by Karin Fossum
"And when is the match?"
Sejer didn't recognise his own voice. It sounded hoarse and raw.
"In four weeks."
Kannick was still standing with his feet in shooting position. Wearing black moccasins. Very large, maybe size 43. They had leather soles, and so no zigzagged pattern underneath, like trainers had. Usually twelve-year-olds wore trainers. It surprised Sejer a bit that he was wearing moccasins. They looked like dress shoes, and didn't really go with the cut-off jeans that were serving as shorts. He kept on fighting the strange sensation that was rising inside of him.
"Did you sleep well last night?" he asked kindly.
Kannick listened in confusion. The policeman's voice was gentle, but his eyes were cold as slate.
"I slept like a rock," he said bravely. His own lie made him dizzy. Too much had happened. He had woken up when Margunn came in to change Philip's sheets, and he'd had to struggle to keep his breathing calm and regular. At the same time he was afraid to fall asleep again. He had a bad dream that kept bothering him.
"I didn't sleep well," Sejer said.
"Oh?" said Kannick, more and more uneasy. He wasn't used to having grown-ups confide in him. But this man was different.
"Would you shoot an arrow while I watch?" he asked.
Kannick hesitated. "All right. But now I'm not in the rhythm, and that means I may not make a good shot."
"I'm just curious," Sejer said. "I've never watched anyone shoot an arrow from close up."
He watched Kannick. The whole procedure – finding his concentration, raising the bow, taking aim, and shooting – was a series of aesthetic movements, even when carried out by this mountain of a boy. The bow pulled together the shapeless figure in a fascinating way. Kannick shot a nine and then lowered the bow.
Sejer glanced up at the building and then at the boy.
"You wear gloves when you shoot?" he said, nodding at his hands.
"Archer's gloves," Kannick said. "Otherwise the string would flay open your fingertips. Some people use a leather tab, but I prefer gloves. Actually, you're only supposed to wear one, on the hand that pulls back the string. But for the sake of symmetry I wear both gloves, and it works fine. You know," he added breathlessly, "every archer has his own style. Christian blinks once, right before he shoots."
"They're special," Sejer said, staring at the gloves. "They only have three fingers?"
"You only use three fingers to draw the string and let go. The thumb and little finger aren't needed."
"I see."
"These are spare gloves that haven't been used much. That's why they seem stiff," Kannick explained. "But they'll get softer after a while."
"They're new?" Sejer's eyes narrowed. "Why are they new?"
"Why?" Kannick was getting jumpy. "Well, because, I threw out the old ones."
"Oh, I see."
Sejer fixed his eyes on the boy. Kannick looked down at his hands, at the three fingers cased in thin leather. Thin straps connected them to a narrow strip around his wrist, fastened with Velcro.
"Why did you throw them out?"
"Why?" Kannick was feeling more and more agitated. "Why not? They were old and worn out."
"Is that right?" Sejer was breathing hard through his nose. "And where did you throw them out?"
"I don't remember where."
He was squirming and sweating. It was so damn hot. The other boys had gone swimming with Thorleif and Inga, but he hadn't wanted to go along. He felt miserable in swimming trunks, and he needed to practise. Somewhere out there there was a trophy waiting for him. For the first time in his life he was going to beat everyone else. Why didn't Margunn come back? What was happening?
"Where did you throw them, Kannick?"
"In the incinerator."
He started shifting his feet.
"You moved your feet."
"Damn it!"
"You lied to me, Kannick. You said that you saw Errki up there."
"But I did! I saw him!"
"Errki saw you. That's not the same thing."
Sejer had to struggle to keep his voice calm. "I'm going to tell you one thing. I believe you when you say that Errki's death was an accident. Morgan confirmed that."
For a moment Kannick looked relieved.
"But I doubt that you have any remorse about it."
"What do you mean?" Kannick said, obviously anxious.
"Now that Errki's dead, he can't tell any tales. You got the jump on him. That's why you reported your story to Gurvin. Before Errki managed to say you were the one who did it, you rushed off to say it was him. Nobody would believe Errki the lunatic."
At that moment Margunn came towards them. She gave the two of them an uncertain look and cleared her throat nervously. "Is something wrong?"
