The Water's Edge

by Karin Fossum

  'He's seventeen. Why do you ask?'

  'He does ballet?'

  'Correct. He dances classical ballet, and some people think that he shows promise.'

  'Does he have a girlfriend?'

  Sejer looked at him across the table. 'There was talk of a girl called Lea once. I don't know much about it and I didn't want to intrude.'

  'Has Lea turned sixteen?'

  Sejer frowned. 'I don't know. Please don't add to my worries, I've got more than enough as it is. Matteus is a very sensible boy, and he is very conscientious in absolutely everything he does. He needs to be responsible, he needs to be the best. He needs to train harder than anyone so that no one can point the finger at him for anything.'

  'He's ambitious?'

  Sejer nodded. 'He needs to be, he's from Somalia. He needs to work twice as hard as everybody else, he has to defend his place on a daily basis.'

  'I hear what you're saying,' Skarre said, 'but most people grew up with some sort of baggage. My father was a clergyman, he had very high expectations of me and he never got over the fact that I didn't want to study theology. Because of him, I've often felt like a failure. It has affected my entire personality that I was such a major disappointment to him, the knowledge that he went to his grave with his grief. If Matteus hadn't been black, it would have been something else that would haunt him his whole life.'

  'I suppose you're right,' Sejer said. 'And the man we're looking for probably has an explanation as well, a reason for why it happened, for what happened to Jonas. But when you think about it, it's actually quite straightforward. We all have to abide by Norwegian law, every single one of us.'

  CHAPTER 20

  September 8th.

  Edwin Åsalid was staring out of the window, waiting.

  He noticed that the leaves were changing colour. They had gone from green to red and yellow. A light mist drifted across the houses and bathed them in a ghostly veil. Perhaps something evil is about to happen, he fantasised. His mother was busy cooking dinner when she heard a joyous squeal followed by heavy feet plodding across the floor. Edwin waddled into the kitchen, his big body quivering with excitement and anticipation. A sound pierced the silence in the house, the familiar ringing of a sharp, tinkling bell.

  'It's the ice-cream van,' he pestered her. 'The ice-cream van's here! Please can I buy a box of choc ices, Mummy? Please, please?' He grabbed hold of one of her wrists and yanked her arm like a puppy pulling at a toy. Tulla Åsalid snatched back her hand and folded her arms across her chest. An expression of anxiety flashed across her face. Her son was morbidly obese and his weight was increasing rapidly. He wanted ice-cream now, he was on his knees pleading with her, he shifted from knee to knee, his fists opening and clenching.

  'Edwin,' she said weakly, 'we've talked about this.'

  'But Mum,' he begged. 'Just one box!'

  He gave his mother a beseeching look. Tulla Åsalid fought an inner battle. She remembered what the doctors had said, that she had to change his diet or his health would suffer and he weighed almost ninety kilos now. But he was imploring her, and she struggled to stay firm. Again he clasped her wrist, his brown eyes sparkling.

  'There are twenty ice-creams in a box,' he pushed on, 'and there's hardly any fat in them because the ice-cream is made from powdered milk.'

  Tulla Åsalid had to turn away. His brown eyes held their own power over her, she had to get away from them. She wanted to be strong, wise and consistent, but he was her child and the bond between them was as thick as a ship's hawser. She started to soften, intoxicated by his presence, weakened by the fact that he needed her, and she liked it when people begged her on their knees.

  'How much is it?' she sighed.

  'One hundred and twenty kroner,' said Edwin. 'It's a bargain.'

  His choice of words made her smile. All the same it was with a heavy heart that she went to the kitchen drawer to find her purse. She pulled out a note and found some loose change in a glass. Edwin snatched the money from her hand and darted out of the house as fast as his fat legs could carry him. She went over to the window. She had lost yet another battle, but she was used to it. She spotted the large, pale blue van; it had stopped a short distance from their drive. And then she saw Edwin lumbering down the road like an overloaded ship. When he ran his chest appeared first, then his shoulders and his head, then the fat caught up with him, he rolled forward like a wave.

  The driver got out of the van, smiling at the sight of the enormous boy. Tulla turned away from the window and went over to the mirror in the hall. She was slightly overweight herself, but fate had been kind to her and hidden it in all the right places. She had big, lovely curves, her breasts were perky and her hips broad, but she had a waist. She thought she resembled a beautiful instrument, a cello. Her hair was thick, blonde and shiny and she wore it loose even though she was forty. She wore a red dress and her curves were clearly visible beneath the thin fabric. She pressed her shoulders back and stuck out her chest, turned her head to check her profile. Her large nose gave her character, she had never wanted to change anything. Her brows gleamed brightly because she brushed them with oil. She snapped out of her reverie and went back to the window where she saw Edwin chatting to the driver. The man was an immigrant, Indian or Pakistani; she saw his teeth gleam white. The door to his van was open and the engine was running. I need to watch him, she thought, because Jonas August Løwe is dead and there's a man out there looking for young boys. But this was the ice-cream van and it turned up every other Thursday.

