He Who Fears The Wolf

God only knows what they were planning to use the money for. If they really had as much as she implied, that is.'

Skarre wrote himself a note. Check Halldis Horn's bank account.

'What about her sister in the north?'

'She's well off. Has a husband and children and grandchildren.'

'So if Halldis had any money, they would be the ones to benefit?'

'I imagine so. Thorvald didn't have any family, only a brother who died long ago. Some of the money was inherited from him.'

'And you went up to her farm once a week? The same day every time?'

'No, she would call me, and the day varied. But I often went there on Thursdays.'

'When were you last there?'

'On Wednesday.'

'How many employees do you have in the shop?'

'Just Johnna, the girl at the check-out counter.'

'No-one else?'

'Not right now.'

'But you did have someone?'

'A long time ago. A young man. He didn't stay long.'

'Did he know Halldis?'

Briggen laced and unlaced his fingers. 'Hmm…I suppose he did. He came along a few times when I delivered her groceries, but he didn't seem particularly interested in her.'

There was something embarrassed and reluctant in his tone of voice.

'I'd better have his name.'

It seemed as if Briggen would have preferred not to tell him. He squirmed in his chair and began buttoning up his coat again, even though it was hot.

'Tommy. Tommy Rein.'

'A young man?'

'In his twenties. But he didn't show interest in any of us, or in the area either.'

'Do you know where he is now?'

'No.'

'You stated previously that Halldis kept her wallet in the bread tin?'

'That's right. But she never had much money in it. Well, I didn't open it myself, but I watched her open it and take out the money to pay me. She usually had a few hundred-kroner bills.'

Skarre made a note of this. 'And Errki Johrma – do you know him?'

'Of course. He often comes to the shop.'

'What does he buy?'

'Nothing. He takes whatever he wants and leaves. If I shout after him, he turns around in the doorway, as if surprised that I'm making such a fuss. Then he holds up what he's taken, as if to show me that it's only a chocolate bar. And since he's the way he is, I've never gone after him. He's not the kind of fellow that you'd want to tap on the shoulder. And of course his pilfering doesn't amount to much, just petty sums. Once in a while I'd get really cross about it, though. He has no regard for laws or rules whatsoever.'

'I see,' Skarre said. 'Who else, besides yourself, might have known that Halldis kept her wallet in the bread tin?'

'No-one, as far as I know.'

'But Tommy Rein might know, isn't that true?'

'Uh… I'm not sure about that.'

'What about door-to-door salesmen, lottery-ticket sellers, or preachers? They must come around here, don't they? Did anyone like that ever go out to her place? Did she ever mention it?'

'They never go up to Halldis's farm. It's not worth it. It's too far, and the road is bad. No, you can forget about anything like that. Focus on Errki. He was seen at her farm.'

'So you know about that?'

'Everybody does.'

'The wallet,' Skarre asked. 'Was it red?'

'Bright red, with a brass clasp. She kept a picture of Thorvald in it, an old one, taken before he went bald. You know what?' Briggen said. 'I was relieved when they put Errki in the hospital. And now I hope you find him, and I hope that he's guilty.'

'Why is that?'

Briggen crossed his arms. They hardly reached around his ample stomach.

'Then we'll have him locked up for good, as the dangerous man that he is. And if he finally gets convicted for something – with physical evidence, I mean – then maybe he won't get out again, and we'll have some peace around here. I mean, who else could have done it?'

'Did Halldis ever have visitors?'

'Very seldom.'

'Who would be the exception?'

'Her sister Helga has a grandson who rents a room in Oslo. I know that he's been up there, but not often.'

'Do you know his name?'

'His last name is Mai, at any rate. Kristian, or Kristoffer.'

Kristoffer, Skarre thought.

'I seem to remember that he worked in the kitchen of a restaurant. And not to be nasty or anything, but I doubt it's a three-star place.'

'Why is that?'

'I saw him once. He didn't look like the type.'

Skarre found himself wondering what the kitchen hands in a three-star restaurant looked like, as opposed to the kitchen hands in lesser places in Oslo.

'So there was Mai. And Tommy Rein. Has anyone been here from the newspapers?'

'From the papers and the local radio station. And people have been calling.'

'Did you talk to them?'

'No-one told me not to.'

No, unfortunately, Skarre thought. 'We need you to come down to Headquarters. Sometime today.'

'Need me? For what?'

'We have to identify the fingerprints that were found in her house.'

Briggen looked as if he was having difficulty breathing. 'Are you going to take my fingerprints?'

'That's what we had in mind,' Skarre said.

'And why would they be found in her house?'

'Because you've been up there once a week for eight years.'

'I only went there to deliver groceries and her letters, and a weekly paper!'

His face took on a panic-stricken expression.

'We realise that.'

'So why do you need them?'

'To isolate them.'

'What did you say?'

Skarre tried to stay calm. 'We have to find an owner for each set of fingerprints. Some belong to Halldis. Some may belong to this Kristoffer, and some may be yours. And some may belong to the killer. We need yours so we can exclude them and end up with fingerprints that don't have a known owner. That owner may be the murderer. Do you see?'

Briggen's face returned to its normal colour. 'I hope you don't let this get out. People might think that I had something to do with it.'

'Not anyone who has even the slightest understanding of police work,' Skarre reassured him.