The Water's Edge (19 page)

'We should be grateful for that,' Sejer said. 'We need to enforce it and we cannot have any grey areas.' He gave Skarre a stern look. 'If you put a child on your lap, there must be no ulterior motives.'

CHAPTER 26

Solberg School in Huseby was an old, yellow stone building surrounded by beeches. It was situated on a hilltop above Loch Bonna and those pupils whose classrooms faced north often daydreamed as they watched the blue water. Alex Meyer led Sejer and Skarre to Edwin's classroom. The room stirred mixed feelings in them, it had to do with the way it smelled, an indeterminate mix of food, green soap and children's bodies. Edwin's name had been written on the board in ornate letters and the pupils had drawn flowers and red hearts around it. But there was something else which caught their attention, something which stood out in the carefully organised room. A chair. A chair bigger and broader than the rest. It was obvious that Edwin was unable to sit at a normal desk.

Alex Meyer was a long-limbed man in his forties with a mass of brown hair which had been left to grow as it pleased. Around his wrist he wore plaited leather bracelets and his trainers were bright blue with golden stripes.

'How are you getting on?' he asked. 'Do you think you'll be able to catch him? What do we tell the kids? Do you have any theories as to what's going on?'

Then he stopped himself, gave them a desperate look and gestured helplessly. He was slim and a touch feline, and when he spoke his whole body moved.

'As far as the children are concerned,' Sejer said, 'then you'll have to tell them that they'll find out the answer one day.'

Meyer went over to the window and looked down at the loch.

'Two boys from Solberg School,' he said. 'It's unbelievable. Do you know what the children are saying? That he's at the bottom of Lake Linde. That a dangerous man is loose in the forest up there. And I don't know what to say, because it might be true.'

Again Sejer had the feeling of standing empty-handed in front of a beggar.

'So what's the story?' Skarre asked. 'How's Edwin doing in school?'

Meyer managed a smile. 'In some ways I'm impressed that Edwin comes to school at all,' he said, 'because he's not doing very well. He's not very bright, and he struggles in all subjects. But when it comes to bullying, there's a lot of talk these days about children and how cruel they are to each other and I suppose that's true. But it has a point of origin. If they're used to being ill-treated at home, then they go out into the world with the same lack of respect for the feelings of others.'

'Do you have pupils here who are being ill-treated at home? Is that what you're saying?' Sejer asked.

'I've got my suspicions. Let me put it this way: I pay attention to what's going on.'

'Are you talking about verbal abuse or do you mean other, more serious types of abuse?'

'Possibly.'

'What about Edwin? Is he treated well at home?'

'I've no reason to think anything else,' Meyer said, 'unless you consider it to be a form of child abuse to allow a child to become morbidly obese.'

'That's a brutal claim to make,' Sejer said.

'It is.'

'To what extent can his difficulties at school be attributed to his obesity?'

'To a large extent, I would say. Many of his thoughts revolve around food. He finds it very hard to concentrate on anything else. Food comes first. It comes before playing, school and friends. Food is the first thing he thinks of when he wakes up and the last thing he thinks of before he goes to bed at night. He loves food more than anything else. But I help him as much as I'm able to, he's a very nice lad, gentle. It's bizarre,' he added, 'because in one way it scares me to see how quickly he gains weight, in another way it fascinates me. When he eats I can barely make contact with him. He grows distant and unapproachable, as if he were high.'

He went up to the board, took a piece of chalk and drew a small star above Edwin's name.

'So his weight,' Sejer said, 'is a major handicap?'

'It's worse than that,' Meyer said, 'it's life-threatening. Or it will be soon. Sometimes I think that he might have suffered a heart attack, that he's simply keeled over and you'll find him in a ditch.'

'What about his GP,' Sejer said, 'have you spoken to him?'

'Of course,' Meyer replied. 'I needed to know how to handle it. Edwin has always been allowed to do things at his own pace, I've never pressurised him. Naturally, he has been excused from PE. He sits on the floor watching the others while he eats one of his many packed lunches.'

Sejer studied the wall, which was covered by children's drawings.

'He's drawn a picture of his mum in a red dress,' Meyer explained, pointing. 'It'll be horribly empty if he doesn't come back. The pupils are distraught, they've lost everything they thought of as safe. Jonas August is dead and Edwin's desk is empty. The kids are barely allowed out of the house now, it's that serious. We've been asked to look out for the white car, but when the bell goes, it's total mayhem because everyone collects their children by car now. Before we start lessons every morning we talk about what's happening. However, we need to get some work done eventually, life has to go on somehow. But it's hard because their concentration is so poor. Some parents have told me their children find it hard to sleep at night. It's strange that it's happening here,' he said, 'in Huseby.'

'You're not immune from the rest of the world,' Skarre commented.

'How does Edwin deal with his weight problem, in terms of behaviour?' Sejer asked.

'I'm not sure I understand what you mean,' Meyer said.

'There are things he doesn't get. He doesn't move or exercise, he doesn't get good marks, he can only join in to some extent. Has he found some other way to make himself noticed?'

'Well,' Meyer said, 'at break time he often seeks out the adults. He'll say something nice and make himself as sweet as he can so that we'll like him, and we do. No one can say no to Edwin Åsalid with the brown curls. So in that way I can see how the wrong sort of man would be tempted.'

