by Karin Fossum
Morgan pushed Errki into what had been the living room when shepherds lived in the hut, and went over to the window.
"A little pond. Perfect. I'm sure we can have a swim down there."
He stuck his head out through the broken window and nodded. Errki felt exhausted. He took a few tentative steps towards the bedroom.
"Where do you think you're going?" Morgan looked at him.
Errki opened the door and stared for a moment at the striped mattress, then tore off his jacket and T-shirt and toppled on to the bed.
"Jesus. A bed!" Morgan smiled. "This is fine with me. Go ahead and take a nap. At least I'll know where you are."
Errki didn't reply. He thought it would be best if he went to sleep, because death and misery were the only things accompanying him, and a person asleep can't commit any sins. He took deep, steady breaths.
"You've been a first-class guide. I'll talk to you later."
To be safe, he checked the window in the bedroom to see whether Errki would be able to escape that way. The glass was broken, but the frame was still intact, and the window was jammed shut. If Errki tried to open it, he would hear him.
Morgan left the room. When his footsteps could no longer be heard, Errki opened his eyes. He was lying on something sharp and hard, so he moved over a bit. It was the gun.
CHAPTER 9
The hospital loomed into view between the trees, its presence so forceful that for a moment it took Sejer's breath away. He pulled over on to the shoulder of the road, stopped the car, and got out. He stood there for a while, looking up at the building, letting it sink in, feeling as if it were screaming at him: THIS IS SERIOUS!
It stood on the highest point in the area. This was the way a psychiatric hospital should look, as if to show everyone that the path back to sanity was not an easy one. If they didn't know this before, those who came here in the deepest despair would know it now, as they were led inside this monstrosity of an institution.
The road was poorly maintained, narrow and full of holes. Years had passed since he was last there, and he had thought it would have been improved and widened, but that hadn't happened. He remembered when, as a young officer, he had brought a girl here. They had found her locked in the ladies' room at the bus station, naked. They broke down the door. Her face was contorted with fear. In her hand she held a roll of toilet paper, and she started eating the paper, as if it held something of crucial importance, secret information that she had to protect. His hand had hung in mid-air between them, and she stared at it as if it were a claw. He was holding a blanket that he wanted to put around her shoulders. He talked to her in a soft voice, and although she listened, it was as if she heard him through a terrible noise and was straining hard to catch his words. Her face told its own story. He had come to mete out a vicious punishment. His words, his assurances, his gentle voice, all of these things simply fell away. And so he had to do what he least wanted to do: use force to remove her. He still remembered her screams, and her thin, sharp shoulders.
The Beacon was an impressive building, but up close some of its authority was diminished by its state of disrepair. The red bricks had faded and were with time taking on a greyish shade, like the asphalt below. It was sinking slowly into eternity. And yet it was imposing, maybe only because of the magnificent sunlight. It wasn't hard for him to imagine that in different weather, in the winter when the trees spread out their bare branches and the wind and rain battered the windows, the place would look like Dracula's castle. The roof was topped by a copper tower covered in verdigris. The façade was ornate, but the windows were narrow and high, not matching the style of the rest of the building. The front entrance was an attractive arch with its own staircase. Next to it was a classic hospital entrance with big glass doors that would allow an ambulance to drive up and a stretcher to be rolled in.
Sejer went inside. Without noticing, he walked right past the reception desk.
"Excuse me? Where are you going?" a young woman called after him.
"I'm sorry. Police. I need to talk to Dr Struel."
Sejer showed her his ID.
"You have to go up to the second floor and ask there."
He thanked her and went upstairs. On the second floor he asked again and was shown into a waiting room with a window facing the garden and woods. The ban on garden watering didn't seem to apply to this area because the huge lawns were as dark green velvet. Maybe they should be using that money on other things. He couldn't imagine that the lawns made much difference to those who lived here. As he thought this, he turned around abruptly because he had an uneasy sensation that someone was watching him.
A woman was standing in the open door.
"I'm Dr Struel," she said.
They shook hands.
"Let's go to my office."
He followed her down the corridor and into a spacious room, where she offered him a seat on the sofa. He sat down in a flood of sunlight and at once he began to sweat profusely. The doctor went over to the window and stood there for a moment with her back turned, staring out at the lawn, fiddling a bit with a drooping pot plant that obviously wasn't thriving.
"So," she said as she turned around, "you're the man who's looking for my Errki?"
My Errki. There was something very touching about the way she said it. Without a trace of irony.
"Is that how you see him?"
"No-one else wants him," she said simply. "Yes, he's mine. My responsibility, my job. Whether he killed the old woman or not, he will still be mine."
"Who have you talked to about this?"
"Officer Gurvin called. But I really have a hard time believing it," she said. "I'm telling you this now so you'll know where I stand. Let him stay out there for a while, and he'll come back on his own."
"I don't think he's coming back on his own."
His solemn tone made her realise something was wrong.
"What do you mean? Has anything happened to him?"
"How much did Officer Gurvin tell you?"
