Forty Days Without Shadow: An Arctic Thriller

by Olivier Truc

  “And that makes him unique?”

  “People see him as a kind of image of the past. He makes them nostalgic, I think.”

  “Does he make you feel nostalgic?”

  Klemet didn’t reply.

  8:30 a.m., Central Sápmi

  Klemet and Nina had been riding their snowmobiles for forty-five minutes when the incident occurred. A harmless incident, to all appearances, but one Nina wouldn’t forget in a hurry.

  As usual, Klemet was riding up front. It was still two hours to sunrise, but the gleam of daylight beyond the horizon was amplified by the thick snow, and it was bright enough to see without headlamps. Nina gripped the heated handlebars, lulled by the rich purr of the engine, responsive to the slightest turn of the wrist. Its warmth spread from her thighs throughout her body. They couldn’t be far from Aslak’s camp. Her helmet visor blocked the cold wind, though a tiny wisp found its way in through a crack, irritating her like a persistent, buzzing fly. Her thoughts wandered, mulling over the descriptions of Aslak. They painted a strange portrait of the man. She was aware of a stand of dwarf birch trees to her left, along what was clearly a frozen river, but paid no particular attention to the scenery. They were climbing a gentle slope now, moving up the mountain, away from the snow-covered river, its snaking course defining itself as they rose. They drove slowly, the engines just ticking over. For once, Nina thought, they could just make out the sounds of nature as they rode. She paused to remove her helmet and continued, still wearing her chapka.

  A deafening shot obliterated the noise of the engine. Nina felt an electric jolt of shock. A shadow darted ahead, to her right. She realized what it was when she saw a bulky silhouette on skis, gesticulating in front of her colleague’s snowmobile. The man had burst out from the higher ground above them and came to a halt across Klemet’s path, in a cloud of powdery snow, forcing him to make a sudden stop. Nina watched as Klemet calmly lifted his visor, while the other man yelled at him in anger. Nina couldn’t believe what she was seeing. The other man had just fired on them—or a fired a warning shot in their direction—but Klemet remained perfectly calm and unresponsive, taking the furious reprimand on the chin. Instinctively, Nina knew this must be Aslak. She lifted the earflaps of her chapka to hear what was being said.

  “…hell out here right now. But dear God, how many times must you be told? You can’t come this way. My reindeer are just down there. If they take fright because of you, they’ll make off over to the other side where there’s nothing to eat. It’s hell, I tell you. God almighty! You have to go around the other way, not through here, is that clear?”

  The tone was authoritarian, even threatening, though there was no call for that. Everything about the man suggested he was a force of nature, radiating power and charisma. Aslak was living up to his reputation, Nina thought. He looked as if he might throw himself on Klemet at any moment and devour him whole. And bizarrely, it seemed to her that Klemet would do nothing whatever to defend himself. Strange.

  Aslak was wearing a reindeer-skin poncho like Johann Henrik’s, but longer, as well as reindeer-skin leggings, boots, and gloves, too. No helmet, just a thick chapka, like those worn by the Reindeer Police.

  Nina dared not move. In the growing daylight, she watched her partner’s motionless silhouette, and saw Aslak’s dark eyes, his fury expressed in every keenly etched line. His face was deeply furrowed and shadowed by several days’ growth of beard. His jaw was squarer than those of most Sami men, but he had his people’s high, proud cheekbones, a sharply defined nose, and a broad, sensual mouth. Most of all, Nina was struck by his penetrating gaze. He emanated raw energy. Aslak moved slowly, but each gesture involved the whole of his body. Beneath his thick clothing, he was astonishingly fit and alive. He held his gun in one hand and a long stick in the other. In a flash, Nina realized she and Klemet weren’t armed—the Norwegian police seldom were. Their guns were stowed in a safe back at headquarters. Helpful.

  At length, Aslak turned to look in her direction. His piercing eyes seemed to take in every detail. Nina stared right back. He no longer seemed threatening, she thought. Now, she sensed an overwhelming fatigue in the Sami’s expression. Their interview would be complicated, to say the least.

