by Karin Fossum
"Do you know what he was in prison for?"
"Simple theft."
"Is Briggen married?"
"He's a widower."
"I see."
"He's been alone for eleven years."
"Is that right? Eleven years," he said patiently.
"She took her own life," the girl whispered, using the same tone of voice people adopt when talking about adultery.
Now Skarre gave a knowing nod. That kind of thing explains just about everything, about people and life, and why things are the way they are, he thought. He gave her a look that said he appreciated the information.
"How long have you worked here?" he asked amiably.
"Eight years. Since before Halldis's husband died."
She was making an effort to give clear answers and not add unnecessary details, because he was surely a busy man who couldn't tolerate witnesses droning on and on. But as long as she kept talking, he had to stand where he was, and there wasn't a customer in sight.
"Do you know Errki Johrma?"
"I don't know him exactly. But I know who he is."
"Are you afraid of him?"
"Not really. If I met him alone on a dark road, I would definitely be scared, but I'd be scared of anyone."
Except for you, she thought. You look like an angel.
"So, how is the shop doing?" Skarre asked. "Thirteen kroner 75 øre for a loaf of bread? That's a bit steep, isn't it?" He nodded towards the sign next to the bread shelf.
She sighed, resigned. "I'm afraid he's pricing himself right out of the market. There aren't a lot of people around here. We don't make much money, and now they're building a new shopping centre half an hour away. That'll be the end of all the rest of us."
She looked worried.
"A shopping centre?" He smiled encouragement. "But I'm sure you'll find opportunities there if Briggen has to close."
The idea rushed through her mind, because that was precisely what she had dreamed of, though she never dared tell anyone.
"Let me ask you," he said in a low voice, leaning closer, "just to double check. Was Briggen here in the shop all day yesterday?"
"Not yesterday. I was here alone. He went to the Grocers Institute to take a course."
"And you can run the shop by yourself when the boss is away?"
"I have to."
He straightened up. "If you hear or see anything, or happen to remember something you think might be important, give us a call. For example, if Errki shows up again to swipe some chocolate."
He winked and pulled out a card from his pocket. She accepted it with trembling fingers. It would never happen. There would never be any reason in the world for her to contact this man.
And then he left, and it was over. She put her glasses back on and no longer felt like looking at her reflection in the perspex. Briggen called her, wanting help with the fish. He gave her a suspicious look.
CHAPTER 13
Morgan stared with longing out of the broken window. Below lay the water, glistening and fresh. His body felt heavy from the heat and fatigue, and he had a fierce desire to cool off.
"An ice-cold dip," he muttered. "That would be something, wouldn't it, Errki?"
Errki didn't reply. The thought made him shiver. The whisky had dulled his senses, and he was half-asleep. Besides, he never swam; he had never even had a bath. His body acted strangely in water, and he didn't like it.
"I'm going to take a dip, and you're coming with me," Morgan said cheerfully.
He looked at Errki with a determined expression. It was disturbing, and Errki could feel himself growing tense. He didn't want to think about it. Anything could happen down there in the black water.
"You can go in," he said in a low voice. "I'll hold the gun for you."
"Don't be so funny. We're both going in, and you first."
"I never go swimming."
"You'll go in the water if I say so."
"You don't understand! I never go swimming!" Errki was forced to do something he hated. He had to raise his voice.
"But God help me, you need it! Come on, I'm not joking."
Errki still didn't move. Nothing in the world would make him go into the water. Not even a gun. He would rather die. He was still not ready, and he would like to leave this earth with a certain grace. But if he couldn't, then he couldn't.
"OK, let's get moving!"
Morgan had made up his mind. He was using almost his whole body to speak. He went over to the sofa, grabbed Errki's T-shirt, and yanked him up. Errki had to struggle to keep his balance.
"A quick dip and then back out again. It will only take us a couple of minutes. Clear our heads. Except for yours, of course."
He jabbed at Errki with the gun, herding him outside to the yard.