CHAPTER 27

Jonas August Løwe's funeral was held in Huseby Church and it was packed. What will the vicar say, they wondered as they found a seat in the hard pews; can he really find words for a tragedy like this? They doubted him on two fronts: they questioned his profession and they wondered whether he would manage to comfort them, though at the same time that was the reason they were here.

Sejer and Skarre observed everyone as they entered the church. Elfrid Løwe sat at the front. She was wearing a dark blue suit and the blazer-style jacket made her look like an adolescent boy. The vicar was standing in front of the altar with his back to the congregation. Conferring with God, Skarre thought, wondering if he would get any kind of explanation. Sejer noticed a couple in their sixties sitting either side of Elfrid; her parents, presumably. Her mother's Parkinson's was obvious, she shook uncontrollably. Jonas August's classmates sat in the pews behind them, each child very soberly dressed for the occasion. In contrast to the adults, who were all staring at a point on the floor, the children allowed their eyes to wander around the church with undisguised curiosity and they lingered on the coffin. It was strangely small and barely visible underneath the profusion of flowers. A hush of mourning filled the church, but there was something else, a sense of communal fear.

The organ began its swelling notes. I'm not a believer, Sejer reminded himself, so why do I feel joy at this sound? The organ? The vaulted ceiling with the angels? The stained-glass windows which filter the light beautifully across the pews? I find serenity, I find comfort. As though the absence of a God creates a void after all, but one I only become aware of when it's filled? He glanced furtively at Skarre seated next to him. He looked as if he was struggling with similar thoughts. What's harder, Sejer wondered: basing your entire existence on the divine only to doubt in a few moments of darkness, or embracing the beauty of a brief, earthly life before turning to dust, to dark nutritious soil? He was not an atheist, far from it, but neither had he ever believed that there was a God, externally or inside him. He had no awareness of any spiritual power. He thought that nature and mankind were physical entities which could be understood according to their laws and were by definition transitory. Surely their beauty lay precisely in the fleeting nature of their existence? Of course he had experienced some glimpses of spirituality, moments which lifted him up and out of himself, moments that broke barriers, when he suddenly sensed something greater, like opening a curtain to let in the light. Like when his daughter Ingrid was born.

He looked down at the order of service, which the verger had handed him. There was a photo of Jonas August on the front, smiling cheerfully and revealing large front teeth. Then he raised his eyes and watched Elfrid Løwe, her short hair, her thin neck. Ever since her son had been found she had had to deal with so much. Shock and paralysis, fear and grief, identifying his body. Yes, that's Jonas. That is my Jonas. Finding an undertaker, choosing flowers and music and clothes for Jonas to be buried in, his pyjamas perhaps or a white shirt. She had talked to the vicar, she had tried to put words to her feelings. She had put a notice in the paper, she had chosen an outfit for herself, the dark blue suit. Now the vicar was about to take over and for a few hours she would be left to herself, no more practical things to think about. The rest of her life lay ahead of her, filled with long, black days.

The vicar looked out across the congregation.

'Today I'm angry with God.'

His statement made them sit up. Yes, that was to the point, surely that was what they all felt: anger and impotence? And who was God to say that this grotesque incident was part of His greater scheme?

'Today I'm angry with God,' he repeated, 'but I'm also filled with joy.'

Oh, Sejer thought, he's bringing in joy rather quickly, a tad too soon in my opinion. Again he sneaked a look at Skarre sitting, as befits the son of a vicar from Søgne, with his straight back and his hands folded in his lap.

'For eight years Jonas August was a source of joy to us,' the vicar carried on. 'It was a brief joy, but who are we to count the hours and the days? Some people live short lives. Today we are gathered here to honour him, but it hurts. Today all we can see is evil and fear, the incomprehensible, the unforgivable, but with God's help we will one day see it in a different light. God will help us to accept this one day because he who took Jonas from us is a lost soul who has strayed.'

Has he now? Is that what's happened? Sejer thought, I'm hunting a lost soul who has strayed. No, that's not right. I'm hunting a man who puts his own desires before everything else, a man who cannot control himself, a man who will kill to satisfy his urges. When I'm at the police station interrogating him, there will be no room for acceptance. I will be polite and follow procedure, but I will offer him nothing: no mercy, no sympathy.

'Death is not final,' the vicar continued, 'because we are all on a journey, we will join this eternal river, it is the blood of all those who knew us and loved us and they will live on in us. We carry Jonas August. It is a heavy burden, but it will grow lighter. The tears we will shed in the months to come will turn into smiles. Do you remember Jonas August, we'll say, who was in our year at Solberg School? He always had a smile and a friendly word for everyone.'

He paused, lowered his head before raising it again with authority and gravity.

'Death has arrived in his carriage. Jonas August has stepped on board.'

He paused again. The signs of good living and contentment showed in the potbelly underneath his cassock, but his face with its feminine features spoke of humility.

Then Jonas's teacher stood up to read a poem. The sheet of paper refused to lie still in her hands, it rustled so that everyone could hear and her voice threatened to break, but the words reached them all the same. They sent shivers down their spines.