  She went back into the kitchen. On the counter was half a kilo of minced beef; they were having tacos and the man in her life was coming to dinner. She tried to calm herself down. She tried to follow a strategy because she did not want to lose this man, and as a result she put a great deal of effort into her cooking and her appearance. And even though they had never discussed marriage, he kept turning up. He was unable to resist her, and she did everything she could think of to keep him interested. She grew hot when she thought of him, yet she was also anxious because she could feel that he was not fully committed. And even though she was lovely, and even though she knew a few tricks in the bedroom, there was something reserved about him, a feeling of holding back she could not get to the bottom of. It takes time, she told herself, looking at the mince. He'll come round if I can just keep my cool. She could not imagine life without him: she started trembling as soon as she even visualised his face. He was tall, slim and blond. His body was taut and fit, and he was assertive in an attractive way. He never asked for permission if he wanted her, he just took her whenever he wanted to. She liked being possessed, liked that he forced her arms back and satisfied himself.

  Again she snapped out of her daydreaming and went back to the window. She could no longer see Edwin. He had probably gone around to the other side of the van while the driver rummaged through the freezer for a box of choc ices. For a moment she stood there pondering her son's future. He was growing fatter and fatter and he was endangering his health. He was terribly shy with other kids. But he had some good friends, Sverre, Isak and Sindre. She thought of Sindre. A quiet boy with a frighteningly quick mind. He, too, felt like an outsider, he was simply too nice. She thanked fate for the boys who kept Edwin company. She adjusted the red dress and looked down the street. Her son was still blocked by the van. She did not understand why he was taking so long. She forced herself to stop thinking about it and returned to the kitchen where she fetched onions and jalapeño peppers from the cupboard, along with salsa, spices and tortillas. Soon she would hear the sound of Volvo tyres on the gravel and Ingemar Brenner would be on her doorstep, flashing his special smile. Again she grew hot. He was under her skin, she had his smell in her nostrils and when he was absent, when they were apart, her longing became unbearable. But he would be here in just a few minutes, and as she waited for him, she sashayed around like a young girl. Every time she passed the mirror, she smiled to herself, every time she reassured herself. This time it's going to last, sh
e thought, he's the one, I'm feminine, I'm attractive and I surround myself with a cloud of wonderful perfume.

  She returned to the window a third time because Edwin had not come back yet. The ice-cream van was still parked outside, the right indicator light flashing and the back doors open. Then she saw Ingemar's Volvo appear, he braked and turned into her drive. She rushed back into the kitchen, she started hyperventilating and forced herself to calm down. She was incapable of playing seriously hard to get, but she exhaled a couple of times to prepare herself. When she heard the doorbell, she walked calmly into the hall and opened the door. He was standing on the doorstep with his strong arms folded across his chest. She returned his smile flirtatiously. It was as if they were playing a game, and how they loved to play, they consumed each other with their eyes, one second at a time. Then he crossed the threshold and entered the hall. He pushed her up against the wall and planted a hand either side of her head. Now she was trapped and she liked it; she closed her eyes. He smelled of aftershave and soap, and something else, something masculine. He kissed her on the lips. Then she opened her eyes and looked at him.

  'Did you see Edwin?' she said abruptly.

  'Edwin?' he said feigning ignorance.

  She wanted to get out of the trap. He prevented her.

  'I don't know anyone called Edwin,' he teased her. 'Come on, let's get cooking, Tulla.'

  'We're having tacos,' she said enticingly.

  He pursed his lips.

  'I'll be having my pudding in bed,' he purred, rubbing his nose against her neck. Again she tried to free herself. She wanted to be in control, but her body grew weak. This was what he wanted and he was relishing it. Finally he stepped aside. She rushed outside and looked down the road where she finally spotted her son walking towards her. She rushed back inside the kitchen. Ingemar held up the packet of mince to his nose.

  'Let's have it raw,' he suggested.

  His words made Tulla giggle. Her laughter rose from deep inside her and rolled out into the kitchen, bright and joyous.

  Edwin stopped in the hall, he did not know what to do.

  He leaned his massive body against the wall as he held the frozen box away from his stomach. He heard his mother's loud laughter from the kitchen. It was as if she was in a different place and had severed the strong bond between them. It was Ingemar Brenner who made her laugh like that. He decided to wait until she had stopped, but there was something about the silence that followed. He was not sure what they were doing, and that, too, was awkward. Edwin had ended up buying a box of blackcurrant lollies because the ice-cream man had been out of choc ices. He heard the icecream van depart, the tinkling bells growing ever fainter. Again he heard his mother's laughter. He waited with his hand on the door handle. Finally he opened the door and walked in.

  'Edwin,' he heard. His mum was coming towards him. 'What took you so long?'

  'He didn't have any choc ices,' Edwin said. He looked shyly at Ingemar and he suddenly felt upset about everything, about being in the way and being fat.

  'Can I have a lolly now?'

  'Can't you wait till after dinner?' Tulla said in a long-suffering tone of voice.

  His eyes grew shiny; he badly needed a lolly.