"Head down to the left and we'll come out near that little island over there."
Errki looked down at the bare rock and shuddered. He was never, ever going into that black water! There wasn't a sound from the cellar. No-one was going to help him now. It was as if they were sitting and listening, wondering what he would do. His body began to itch, a bothersome itch. He didn't know how to swim. He couldn't take off his clothes and show his naked body, couldn't stand that sort of humiliation. Reluctantly he headed down the slope covered with dry heather and grass. There had been a path once, but it was now almost overgrown. He stared at the water, thinking that if there wasn't a shallow part, he would sink straight to the bottom. Behind him Morgan was getting excited.
"I'll bet the water is cold. That suits me fine."
He jabbed at Errki when they reached the crag. "Take off your things. Or go ahead and swim with them on. I don't care. Just get in the water."
Errki stood as if carved from stone, staring at the lake. Here on the shore it no longer looked reddish, merely black and deep. He couldn't see the bottom, only some long, pliable grass floating down there that would twist around his legs like hideous fingers. Maybe there were fish too, or even worse: eels.
"Are you going to jump in or do I have to push you?"
Morgan was impatient.
"I can't swim," Errki muttered. He was still standing with his back turned. The corner of his mouth was twitching.
"Doesn't matter. You can hold on to the edge. Come on. I'm sweating like a pig."
Errki didn't move.
"What's it going to be? I'm cocking the gun."
Errki heard a sharp click through the sound of the drum roll. Morgan had got an idea in his head, and he was going to see it through, no matter what happened. Errki took a few steps closer to the water and felt a rushing at his temples. For him water was just as unthinkable as a sea of flames. His normally pale cheeks were blazing. Carefully he turned around. Couldn't see the gun; maybe Morgan had hidden it in the heather. Now he was coming towards Errki with a menacing expression, his fists raised.
"I want to see what you look like when you're scared," he said.
Errki lurched wildly to one side and doubled over, prepared for the attack. Morgan hesitated and gave him a wary look but he kept on coming towards him. Errki darted up and forward, like a beast of prey, and furiously sank his teeth into Morgan's nose. His jaws slammed together like a pair of scissors, he felt his sharp teeth burrowing through skin and cartilage, all the way to the bone. Morgan teetered, trying to keep his balance, flailing his arms violently, but Errki refused to let go. For a long time he held on until he came to his senses, and then he did let go.
At first Morgan didn't utter a sound. He stared at Errki in astonishment, and several seconds passed before he realised what had happened. The end of his nose was loose, it seemed to hang from a thread. And then the blood came, pumping out in little spurts. Morgan screamed. He raised his hands to his nose, felt the blood running out and tasted it in his mouth, and then a strange numbness.
"Oh, God!" he howled as he sank to his knees. "Errki! Help me! I'm bleeding!"
He was truly a pitiful sight as he knelt there in the heather with his hands on his f
ace. The blood was gushing out. Errki stood and stared at him. Rocking back and forth, terrified by all the blood but at the same time calmer because he had fought back. Now everything would be different. He could hear the commotion down in the cellar. They were cheering his effort, hailing him as a hero, the applause went on and on.
"You shouldn't have pressurised me like that. I can't stand being pressurised!"
Now you're screaming again. How disgusting.
"It's going to get infected!" Morgan whimpered and sobbed. "Do you realise what you've done? You're a real lunatic. You can just clear off and go back to the asylum. Damn it, man, this is going to be the death of me!"
"I tried to tell you," Errki said peaceably, "but you didn't want to listen."
"Good Lord, what am I going to do?"
"You could put a piece of moss on it," Errki said.
It was certainly quite a sight: Morgan in those gaudy shorts with his nose falling off.
"Major parts of the world are at war," he said.
"I don't have a damned thing to clean the wound with! Don't you know how dangerous it is to be bitten by a human being? It's never going to heal. You fucking asylum devil!"
"You're different when you're scared."
"Shut up!"
"You've had a tetanus shot like everybody else, haven't you?"