  Then another sound left her frozen to the spot. An unearthly shriek, echoing around the landscape. A long, harsh, guttural cry, expressive of terrible pain. The cry came from a long way off. But where? The horror was nowhere to be seen, but the cry ricocheted across the valley. Just as suddenly, it stopped, leaving nothing but the moaning wind that had carried it to them. Nina was seized with a sudden, inexplicable feeling of dread. They would have to do something. She turned to the two men. Aslak said nothing, showing no sign of surprise. His eyes remained fixed on her, but Nina was shocked to see the change in his expression. Pinched tight, his lips had lost their sensual fullness now. She broke the silence.

  “What was that?”

  10 a.m., Kautokeino

  André Racagnal walked into Kautokeino’s rod and gun store. Almost immediately, he noticed the police car turning and parking outside. A cop got out—the same man who had interviewed him the previous day. Shit. For a moment, he considered making an about-face, but decided it would be better to stay where he was, rather than attract the sales assistant’s attention. Racagnal managed to move to the back of the store, where the knives were kept.

  Rolf Brattsen walked in and headed for the fishing tackle along the left-hand wall, apparently absorbed in the colored flies. Racagnal turned away, concentrating on a detailed comparison of the broad blades. His back prickled. Someone was standing right behind him.

  “That one’s for the real big game.”

  Racagnal looked up. Greeted Brattsen with a forced smile. “You never know, I may get lucky out in the vidda. Would this be a good blade?”

  “Don’t know anything about knives,” said Brattsen, fixing him with a hard stare. “So you’re a hunting man?”

  “I’m off prospecting, like I said. Once I get the permit from the council, which shouldn’t take long. Just getting the last of my equipment together.” Racagnal replaced the knife—he didn’t need it, and since the policeman showed no sign of leaving, he went on: “Any news on your case?”

  “We’re searching for clues. Still searching.”

  Brattsen was standing very close. He looked less like a cop now. Seemed almost affable, though the smile was a little forced. He was clearly trying to adopt a friendlier, less stubborn expression. The worst of it was, he couldn’t even manage that, thought Racagnal. The Frenchman was eager to get away, but he knew that after yesterday’s interview he had to watch his step. He couldn’t afford to set the cop on the scent of what had happened in Alta. Racagnal thought back to his visit to the pub, but quickly banished the image from his mind.

  “You haven’t had any more trouble?” asked the policeman.

  Jesus. Racagnal thought for a second before replying. Could the cop suspect something? No. Impossible.

  “No. So much for my little romance last night! Too bad. But I’ll be in town for a while. Don’t want to upset anyone.”

  “No, indeed.”

  The two men stood silent for a moment. Then Brattsen spoke: “Fancied her, though, didn’t you? The girl behind the bar. Eh? I could see that.”

  Racagnal looked closely at Brattsen, trying to figure out where he was going with this. The policeman maintained his air of forced affability. Or perhaps he really was just being friendly.

  “She was…interesting.”

  “Bit young, though?”

  “Over eighteen, I believe,” Racagnal ventured.

  “No doubt, no doubt.” Brattsen stared him in the eye. He had reverted, unawares, to his natural expression—stubborn and hard. He forced another smile. “So when are you heading out into the vidda?”

  “Once I’ve collected the last of my equipment. And above all, I need a guide. Someone local.”

  “Ah, yes, of course, a guide! Who will you take?”


  “Don’t know yet. I need someone tough who can stay the course. Someone who knows the terrain.”

  “Oh, you’ll find plenty around here. They may not be office material, but they’re strong, dependable, and they’re in their element out there. If you don’t get landed with a drunk, that is.”

  “I’ve been recommended a breeder by the name of Renson. Swedish, originally. Very sharp, apparently.”

  Brattsen interrupted, with a suspicious look, “Renson? I’d take someone else if I were you.”

  “Why?”

  “Find someone else, that’s all. A word of friendly advice. If you don’t want to get held up with your mission.”

  Racagnal could see there was little point in insisting. But this wasn’t helping. Renson’s qualities had been roundly praised at the Villmarkssenter. An atypical breeder, liked to do things his own way, but he knew what he was about, with a great many contacts, and above all he was available—he belonged to a powerful clan who could take over his herding duties while he was away.