"He told me about the murder at Finnemarka, that Errki was seen in the vicinity of the house at what he called a crucial time."
"Not just in the vicinity. He was at her farm. So you can see why we have to find him. It's a pretty isolated place."
"It's typical for Errki to head for the woods. He tries to avoid people. And with good reason."
She was being awfully curt. Sejer felt something rise up inside him. Annoyance.
"Forgive my arrogance," he said slowly, "but I actually do have to take the possibility that he is guilty into consideration. It was a vicious crime and a meaningless one, since it seems as though the only thing missing from her house is a wallet containing a few kroner. Whoever did this is walking around free. People living in the area are frightened."
"Errki is always blamed," she said.
"But he was seen near her house, after all, and she lived in a remote area. It isn't exactly overrun with passers-by. And since he is mentally ill, we can't ignore the fact that he might have something to do with her death."
"Do you mean that he's under greater suspicion because he's ill?"
"Well, I–"
"You're mistaken. The most he does is shoplift. Chocolate and things like that."
"There are lots of stories about him."
"Just that. Stories."
"And there's no basis for them? Is that what you think?"
She didn't reply.
"But this is only half the story," he went on. "This morning there was a robbery. An armed robbery at Fokus Bank."
She burst out laughing. "Honestly, Errki doesn't have enough discipline to carry out anything that requires a lot of effort. You just lost your credibility."
"I'm not finished," he said sharply. He didn't like her last remark.
"The bank was robbed by a young man who might be a little younger than Errki. He was wearing dark clothes and a ski mask, which means, of course, that we haven't yet identified him. But the present problem is that he took a host
age. Someone from inside the bank. Using a gun, he forced the hostage into his car and disappeared. This hostage has been identified as Errki Johrma."
Now Dr Struel was speechless. He could almost feel her embarrassment.
"Errki?" she stammered. "Taken hostage?" She stood up. "And you don't know where they are?"
"No, unfortunately. We've set up roadblocks, and we think the car they escaped in is a white Mégane, stolen last night. Most likely they've abandoned it somewhere long ago, but we haven't found it. We don't know anything about what sort of man this robber is, or whether he's dangerous. But he fired a shot in the bank, probably to scare the staff, and he seemed quite an unstable character."
She sat down again, picked up something from the table and held on to it tightly.
"How can I help?" she asked in a low voice.
"I need to know what kind of person Errki is."
"That would take all night."
"I don't have that much time. Tell me why you don't believe that he could have killed the old woman. How long has he been your patient?"
"He's been here for four months, but he has spent long periods of his life in one institution or another. The reports and case records on Errki are extensive."
"Has he ever shown violent tendencies?"
"You know," she said, "the truth is that he's incredibly self-protective. Only if he were really backed into a corner would he even think of biting. And I can't understand how an old woman could have made him so angry or provoked him so much that he would harm her."
"We don't know what happened up there, or what the old woman might have done. We know that she is dead and that her wallet is missing."
"Then it's definitely not Errki. He only takes chocolate and things like that. Never money."
Sejer sighed. "It's nice that you have such faith in him. He surely needs it more than most people. And no-one else is on his side, are they?"
"Now look here." She stared at him. "I'm not absolutely certain – I can't stand that kind of over-confidence. But I see it as my duty to believe that he's innocent. Sooner or later I'm going to have to tell him what I think. When he's sitting on the sofa where you're sitting right now and he asks me: do you think I did it?"
Dr Struel was in her mid-forties, fair and angular, her hair cut with a long fringe. Her face was surprisingly feminine for such a strong personality, and she had full cheeks dusted with a light down. He could see it in the fierce sunlight which was blazing through the window. She was wearing jeans and a white blouse, and there were patches of sweat under her arms. Now she ran a hand over her hair to move it out of her eyes, but the fringe fell forward again, like a blonde wave.
Sejer sat up straight on the sofa. "I'd like to see his room."
"It's on the first floor. I'll show it to you. But tell me, how was the old lady killed?"
"She was killed with a hoe."
The doctor grimaced. "That doesn't sound like something Errki would do. He's such a reserved person."
"That's what anyone would say who believes in him or feels responsible for him." He stood up and wiped the sweat from his brow. "Excuse me, but I'm sitting right in the sun. Would you mind if I move?"
She nodded and he went over to an armchair near her desk. As he did so, he caught sight of a toad. It was dozing behind a stack of papers. It was big and fat, greyish brown on top and lighter underneath. It didn't move, of course, because it wasn't real, but he wouldn't have been surprised if it had started to hop, it looked so alive. Feeling curious, he lifted it up. She watched him and smiled as he placed it in his hand. The toad was strangely cold, in spite of the heat in the room. He squeezed it carefully. Inside was a jelly-like substance that made it possible for him to squeeze it into different shapes, which he proceeded to do, quite cautiously. He squeezed the contents of the body into the thin legs. It immediately became deformed and looked like a monster. He kept on squeezing, feeling it grow warmer in his hand.