For once Morgan didn't answer. Errki thought it was about time – he talked too much. The hut was already full of his rubbish.
"Years ago," he gasped finally. "I don't think it's still good. Besides, it only takes a matter of hours to turn into blood poisoning. You have no idea what you've done! You lunatic!"
"Rinse it with whisky," Errki said. "You can borrow my underpants for a bandage."
"Shut up, I said! Shit, I can't take this any more!
He started fumbling around in the heather for the pistol, keeping one hand on his nose. Errki caught sight of the weapon, glinting brightly in all the green. Both of them bent forward, but Errki was faster. He picked it up and weighed it in his hand. Morgan began to shake. He uttered a few gurgling sounds of fear and tried awkwardly to scramble backwards. His jaw dropped open, and Errki peered inside at several black fillings. A terrified person is not a pretty sight, he thought. Then he raised the gun and threw it with all his might in a great arc right into the lake. It made a modest little splash.
"You fucking bastard!"
Morgan collapsed again, in a mixture of relief and despair. "I should have shot you dead, I should have done it right at the start."
His lips were quivering. "I should have shot you in the back and turned your arse inside out! It only takes an hour for a wound like this to go to hell, I should have driven right to the doctor! Who the hell do you think you are?"
"I'm Errki Peter Johrma. I'm just here on a visit."
Morgan was still sobbing. In his mind he could picture the putrefaction, the decaying flesh and poisoned blood spreading with the speed of lightning through his veins, through all the arteries, and with one blow striking right at his heart. He felt as though he was going to faint.
"Wherever you might fall, you should spread out hay," Errki said sagely.
He started walking up the path. A bellow came from behind.
"Don't leave me!"
"The fly that refuses to leave the corpse will end up in the grave," Errki said. But he stopped. He had never heard anyone yell at him like that, saying they needed him. He was touched by the sight of Morgan with his ruined nose. He was no longer pitiful. Not in a disgusting way.
"Say something! Help me with the wound. I'll never be able to show my face in public again!" Morgan moaned.
"No, you won't. You robbed a bank, and the police have a good description of you."
"Will you go back up to the hut with me?"
"I'll go back with you."
"Hurry up. I'm bleeding."
"Why all the rush? Where's the fire?" Errki said, and started walking. Then he turned around again. Morgan came staggering after him. He was spitting and coughing to get the taste of blood out of his mouth.
"You taste like lard," said Errki thoughtfully. "Sickeningly sweet lard. Like English sausages."
"You damn cannibal!" Morgan sniffed.
*
Morgan was lying on the sofa, pale but composed. Errki had taken the whisky bottle and shaken tiny little drops of Long John Silver on to his bitten nose. Morgan screamed like a pig. Errki thought his skull would split open.
"Enough, enough! Save some for me to drink too," he whimpered. Errki handed him the bottle.
"Be careful not to touch the wound with your fingers. I can just imagine where they've been. In the most unmentionable places."
It was so simple to talk. The words flew from his lips and whirled around like dandelion fuzz.
"I feel sick," Morgan groaned, taking a big gulp. He lay back down on the sofa and closed his eyes.
"Wouldn't it be just as easy to tear your nose off?" Errki suggested. "It's so loose."
"Not on your life! Maybe the doctors can sew it back on."
Errki stood staring at him. They were in the same room again. He had nowhere else to go. It was quiet; the only sound was Morgan breathing heavily. It felt as if something had fallen over them from the ceiling. The room was darker too, making it cosier. And Morgan was no longer in charge. It was surprising, but it seemed as though he was relieved to be rid of the role. It was nicer this way, now they were equals. They could relax a bit, maybe even get some sleep. The day had been so full of trouble. Errki could feel that he needed to rest. To put his thoughts in order.
"Turn on the radio."
Morgan spoke with a slight quaver to his voice, the way people do when they're sick and need tending to. Too bad about his nose, thought Errki. It was so small to start with, and now there's almost nothing left.