  'Go on, let the boy have a lolly,' said Ingemar cheerfully.

  Tulla surrendered to the men in her life. Edwin took out a blackcurrant lolly, tore off the paper and sank his teeth into it.

  That evening they watched television.

  Ingemar sat in the corner sofa with his feet up and Tulla sandwiched between his knees. Edwin sat in an armchair. The dining table was littered with wrappers and lolly sticks. He had already eaten four. In his hands he held a soft toy. It was a dinosaur filled with fine sand and he was stroking his lips with the tip of its tail. This repetitive movement induced a trance-like state in him. He was sated and felt a sense of calm, but it was never long before his hunger returned to torment him. The television seemed to be nothing but meaningless flickering. From time to time his mother's laughter would break through if anything funny happened on the screen. Ingemar was playing with her hair. When Ingemar was in the house, his mother became unavailable. Everything was better before Ingemar turned up, Edwin thought; fortunately, Ingemar had to go away a lot. His mother had explained to him that he travelled widely and gave talks to people. He would often call in the evenings and when he did, his mother sprang to life like a clockwork toy that had been wound up.

  'Your homework, Edwin,' she suddenly burst out. 'Have you done your homework?'

  She had finally remembered his existence. He hugged the dinosaur and shook his head.

  'In my day we always had homework,' Tulla said. 'I don't understand what it is they're doing now.'

  'We do it at school,' Edwin explained. 'We do it in the last lesson, it's called project work.'

  'But then it's not homework,' Tulla said.

  Edwin shrugged. Again he held up the dinosaur to his mouth. He would be going to bed soon. Any minute now his mother would look at her watch, remember it was his bedtime and send him upstairs where he would lie listening to the voices downstairs: Ingemar's deep, calm voice and his mother's girlish laughter. Sometimes Ingemar would stay over and then he would hear them tiptoe down the corridor like naughty little kids. Other nights he would drive home and then Edwin would hear their voices on the doorstep. They always took ages to say goodbye. He preferred it when they went to their cottage, just him and his mother. Their little cottage named Pris which lay by Lake Sander. Ingemar never came with them and up there Edwin felt safe. And when there was no one else around his mother did not care how much he ate.

  'Please can we go to Pris?' he asked.

  'Not this weekend,' his mother said. 'Now charge your mobile,' she added. 'Do it right now. You're always forgetting to charge it.'

  Edwin planted his hands on the armrests and pushed himself into an upright position. It was heavy going. He could feel Ingemar's eyes on his back as he went out into the kitchen. He was going to fetch his mobile from the bottom of his school bag, but he was distracted by the lollies in the freezer. The couple in the living room had already forgotten about him. He was acting on a mixture of grief and defiance as he gobbled down the lolly, standing by the kitchen window.

  His massive body was clearly reflected in the glass.

  CHAPTER 21

  September 10th.

  Edwin Åsalid was reported missing at seven o'clock in the evening exactly. By then Tulla Åsalid had been waiting for four hours, she had looked for him everywhere and she had wept. She had thought about Jonas August, and she was about to lose her mind.

  'Paedophiles often follow a pattern,' Sejer said. 'They roam around, they carry out an assault and then they flee. I know what you fear, but this could be something else. There are many other explanations.'

  Tulla Åsalid had been standing by the window. Now she turned around and looked at him.

  'He's not able to move very quickly,' she said anxiously. 'I mean, if anyone's chasing him.'

  Sejer and Skarre tried to understand what she was telling them. She went over to a chest of drawers to fetch a photograph. Sejer noticed that her hand was trembling.

  'Take a look at this picture,' she said, 'and you'll know what I mean.'

  They leaned forward to see. It was a full-length photo of Edwin with a small cottage in the background, and his reluctance to be photographed was obvious from his evasive eyes. He was without a doubt the largest ten-year-old they had ever seen. Yet there was something remarkable about him; he had inherited his mother's looks, his skin was pale like marzipan, his eyes large and dark. Despite his obesity, he was a handsome lad with big brown curls.

  'Where does he tend to go?' Sejer asked. 'In his spare time.'

  'They often go down to Loch Bonna,' she said, 'to Guttestranda. That was the first place I looked. I looked for them on the beach and on the jetty.'

  'Is he able to swim?'

  'No.'

  'Has he ever been late before?'
<
br />   'Never.'

  She fell silent. They could hear how she swallowed.

  'He tires easily,' she went on. 'If anyone offered him a lift, he would probably accept it because he's very unfit. He only moves when he has to, and he spends most of his time indoors, in front of his computer, munching something or other. So when he finally decided to go outside and get some fresh air I was overjoyed, despite what's happened, despite this business with Jonas, but he was meeting some friends and so I felt safe. I can't keep him locked up in here for ever. He sometimes sees Sindre or Sverre and Isak and I've tried calling them, but no one's at home at Sverre's or Sindre's, and Isak's parents are ex-directory. And, of course, I've been trying his mobile, but it was at the bottom of his school bag, I've told him time and time again that he must always take it with him, but he's so forgetful.'