  “Too bad. Well, I’ll find someone.”

  “Sure you will,” declared Brattsen. “And don’t you worry, you’ll find yourself a little girlfriend hereabouts, soon enough.”

  With that, he turned on his heel and left the store, looking at nothing, making no purchases. As if he hadn’t stopped in by chance at all.

  14

  Friday, January 14

  10:30 a.m., Central Sápmi

  Nina didn’t hear Aslak’s reply. In fact, she couldn’t be sure he had answered Klemet’s question at all. His lips were still pinched tight, as if in acute pain. With that look in his eyes, a mixture of fire and ice. Nina felt exasperated. For once, her expression betrayed nothing, but she felt frustrated and annoyed. She didn’t understand these people, with their long silences, let alone her partner, who seemed to find their behavior perfectly normal. He was a policeman; he had the right to expect an answer, to demand one, even. But no, he stood there, as silent as Aslak. Not a word. As if Aslak’s presence robbed him of his authority, his defenses. That was it, she thought. He’s in awe of Aslak, too.

  As a new recruit, she had been taken to meet the Reindeer Police chief in Kiruna, on the Swedish side. He had warned her about the special nature of the squad. The Reindeer Police was no ordinary unit. They didn’t usually take such young recruits, he had told her. But for the moment, the officers were all men, and they needed women. The vidda wasn’t a woman’s world, though. The chief had hesitated before going on:

  “Probably no place for us non-Sami, either, come to think of it.”

  The shriek seemed to die back to the far end of the valley, but Nina still felt the goose bumps on her neck and arms. She looked around her. All that whiteness, the bare mountains with their sparse stands of dwarf birch, the scattered rocky outcrops, and the blue gleam of the sky where the sun struggled to rise. From their position on the mountainside, the view extended far and wide, with no sign of human life. Aslak’s camp would be on the far side of the peak.

  “Aslak, we need to ask you a few questions,” said Klemet. “Nina will follow you back to camp. You can talk to her.”

  Nina had been expecting anything but this. A complete change of plan! She was about to object, but Klemet carried on, avoiding her gaze. He was actually avoiding her eye! He wasn’t looking at Aslak, either. What was the matter with him?

  “I need to get back to the hut, I’ll explain later. Let me know when you’ve finished. I’ll come and find you here. Or somewhere. We’ll see.”

  He glanced at her quickly, then lowered his eyes again. Nina had never seen him like this. She glanced at Aslak, who was staring intently at them both, but he made no reply. Deftly, quickly, he picked up his gun and slung it across his back before setting off, pushing silently through the snow on his skis, towards the summit. Nina followed.

  They soon reached Aslak’s camp on the far side. Nina sat for a moment on her scooter, with the engine off. She was fascinated by what she saw. The camp consisted of three tents covered with branches, earth, and moss. Smoke rose from the biggest of the three, through an opening at the top. Nina saw an enclosure next to the farthest tent, with ten or so reindeer. The animals began to turn and jostle at their approach, indicating their alarm. They weren’t used to engines. Nina couldn’t see a snowmobile anywhere. It was like looking at a postcard from the prewar days, a photograph from the book she had leafed through in Kiruna, about traditional Sami lifestyles. Camps like this didn’t exist anymore. She hadn’t visited many herders on patrol, but those she had met so far afforded themselves a few modern comforts, at least. Not Aslak. He was a different character altogether. Beside the entrance to the biggest tent, a scaffold of slender birch logs was hung with quarters of meat drying in the wind. They would be frozen rock-hard, she thought.

  She sensed that she was about to enter an unknown world, far stranger than anything she had seen up to now. She was crossing a new frontier. The wind pushed at her back, urging her toward the entrance of the main tent, with Aslak’s shouts, the gunshot, and the terrifying shriek ringing in her ears. She knew now that she was about to discover its source.

