He Who Fears the Wolf (10 page)

Morgan woke up to the fact that the distance between them had grown considerably. He raced to catch up, feeling uneasy. Where exactly were they going? How was this going to end?

"We've got to stop now. It's news time!"

His voice was louder than necessary, as if he were emphasising his own position, as if he had begun to have his doubts about it, and that scared him. Errki kept going. Rolling and striding along, completely ignoring him.

"Hey! Errki!"

The drum slammed and rattled several times. Errki stopped and turned around. The man behind him was shaking with anger. There's nothing as pathetic as a man who has lost his grip, he thought.

"You don't have to act up every damned time I give you an order. I'm the one in charge here."

Wrong. He's the one with the gun. Errki pressed his lips together.

"Sit down. It's time for the news. I want to hear how much they know."

They were almost at the top of a wide ridge. Beyond it was another ridge that was a muted green and infinitely far away in the haze. Morgan fumbled around in the bag for the radio, and spent a moment fiddling with the antenna. Errki lay down on his back in the heather and closed his eyes.

"You look like a ghost lying there."

Morgan tried to pull himself together. He studied Errki with genuine astonishment. "How do you manage to stay so pale when the sun is this bright?" He chuckled. "I guess you live in a different world, and it's damned dark in there, isn't it?"

He found a local station, and drummed his fingers impatiently while the last strains of a military band died out.

"And now for the news." A piece of paper rustled. "A man in his early twenties made off with almost a hundred thousand kroner after he robbed the Fokus Bank this morning. The robbery took place soon after the bank opened, and the robber took a customer hostage as he left the scene. A shot was fired, but no-one was hurt. So far there is no trace of the robber or the hostage, although the police have a good description of the offender."

Morgan frowned. "A good description?"

"They left the city in a small white car, but police roadblocks have failed to apprehend them."

"What are they talking about? I didn't take off my mask until we were out of sight!"

He put the radio down in the grass. "They're bluffing!"

Annoyed, he took his tobacco pouch out of his pocket and rolled a cigarette. Errki was listening to a fly buzzing persistently in front of him.

"The police still do not have any real leads in the death of 76-year-old Halldis Horn who was found murdered yesterday morning. The woman was discovered at her home, brutally killed with a sharp object. The woman's wallet had been taken. Her mutilated body was found by a boy playing in the area."

Morgan's eyes took on a remote look.

"Now there's an example of what I mean by a real crime. Do you see the difference? Nobody's going to miss the money I took. The bank has insurance. No-one got hurt, and the car doesn't have a scratch on it. Then you have people who murder for the sake of a lousy wallet."

Errki was still listening to the fly. He was convinced that it was trying to get at him; all the buzzing must have a purpose. It was annoying how much the clown Morgan talked. He didn't understand the meaning of a word, of holding on to it, saving it for an important moment.

"And an old woman! I don't understand things like that. It must have been a real maniac." He glanced over at Errki. "Are you good at making a shelter out of branches, by the way? Used to be a Boy Scout, maybe?"

Errki opened one eye and stared at him. Morgan was reminded of a lamp behind a thin curtain, giving off a dim light.

"We need to find water, at any rate. You don't know of a stream do you? Or a lake?"

Nestor was rocking back and forth, squatting, as usual, with his chin resting on his knees. Errki was always impressed by this position; he could sit that way for hours without getting tired. The Coat, which couldn't stand up straight or even sit down because it had nothing inside except for foolish remarks, waved the flap of its pocket. Just to show that it was still there and intended once or twice to stay until someone hauled it away.

"Do you like whisky? Long John Silver, room temperature."

Morgan took another drag on his cigarette and stared straight ahead, scratching his calf because there was a twig or insect annoying him. Slapping at insects made him sweat, and for a moment he cast a suspicious glance at the man lying beside him in the grass.

"How can you lie still like that?" he grumbled. "You've got a whole battalion of flies just above your nose."

He ground out his cigarette end in the grass, stood up abruptly and went over to Errki. Bent down, grabbed hold of his shoulder hard, and gave him a shake.

Errki flinched. "Don't touch me!"

