The Water's Edge (5 page)

'Did you get a look at his face?'

'He looked stressed,' Reinhardt said. 'We agree on that, don't we, Kristine?'

His question sounded like a command.

Sejer looked at Kristine. 'What do you think? Was he stressed?'

'He might just have been shy, but he was startled when he saw us. Then again, he would be, wouldn't he, we appeared so suddenly,' she explained.

'Anything else?'

'He had light blond hair,' Reinhardt said.

'No,' Kristine contradicted him, 'his hair was grey. It had been combed back and it was quite long in the neck. Slightly curly,' she added.

'What about his car?' Sejer asked.

'It was white,' Kristine said, 'and quite old.'

'I've been thinking about that car,' Reinhardt said. 'It might have been a Granada.' He sent Kristine a triumphant look. This was outside her area of expertise.

'A Granada? I don't think there are many of those around these days, we'll need to look into that. What do you think, Kristine?' Sejer asked.

'I don't know anything about cars,' she mumbled.

'But, all the same, it was a large passenger car. A four-door saloon?'

'Yes,' said Reinhardt.

'So he saw you and drove off?'

'In a hell of a rush,' Reinhardt said.

'I don't think he drove off that quickly,' Kristine objected.

Now it was Skarre's turn to smile.

'Did either of you see the number plate?' he asked optimistically.

They were both silent.

'Anyway,' Sejer said, 'it wasn't a man you recognised, I mean you haven't seen this man before?'

'No.'

Sejer pondered this for a while. He moved the pen from Tunisia further south into Africa.

'Did you notice anything else unusual on your walk from the barrier to the lake? Any people? Sounds, voices?'

'Nothing,' Reinhardt said. 'There wasn't a soul around and it was quiet. Linde Forest is always really quiet.'

'That's why we go there,' Kristine interjected.

'And going there in your car, before you parked, did you meet anyone? Did you pass any other cars, people out walking?'

Reinhardt had to think about this.

'Did we pass anyone?' He looked at Kristine.

'No,' she said. 'The road's so narrow that if we'd met anyone, we would have had to stop.'

'You often walk there? It's a favourite walk of yours?'

'Every Sunday after lunch,' Kristine said, 'usually about the same time. Whatever the weather. All year round.'

'Have you noticed anything else unusual up there, on previous visits?'

'No. Like I said, it's really quiet there. We might have seen the odd person berry-picking. And skiers in winter. But you have to walk all the way to the lake from the barrier and most people can't be bothered to do that.'

'This man,' Sejer said, 'would you recognise him if you saw him in the street?'

'Yes,' Kristine said quickly.

'Why are you so certain?'

She hesitated. 'He stood out.'

Sejer pricked up his ears.

'In what way?'

She thought about the face she had seen for only a few brief seconds.

'I'm not making this up,' she said, 'but he reminded me of someone.' She rubbed her mouth nervously.

'And who did he remind you of?'

Her reply was barely audible. 'Hans Christian Andersen,' she whispered.

The office fell silent.

'The writer, you mean? What made him look like Hans Christian Andersen?' Sejer asked.

'His low, sloping forehead,' she said. 'His huge nose and large ears. The high cheekbones and crescent of curly hair at the back of his neck.'

Reinhardt sent her a doubting look. Skarre was busy taking notes.

'You shouldn't pay too much attention to what I say,' Kristine added. 'It was just something that crossed my mind.'

Sejer got up from his chair. 'That, too, can be important. That'll be all for now. Go home and relax. As much as you can.'

'Are we done?' Reinhardt asked in surprise.

Sejer gave him a patient look.

'Unless you happen to remember something you think might be important,' he said, 'in which case I'd be grateful if you'd call me.'

Skarre escorted them out into the corridor. Suddenly Kristine seemed to remember something. She clasped her mouth and gave them a wide-eyed look.

'Good God,' she said.

'What is it?' Skarre asked.

'Please forgive me,' she said, 'I'm not quite myself. And neither is Reinhardt. We forgot the most important thing, I don't know how we managed that. He was limping,' she added.

'That's right,' Reinhardt exclaimed.

'Or rather,' Kristine went on, 'he might not have been limping. But he was walking differently, as if he had an injury of some sort.'

Skarre nodded. 'A disability?'

'Or,' Reinhardt said, 'he might have had a false leg.'

