't know Jonas,' he said. 'I had only seen him a few times walking along the road, a little lad with skinny legs and trousers that were too big for him.'

  He started digging a nail into a dent in the table. While he talked he avoided meeting Sejer's scrutinising eyes.

  'I can't deny that I've been driving around looking at the kids,' he said, 'and pay attention to what I said. Looking at them, that's all. I know what you're thinking, but you're completely wrong.'

  'You know nothing about what I think,' Sejer said. 'Go on.'

  'I can't help that I'm attracted to children,' Brein said
. 'I've always been like that. But I was too scared to tell anyone – you probably know this already. So I kept it all to myself, and that was very hard. It was a lot to handle for a small boy, because I was only ten when I started to have these feelings. There was a boy at the farm next to ours, and I was in love with him, he was only six, and I didn't know what to do with myself when he was around. I was all over the place.'

  'So what did you do?' Sejer asked.

  'I would watch him in secret,' he said. 'I would dream and fantasise. Needs must.'

  'So you prefer boys?'

  'Yes,' Brein said. 'Boys. I like their small bodies and their delicate limbs. I like that they are frightened and shy, I like everything about them, I like the smell and the sound and the taste of them.' He was growing more animated, his cheeks were gaining colour.