  Aslak went ahead, bending to step under the tent flap. He disappeared into the semidarkness, then paused, lifting a thick tarpaulin that served as an inner door, inviting Nina to step inside. Nina prepared to stoop down. Aslak was staring at her, his dark eyes gleaming intently, framed by deep creases. His chiseled features were partly obscured by his coarse growth of beard. Nina was unsure how to interpret the look. She bent forward, took another two steps, and found herself in front of a fire, in the middle of the tent. She coughed. The air was full of smoke, stinging her throat and eyes. She spotted a free space to her left and went to sit down. At ground level, the air was breathable. She removed her chapka and was about to shake her blonde hair free when Aslak entered the tent. Sensing his gaze on her again, she felt somehow indecent, exhibiting her hair. Hurriedly, she tied it back, then wished she hadn’t. Aslak said nothing, waiting for her to settle.

  Nina found herself unable to speak. She felt so far from anything she knew. Her eyes were getting used to the semidarkness, and only now did she see a shape moving on the other side of the fire. She shifted slightly and saw a woman swaddled in a heavy, reindeer-skin garment, wearing a chapka, its straps knotted under her chin. The woman moved very slowly. She had a fine, slightly receding chin and high, prominent cheekbones, though they were less pronounced than Aslak’s. Her almond eyes were magnificent but for their blank, soulless expression, Nina thought. No light there at all. She shivered. Without knowing why, she was certain that this woman had uttered the terrifying shriek. The woman didn’t seem to have noticed their presence. She turned slowly, took a birch log and placed it delicately on the fire. Nina watched her. She felt acutely on edge. But the woman didn’t seem to be suffering physically. Just far away, absent, not of this world… Suddenly, she gave a deep, long sigh. Nina held her breath, dreading another shriek. But nothing came. The woman stared into the flames, her features a frozen mask.

  “This is my wife,” said Aslak. “She doesn’t speak. She is elsewhere.”

  His voice seemed to draw the woman out of her torpor and she began to chant quietly. Nina recognized a guttural melody like the one she had heard Mattis sing. Another joïk. She found it impossible to tell how old the woman was. She might have been anywhere between thirty and sixty.

  “Is she the one who screamed?” Nina asked at length, breaking the heavy silence.

  “She is.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s her way of speaking.”

  He fell silent again.

  “Like an infant,” he then said in a dull voice.

  Nina looked at him. He seemed to be weighing each word. They were separated by much more than the hearth. She thought of Klemet’s odd behavior in Aslak’s presence. Nina could almost feel the tension between the two of them, like a tightly stretched net. She couldn’t understand why she found it so difficult to
start the questioning. There was something palpable yet indefinable here, mingled with the floating tendrils of smoke. She tried to pull herself together, think rationally and concentrate on the inquiry. She focused on Aslak. Was he more than just Mattis’s neighbor? Did he have a sufficient motive to kill him?

  “You have questions to ask me.”

  Nina knew she was not welcome. “We’re investigating Mattis’s murder. You are aware that he’s been killed, that his scooter was set alight and his trailer searched. We’re calling on all his neighbors. I have some specific questions I’d like to ask you, all of which are purely routine, and part of our inquiry.”

  Nina was justifying herself more than was necessary, she knew that. But she felt impotent faced with Aslak’s stare, his intense silence. And annoyed at herself.

  “Where were you on Monday and Tuesday?”

  “Where do you think I was?”

  Nina stared at him. Aslak’s lips formed a sneer of disdain. But their raw sensuality was apparent, even now. The glowing fire reflected in his eyes. He looked dangerous, she thought. This man was capable of killing.

  “Where were you?” Nina asked again.

  “With my reindeer.”

  “With your reindeer. I see.”

  Nina knew Aslak would do nothing to make her task any easier. He was obviously unaware that he risked arrest. She found herself in the same situation as Klemet, the day before, with Johann Henrik. She glanced at Aslak’s wife. The woman was gazing up into the smoke rising through the hole at the top of the tent. She would find no help there, either.

  “When did you last see Mattis?”

  Aslak bent forward to the cooking pot, hanging from a birch tripod over the fire. He dipped a birchwood mug into it and drank a gulp of scalding-hot reindeer broth. Only after he had helped himself did he invite the policewoman to do the same. She plunged her own mug into the pot.