He Who Fears The Wolf

Johrma was committed. Or should have been, since it turned out that he had in fact escaped. He tried to play down the episode. The rumours about Errki were already bad enough. He didn't mention Halldis.

Kannick was growing more and more uneasy. He glanced at the door. What had really happened? Gurvin wondered. He hadn't hit her with one of those arrows had he, for God's sake?

'Well, at least Halldis died on a beautiful day,' he said, giving the boy an encouraging look. 'And she was old, after all. That's the way we all dream of dying. Those of us who are no longer spring chickens.'

Kannick Snellingen didn't reply. He shook his head and stood there motionless with the case between his legs. Grown-ups always thought they knew everything. But Officer Gurvin would soon think otherwise.

CHAPTER 3

He drove steadily up to the farm. It was a long time since he had last been there, maybe a year. In his chest a jagged stone was frantically spinning. Now that he was alone in the car, he felt a churning inside. What had the boy seen?

Kannick had insisted on walking the two kilometres home to Guttebakken. Margunn had promised to come out to meet him. If Gurvin knew the superintendent, there would be juice and sweet rolls and a brisk scolding, followed by a tender caress of his hair. Never mind what the others might say. Margunn was smart enough to know what he needed. The boy had calmed down a bit and wore a brave expression as he set off.

The Subaru moved up the wooded slope with the eagerness of a terrier. Everyone around here had a four- wheel drive, and it was needed in winter because of the snow and in the spring, because of the mud. The slopes were steep, and driving was difficult enough even on this dry paved road. As he drove he thought about Errki Johrma. At the hospital they had confirmed that he had made an easy escape through an open window, then set course for this area, where everybody knew him. And why shouldn't he? This was where he felt at home. And it didn't seem that the boy had been lying. Like most people, Gurvin was wary of the man because of all the rumours, which were as ugly as Errki himself. Misfortune followed him everywhere. He was like a bad omen that left fear and dread in his wake. It wasn't until he was involuntarily committed that people began to have a little sympathy for him. The poor man is sick, after all, they said; it's best for him to get proper help. It was rumoured that he had tried to starve himself to death, that he'd been found in the locked ward, as feeble as a prisoner of war. He lay on his back and stared at the ceiling, chanting monotonously, 'Peas, beef and pork, peas, beef and pork.' Over and over.

Gurvin remembered what had happened long ago. As he drove he glanced out of the side windows. In some way he was hoping that Errki wouldn't turn up. He was so impossibly strange. Dark and repulsive and unkempt. His eyes were two narrow slits that he never fully opened, making one wonder sometimes whether he actually had two eyes in there at all, or whether perhaps there was merely a raw abyss through which you could look right into his twisted brain.

And Gurvin was finding it hard to believe that Halldis was dead. He had known Halldis and Thorvald since he was a child, and she had always seemed immortal. He couldn't imagine the little farm without them, abandoned. It had been there for ever. Kannick must have seen something else, something he didn't understand that had frightened him. Errki Johrma, perhaps, scowling from behind a tree. That alone would be enough to startle anyone and distract them from clear vision. Especially a highly strung boy with one foot on the path to trouble. Both front windows of his vehicle were open, but even so he was still sweating profusely. He was almost there now and could see the shed at Halldis's place. He found it extraordinary that such an old woman kept everything so neat; she must be forever tidying the yard with her rake and scythe. Then the garden appeared, lush and green in spite of the drought. Everywhere else the lawns had turned yellow. Only Halldis could defy the forces of nature. Or water the grass illegally, perhaps. He turned at once to look at the house. A low white building with red trim. The front door stood open. He had his first shock: a head and arm were visible on the front steps. Horrified, he stopped the car and turned off the engine. Although he could see only her head and arm, he knew immediately that Halldis was dead. Damn it, the boy was telling the truth! Reluctantly he opened the car door but stayed in his seat. Everyone was headed down the same road in life, and Halldis was an old woman, after all, but there he was, suddenly all alone with death.

Gurvin had discovered dead bodies before, but he had forgotten how strange it was, this unfathomable feeling of being alone, more alone than at any other time. To be the only one. He got out of the car and approached slowly, as if wanting to postpone the moment for as long as possible. He looked over his shoulder, he couldn't help himself. There wasn't much for him to do. Just go over and bend down, place one finger at her throat and confirm that she was indeed dead. Not that he had any doubts. There was something about the angle of the head in relation to the white arm, and something about the way the fingers were spread out. But it had to be confirmed. Then he could just sit in the car, call for an ambulance, roll a cigarette, and wait with a little music on the radio. It wouldn't serve any purpose to examine anything indoors. This was a death by natural causes, and he saw no reason to do anything else. He had almost reached her when he stopped short. Something grey and milky had run down the steps. Maybe she was carrying something and dropped it when she fell. He walked the last few paces with a pounding heart.

The sight completely overpowered him. He could only stand and stare breathlessly for several seconds before he was able to decipher what he was looking at. She lay on her back with her legs spread. In the centre of her plump face, buried deep in the left eye socket, was a hoe. A small section of the shiny blade was visible. Her mouth was open, and her top dentures had come out, making the face he knew so well take on an ugly grimace. He lurched back and gasped. He wanted to pull the hoe from her face at once, but he couldn't. He turned on his heel and managed to get as far as the lawn before the contents of his stomach came pouring out. As he vomited, he thought about Errki. Halldis dead, Errki nearby. Maybe he was still up in the woods, hiding behind a tree and watching him. Gurvin heard his own voice ringing in his ears. 'That's the way we all dream of dying. Those of us who are no longer spring chickens.'

*

Less than an hour later the place was swarming with people.

Chief Inspector Konrad Sejer stared at the other eye, which was still intact. His face was expressionless. Hers was discoloured from internal bleeding. He went into the house, astonished at how neat everything was. How quiet it was. Nothing in the tiny kitchen shouted back at him when he peeked inside. He went through her mail, pulled out a letter, and scribbled a note. Stood for a long time, using his eyes. Nothing seemed out of place.

Most of those present had clearly defined tasks, and they made it through the day by doing their best to concentrate on the job at hand. But each person knew that it would come back to them, later, on bad days. The few who couldn't set about their duties straight away turned their backs to the stairs and lit cigarettes. Afterwards they made sure to put the extinguished butt back in the packet. Be careful where you step and what you touch. Stay calm, make room for the photographer, it's just another case, there will be others, you didn't know her. There are other people who will grieve. Let's hope so.

Gurvin stood by the well, smoking. He had been smoking non-stop since the vehicles arrived. Now he turned around and looked at the men. He heard their voices: low, brisk, serious, with a degree of respect in their tone, for her, for Halldis. He wondered if she had ever pictured herself in her mind, the way he imagined old people did when they were approaching 80 and the end of their life. Lying in an open coffin, wearing a lovely dress, her hands folded. Maybe a discreet touch of rouge on her cheeks, put there by a considerate person whose job it was to make her as beautiful as possible before she met her Saviour. But that wasn't how things had turned out. She wasn't the least bit beautiful. Half of her head had been destroyed, and no man on earth would be able to hide that fact. He lit another cigarette, and caught himself staring up at the woods, as if he thought Errki was still watching them with his burning eyes. Why? Gurvin thought. An old woman like her? Could she have seemed threatening to him, or was it just that every single person he met was his enemy? What could she have said or done that aroused such terror in him that she had to be slaughtered? He could make sense of most things, at least when he tried hard to. He understood 16-year-old boys who roamed the streets at night, in search of excitement. Who hot-wired cars and tore through the town sharing a bottle. The speed. The rush. The idea that someone was