The toad's eyes stared at him. They were pale green, with a black streak. Its back was rippled and uneven, but underneath it was smooth. He began squeezing the lower part, pressing all of the contents into the upper part of the body. Now it looked highly athletic, with big shoulders and a swelling chest.
Next he tried another variation, with the contents pushed down into the stomach so the head hung to the side, as slack as a patch of skin. He put the toad down on the desk. The jelly didn't slide back into place on its own as he had expected it to. He picked it up again and began pressing it back into shape as best he could. When he thought it looked like a toad again, he put it back down.
"That's clever," he said.
"Useful," said Dr Struel, running her finger along the toad's back.
"What's it for?"
"For picking up, just as you did. The way you handled it tells me something about who you are."
He shook his head. "I don't believe that."
She gave him an almost maternal smile. "Oh yes, absolutely. It tells me something about the way in which every single person approaches things. You, too."
He listened unimpressed, but at the same time he was intrigued.
"You picked it up quite tentatively and paused for a moment before squeezing it. When you saw that it could change shape, you had to try all of the possibilities, one by one. Many people think it's disgusting, but you didn't. The way you tilted your head to one side as you looked into its eyes tells me that you confront life's surprises with an open and empathetic mind. You squeezed it carefully, almost tenderly, as if you were afraid it might split open. But it won't – or at least it has a warranty from the manufacturer, provided you don't have fiendishly sharp fingernails. You put it down relatively quickly, as if you thought it might develop into a dangerous game. And last but not least, you squeezed it meticulously back into a toad shape before you set it down."
She paused for a moment and gave him a long look. "It tells me that you're a cautious man, but not lacking in curiosity. You're also a little old-fashioned and afraid of new, unfamiliar shapes. You like things to look the way they're supposed to look, to stay the way they are, to be something that you recognise and know about."
He laughed uncertainly. Her voice was making him malleable in a strange way. He felt jelly-like.
"With the help of the toad, along with thousands of other little things, other games and tasks, and above all over time, I can end up knowing more about you than you do yourself."
You're not lacking in self-confidence, he thought.
"Has Errki seen it?" he asked her.
"Of course. It's always here."
"What did he do with it?"
"He said, 'Get rid of that disgusting, repulsive animal before I bite its head off and spray the contents all over the desk.'"
"Did you believe he would?"
"He has never lied."
"But you say that he's not violent?"
Suddenly she grabbed the toad and began yanking on all of its legs as hard as she could. They stretched out like rubber bands, and the sight made Sejer feel almost sorry for the toad. And then she tied them in knots, first the front legs, then the back ones. Then she put the toad on its back on the desk. Its utter helplessness was painful to look at. When she saw his expression, she laughed out loud.
"Let me show you his room."
"Aren't you going to untie the knots?" he asked uneasily.
"No," she said, giving him a teasing smile.
A huge wave surged inside him. He registered it amazed.
They looked at Errki's room. It was simply furnished, with a bed, a dresser, a sink and a mirror with a piece of newspaper hanging over it. Perhaps he wanted to avoid looking at himself. The window, high and narrow, was open. Otherwise the room was bare. Nothing on the floor or the walls.
"It looks similar to what we have to offer," Sejer said thoughtfully. "A cell, no more, no less."
"We don't lock the doors."
He went in and stood leaning against the wall. "What made you go into psychiatry?
"
He studied her name tag. Dr S. Struel. He wondered what the "S" stood for. Maybe Solveig. Or Sylvia.
"Because," she began, as she closed her eyes, "because ordinary people. . ." She enunciated the word "ordinary" as if it were derogatory. "I mean, those who are successful, the well-equipped, goal-oriented people who follow all the rules, who achieve their objectives without difficulty, who have perfect social antennae, who navigate with the greatest ease, who get where they want to go, who acquire what they want to have – is there anything the least bit interesting about them?"
The question was formulated in such a droll way that Sejer couldn't help but smile.
"The only interesting people in the world are the losers," she said. "Or rather, those we call losers. Every type of deviation contains an element of rebellion. And I've never been able to understand a lack of rebelliousness."
"What about you?" he said. "Aren't you one of those successful and goal-oriented people? Are you rebelling?"
"No," she admitted. "And I can't understand it, because I'm – deep down – full of despair."
"Full of despair? Why so?"
"Aren't you?" She gave him a long look. "You can't be an enlightened, intelligent, involved human being on this earth without at the same time being full of despair. It's just not possible."
Am I full of despair? Sejer wondered.
"Besides it's the sterling personalities that do best in this society," she said. "Whole, absolutely confident and consistent people. You know – people with strength of character!"
He couldn't hold back his laughter any longer.
"Here we have room for rebellion, and we're not afraid of trouble. We're not afraid of failure either." She brushed her fringe back from her face. "And I probably couldn't have existed in any community other than this one."
He was fascinated by the way that she expressed her thoughts so openly, even though he was a stranger. At the same time, he didn't feel like a stranger.
"What's it like where you work?" she asked.
"Where I work?" He thought for a moment. "Where I work we have order and structure and plenty of disgusting, sterling personalities."