"So you don't like it when I grab you, huh? Afraid of being infected or something? People like you are always scared of bacteria and germs, isn't that right? But there's nothing wrong with me. I took a shower yesterday, which is more than can be said for you."

A gust of wind made the Coat flutter and roll across the floor. Errki gave a start and raised his hands.

"What's the matter?" Morgan looked at him. "Are you sick? I can't get you those pills, but honestly, if I could, I would. I'm not stingy. And as for the robbery," he swallowed hard. "You may not realise it, but the robbery was an act of friendship."

The words were spoken with the utmost sincerity. Errki was confused. One minute the man was puffing himself up like an air bag, and the next second he was as friendly as a hospital chaplain. He stood up and started walking again. He moved very fast and was far away before Morgan even realised he had started off.

"Take it easy, I'm coming."

But Errki strode on ahead and vanished beyond a thicket. Morgan could hear branches breaking, dry little snaps.

"Wait right there. This bag isn't light, dammit!"

Errki walked on and on. The two in the cellar watched him go. Nestor turned his head slightly. He seemed to be sending a small signal to the Coat, who waved one sleeve in response. It looked as if they were planning something, or making an important decision. He walked faster. That's what they wanted – to see what would happen. Behind him he could hear the man's footsteps and his ragged breathing. He thought about the gun, about what it could do, about all the power between heaven and earth.

"Errki, goddamn it! I'll shoot!"

Morgan was running. It occurred to him that the woods were so dense that Errki could easily disappear in an instant, even just crouch down behind a bush and sit perfectly still as he ran past. And he didn't know where he was. Would he be able to find his way back to the road where the car was parked?

"I'll shoot, Errki. I've got plenty of bullets. Do you know what a bullet will do if it hits your leg? It'll turn your calf inside out!"

His calf? Errki had to concentrate to remember which part of the body was called the calf. He never saw it because it was always behind him. He kept on going until he heard a sharp crack and something whistled past his ear. The bullet gave off a tiny puff as it flew past. The next instant it slammed into a tree trunk just in front of him. White splinters leaped from the trunk like spikes of hair. He stopped.

"OK! You get it at last. I thought you would."

Morgan was panting like a dog. "Next time I'll aim for your calf. Now slow down. We're going to have to stop soon. I don't feel like trudging around any more. It's getting late."

Errki bit his lip hard. Something was approaching fast. He could sense that he was getting close, he was almost there, but he wasn't ready. He looked around and knew exactly where they were. The other man didn't. He started walking more calmly. Had to remember not to irritate Morgan. He pictured the wound in the tree, and the same wound in his back, a whole explosion right into the marrow, the skin shredded, the blood gushing out as if from an open tap, and the great leap into eternity.

He longed for it. But he pushed it away for when he was ready, until the right day, the right time. It would be soon, he could feel it. So much had happened. The man behind him might have been sent to him as a helper. This is how he saw it: he would plummet into the endless universe, onto a path that was his alone, others passing by on the right and the left, beyond his reach, like tiny vibrations in the atmosphere, small gusts streaming past. Maybe his mother was hovering around like that, with her arms out to her sides like wings and the light from the stars like crystals in her black hair. Following her would be the dark sound of a flute. The alternative was to continue as he was, with someone always on his heels. I'm tired, he thought. Who forced us to start this run? Who is sitting at the finish line and waiting? And how damned far are we supposed to go? Blood, sweat and tears. Pain, sorrow and despair!

They had come to a grove where the trees thinned out into a small clearing. Morgan at long last caught up with Errki. The bag fell to the ground with a thump. The robber's eyes lit up.

"Hey, look at that! A little cottage, all to ourselves. We can play mama and papa and the kids here." He looked genuinely pleased. "Jesus, I'm going to be glad to get indoors."

He trotted past Errki, heading for the door. Errki looked at the dark patch on the top step where his guts had spilled out and lain steaming only 24 hours earlier. Morgan didn't notice it. He tugged at the rotting door, and it opened slowly with a creak. He peered inside.

"Dark and cool," he said. "Come on."

Errki was still standing outside in the grass. There was a thing he was trying to remember, but it slipped away like a rubber band. This had been bothering him for years, the elasticity of his thoughts.

"It's nice inside. Come on in."

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.

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 hostage. 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."