Sejer nodded yes and Margunn grew pale.
"Kannick," she said finally, as if to fill the terrible silence with something, even though it wasn't necessary. "You're not allowed to wear those moccasins; they're for Karsten's confirmation. Where did you put your trainers?"
The bow sank. Kannick's heart contracted violently and pumped a flood of hot blood into his face. The future had arrived.
*
This is what might have happened. Kannick was up in the woods with his bow. He shot a crow and was about to go home, when he had the idea to go over and see Halldis. Maybe he saw her working on her lawn, with her back to the door. He slipped inside and found the wallet in the bread tin. Maybe he was lucky, or maybe he knew that's where she kept it. He tiptoed out again. To his horror, he saw that she was standing on the steps with the hoe in her hands. Kannick, the boy who usually acted before thinking, panicked. He tore the hoe out of her hands, and maybe they struggled for a few minutes before she lost her grip and the weapon was his. He lifted it up and struck. He was wearing his archery gloves and left only faint prints. Halldis collapsed. He ran across the lawn, stopping for a moment at the well to look back. Suddenly he caught sight of the dark figure between the trees. He knew he had been seen. He raced off down the road, but dropped the wallet. Errki went over to the house and saw Halldis. Evidently he went into the kitchen, pottered around in disbelief, touching the doors and windowsills, and leaving prints from his trainers. On the road he found the wallet that Kannick had dropped in fright. He stuffed it in his inside pocket and continued on, overwhelmed by the horror that had occurred, heading towards town and human company. Kannick ran to Officer Gurvin and reported Halldis's death. He had seen someone up there – how convenient. The madman Errki. What had Morgan said?
They were watching each other like dogs.
Sejer took his mobile phone out of his jacket pocket and punched in a number.
Skarre answered. "What's going on?"
He looked around. "Not much."
He gazed out of the car window at the hazy woods. If only he could dive straight into the sea. Get out of this dusty heat.
"Did anyone call?" he asked.
Skarre was silent. Over the last 24 hours he'd begun to have his suspicions.
"What do you mean by anyone?"
"Good Lord, anyone at all."
"Nobody called," Skarre said.
"OK."
They were both silent for a moment.
"Has something happened?" Skarre asked.
"Errki wasn't the one who killed Halldis."
"Oh, great. That's all I needed to hear right now. So we'll have to start from scratch. Tell me something else, I'm in no mood for jokes."
"I'm not joking. It wasn't him."
"Right, boss!"
There was silence. Skarre thought about it for a long time.
"All right," he said at last. "I think I'm starting to understand what you're getting at. A girl called the station. A cashier from Briggen's Grocery. She'd thought of something enormously important that I absolutely had to know."
"Tell me what she said."
"One of the children from Guttebakken had gone up to Halldis's farm several times with Oddemann Briggen to h
elp him out. Can you guess who it was?"
"Kannick," Sejer said.
"Yes. He used to get paid in chocolate. He might have known where she kept her wallet."
Sejer nodded.
"By the way, someone was here."
"What do you mean by 'someone'?"
"Dr Struel."
"Is that so? What did she want?"
"I have no idea. She asked for some paper and an envelope so she could write a message. It's on your desk."
Sejer started the engine. His thoughts were whirling.
"Jacob," he said, with a gleeful tone. "You know what this means, don't you?"
"What are you talking about now?"
"You're going to have to do that parachute jump."
"Yes, well, I suppose I am."
There was a long pause.
"But having said that, I don't really approve of betting. It doesn't matter to me one way or the other. I won't lose any respect for you if you decide not to do it."
"But your respect for me won't increase, either, will it?"
"I have the greatest respect for you already."
"Of course I'll jump."
"Your faith is strong, isn't it?"
"I'm sure this won't be the first time that I put it to the test, but I suppose it's about time I did."
Sejer opened the door to his office and went in. A white envelope was lying on his desk, on top of the blotter, which was a world map. It lay in the Mediterranean, like a boat with white sails. He picked up the envelope, and slipped a finger under the flap. His hands shook as he pulled out the piece of paper.
Skarre came barging in. He stopped abruptly at the sight of his boss standing there, shaking, with a piece of paper in his hand.
"I am so sorry," he said, embarrassed. "What's going on?"