"It's time for the news. Turn on the radio."
Errki pressed all the buttons, one by one, until at last the sound came on. He twisted the volume control to get it right. Then he sat down on the floor and looked over at Morgan. He looked like a baby sucking on a bottle as he lay there with the whisky. The music stopped and the newsreader began to speak. This time it was a man.
"In connection with the murder of 76-year-old Halldis Horn, the police are looking for 24-year-old Errki Johrma, who disappeared from the Beacon psychiatric hospital the day before yesterday. The missing man, who apparently knew the victim, was observed at the scene by a witness nearby. The police emphasise that Johrma is primarily being sought as a witness. He is approximately 170 centimetres tall, with long black hair and dressed in black clothing. He wears a belt with a large brass buckle, and he has a distinctive swaying gait. Any information about the missing man should be referred to the nearest police station."
A deathly silence spread through the room. Morgan sat up painfully on the sofa. His nose was horribly swollen, and his sleeveless shirt was soaked with blood.
"Were you near her house?" His eyes were filled with terror. "Did you see anything?"
Errki twisted his hands together. He was staring down at the water again. He was glad he had escaped from the lake. He was going to die anyway, but he didn't want to drown. There had to be better ways to reach eternity than by stepping into cold water.
"Are you the one who killed her? Did you do it, Errki?"
Errki took a few hesitant steps forward.
"Stop right there! Don't come any closer!"
Morgan pulled up his knees and moved back. "When they catch you, you'll just say that you don't remember anything, right? Or that the voices told you to do it, so you won't go to prison. Sit down! Do you hear me? I want you to sit down!"
His voice rose to a falsetto. He was trying to collect his thoughts. Errki wasn't just a nutcase, it was much worse than that. He was stark raving mad, he had killed a defenceless old woman, and he was right here in this room! Shivers of fear ran down his sweaty back.
"OK, now listen to me. Sit down and relax. Just take it easy. I'll keep quiet a
bout you, and you'll keep quiet about me. We can split the money, there's enough for both of us. We have to get across the border to Sweden!"
Morgan tried to speak calmly, so as not to provoke him. He was taking big gulps of whisky, his wide eyes fixed on Errki. At any second the man might kill him with his bare teeth.
Errki had nothing to say. Morgan's nose started to pulsate in a disturbing way. He imagined that the infection had already begun to spread. Errki was sitting on the floor again, leaning against the wall under the window that faced the yard. Morgan was glad to have him at a safe distance. He actually looked quite harmless. And besides, they had been together for a long time now, and if Errki had wanted to kill him, he would have done it long ago. He'd even had the gun down by the water. There was still no sign of dusk, but the light had changed character and seemed more intense. What had in fact happened? Had something slipped out of place and shunted him off on to a sidetrack? On a course that couldn't be changed?
Morgan set the bottle on the floor. He was alone with an insane murderer, and it was important to stay alert, although he didn't feel very clear-headed right now. His mind was fuzzy. He was asking himself why in heaven's name he had ever brought this damn hostage along. He could have got away without him.
"So a witness saw you," he said slowly, staring at Errki. He looked as if he were asleep.
"A fat little boy," Errki muttered. "A butter mountain of a teenager with tits as big as my mother's."
He turned to look at Morgan with an inscrutable expression. "Her brains were running down the steps."
"Shut up! I don't want to hear about it!" His voice had an undercurrent of panic, like a raw drone.
"You're scared," said Errki.
"I'm not going to listen to you! There's nothing but insane babble coming out of your mouth! Why don't you talk to your voices instead. I'm sure they understand you better."
A long silence followed. The erratic buzz of a fly on the windowsill was the only sound. Morgan wondered whether he should go to his sister's place in Oslo and hide there. She'd give him a good piece of her mind, but she wouldn't turn him in. She was a hopelessly silly woman who couldn't stop talking, but Morgan was her little brother. He had robbed a bank, but he hadn't killed anyone, least of all an old woman.