CHAPTER 7

'If I had my way,' Sejer said, 'we would be out questioning every convicted paedophile in the area. Even the ones who have been charged, but never convicted due to lack of evidence.'

'The courts will never give us the green light to do that,' Skarre said.

'Then we run a red light,' Sejer said. 'We run a red light and we pay the price.'

'What do you make of Mr and Mrs Ris?'

'Kristine Ris is a keen observer,' Sejer declared, 'and women make better witnesses than men. They pay attention to details, the little things. A glance or a mood. The Hans Christian Andersen comment was interesting; it was remarkable that she made that observation. Andersen looked unusual; do you know what he looked like?'

'No.'

'He wasn't particularly attractive,' Sejer said. 'If I remember rightly, there was something fox-like about him.'

'Fox-like how?'

'Oh, it's just my impression. But I don't think his appearance reflected his creative powers.'

'The Ugly Duckling,' Skarre suggested.

'Exactly.'

Sejer walked over to the window, he stared out into the busy street.

'What's the name of Jonas August's mother? Did you make a note of it?'

'Her name's Elfrid,' Skarre said, 'Elfrid Løwe. She lives on Granatveien in Huseby. Do you want to call ahead? Do you want to let her know that we're coming over?'

'She'll be at home,' he replied, 'she'll be waiting. Come on, let's go.'

'You don't want to call the local vicar?'

'No.'

'Why not?' Skarre asked.

'Because I'm better at this.'

As he spoke, the doubts came. What could he actually tell her? We've found a little boy by Lake Linde. He matches your description of Jonas August and we need you to come with us to the Institute of Forensic Medicine first thing tomorrow morning, so we can confirm whether or not the dead boy is your son. Those would be his words. And in one second her life would go from order to chaos.

'You go and start the car,' he said.

Skarre grabbed his jacket and left. Sejer wandered around his office. He studied the photos on the wall of Ingrid, his daughter, and her son, Matteus, a tall, athletic teenager. He stood there looking at them, reminding himself of the magnitude of losing those closest to you. He could not articulate it, but for obvious reasons he would have to find the words. Elfrid Løwe would look him in the eye and demand an explanation.

She saw them from the window.

She ran out of the house immediately. Sejer walked across the gravel with heavy, measured steps. It was his slow pace that confirmed her worst fears.

'Elfrid Løwe?'

She ignored his outstretched hand. Instead she clung to the fence.

'Could we come inside, please?' Sejer asked.

She shook her head in defiance. She was slender and small like her son and she wore a short turquoise and pink dress with a floral pattern. She began picking nervously at a ribbon on the neckline of the dress. Her hands were lean with clearly visible veins.

'I want to hear it right here,' she said. 'I want to know right now.'

She shook her head again.

'So tell me,' she burst out, 'please tell me what's happened!'

Sejer placed a hand on her arm. 'I want you to go inside and sit down.'

Finally she went back inside the house. She stood on the living room floor shifting her weight from one foot to the other in a nervous, rhythmical movement.

'Sit down, please,' Sejer told her.

His authoritative voice made her sit on the sofa.

'We have found a little boy,' he started, 'in Linde Forest, not far from the lake. He's been dead a few hours. And I'm so sorry to have to tell you this, but he matches your description of Jonas August.'

'No,' she said, shaking her head. 'No.'

'We think it's him,' Sejer said.

She continued shaking her head. She looked like a sullen child who has been thwarted.

'We'll take him to the Institute of Forensic Medicine in Oslo tomorrow morning,' Sejer said. 'You'll need to come with us and together we will see him.'

'Tomorrow?' she said blankly. Her hands scrambled across the coffee table. 'But where is he now? Where will he be tonight?' She lifted one hand and bit into her knuckles while she waited for a response. She stared at Skarre now, her eyes demanding a reply.

'We haven't been able to move him yet,' Skarre said.

'You haven't been able to move him? I don't understand.'

'We need to examine the crime scene and the surrounding area,' Skarre said. 'It takes time, we won't be able to finish this evening. So we'll be working through the night.'

She punched the air wildly with her fists.

'You can't come here telling me he has to stay in the forest all night,' she screamed. 'For God's sake, he's only seven years old!'

'I'm afraid he has to,' Skarre said. 'The crime scene officers haven't finished.'