'Are you sure that she's dead?'
'Yes.'
Gurvin frowned. This heat could have an effect on anyone.
'Did you examine her?'
The boy looked at him in disbelief, as if the mere thought made him feel like fainting. He shook his head. The movement caused his heavy body to ripple.
'You didn't touch her at all?'
'No.'
'How can you be so sure that she's dead?'
'I'm sure,' he panted.
Gurvin took a pen out of his shirt pocket and made a note.
'Could I have your name?'
'Snellingen. Kannick Snellingen.'
The officer blinked. The name was just as peculiar as the boy, but it suited him. He wrote it down on a pad, not letting his face show what he thought of the parents' choice of name.
'So you were baptised Kannick? It's not a nickname? Short for Karl Henrik, for example?'
'No, it's Kannick. Spelled with a 'c-k'.'
Gurvin wrote the name down with a flourish.
'You'll have to forgive me for my surprise,' he said politely. 'It's an unusual name. Age?'
'Twelve.'
'So you say that Halldis Horn is dead?'
The boy nodded, still breathing hard and shifting his bare feet unhappily. He had set his container on the floor beside him. It was covered with stickers. Gurvin noticed a heart and an apple and a couple of names.
'You're not trying to pull my leg, are you?'
'No!'
'In any case, I think I'll give her a call, just to see if she answers,' Gurvin said.
'Go ahead and call. Nobody's going to answer!'
'Sit down in the meantime,' Gurvin said. For the second time he nodded at the chair, but the boy remained standing. It struck Gurvin that he might not be able to stand up again if he set his rump down. He found the number in the phone book under the name Thorvald Horn. It rang and rang. Halldis was an old woman but still quite quick on her feet. Just to be sure he waited for a long time. The weather was magnificent. Maybe she was out in the garden. The boy kept his eyes fixed on him, licking his lips. Gurvin could see that the boy's forehead was whiter than his cheeks because his wispy shock of hair shaded it from the sun. His T-shirt was a little too short and some of his huge belly bulged over his shorts.
'Now that I've told you,' he said, out of breath, 'can I go?'
'No, I'm afraid not,' said the officer as he put down the phone. 'No-one is answering. I need to know what time you were at her farm. I'll have to write up a report. This could be important.'
'Important? But she's dead!'
'I need an approximate time,' Gurvin said gently.
'I don't have a watch. And I don't know how long it takes to get here from her farm.'
'Would you say about 30 minutes?'
'I ran almost all the way.'
'Then we'll say 25.'
Officer Gurvin looked at his watch and made another note on his pad. He couldn't imagine that so fat a boy could move at any great speed, especially carrying something. He picked up the receiver and tried Halldis's number again. He let it ring for a long time before he put down the phone. He was pleased. This was a break in his routine, and he needed it.
'Can I go home now?'
'Let me write down your home number.'
The boy began to squeak in a shrill voice. His double chin quivered on his plump face, and his lower lip trembled. The officer began to feel sorry for him. It began to look as if something had happened.
'Shall I call your mother?' he asked gently. 'Can she come and pick you up?'
Kannick sniffled. 'I live at Guttebakken.'
This piece of information made the officer look at him with new interest. A film seemed to slide over his eyes, and Kannick instantly saw how the adult had put him into a new file labelled 'unreliable'.
'Is that so?'
Gurvin took his time cracking the knuckles of each finger, one by one.
'Should I call them and ask someone to come and get you?'
'They don't have enough staff. Margunn is the only one on duty.'
The boy shifted his feet again and kept on sniffling.
The officer softened his tone. 'Halldis Horn was old,' he said. 'Old people die. That's how life is. You've never seen a dead person before, have
'I just saw one!'
Gurvin smiled. 'Usually they pass away in their sleep, sitting in a rocking chair, for instance. There's nothing to be afraid of. No reason for you to lie awake at night thinking about it. Promise me that?'
'There was someone up there,' the boy blurted out.
'Up at the farm?'
'Errki Johrma.'
He whispered the name like a swear word.
Gurvin looked at him in surprise.
'He was standing behind a tree, by the shed, but I saw him clearly. And then he took off into the woods.'
'Errki Johrma? That can't be right.' Gurvin shook his head. 'He's in the asylum – has been for months.'
'In that case, he's escaped.'
'I can easily check on that,' said the officer calmly, but he bit his lip. 'Did you talk to him?'
'Are you crazy!'
'I'll look into it. But first I have to check on Halldis.'
He let the news of Errki sink in. He wasn't superstitious, but he began to understand why some people were. Errki Johrma sneaking around in the woods nearby, and Halldis dead. Or at least unconscious. He felt as though he'd heard this before. A story that was repeating itself.
Something occurred to him. 'Why are you dragging that case around with you? You don't have orchestra practice in the middle of the woods, do you?'
'No,' the boy replied, planting one foot on either side of the case, as if he were afraid it would be confiscated. 'It's just a few things that I always take with me. I like to walk in the woods.'
The officer gave him a penetrating look. The boy was apparently defiant, but underneath lay fear, as if someone had frightened him to the bone. Gurvin called Guttebakken – the home for boys with behavioural problems – and talked to the superintendent. Succinctly he explained the situation.
'Halldis Horn? Dead on her front steps?'
The voice grew strident with doubt and concern. 'It's impossible for me to say whether he's lying,' the woman said. 'They all lie when it suits them, but in between there might be a scrap of truth. At any rate, he's already deceived me once today, since he obviously took the bow with him, knowing perfectly well he's only supposed to use it with adult supervision.'
'The bow?'
Gurvin didn't understand.
'Doesn't he have a case with him?'
The officer cast a glance at the boy and at what lay between his feet.
'Yes, he does.'
Kannick understood what they were discussing, and pressed his fat legs closer together.
'It's a fibreglass bow with nine arrows. He roams in the woods, shooting crows.'
She didn't sound angry, more worried. Gurvin made another call, this time to the psychiatric ward where Errki
