The Water's Edge

Karin Fossum The Water's Edge

The sixth book in the Inspector Konrad Sejer series, 2009

Translated From The Norwegian By Charlotte Barslund

A long, gentle hill sloped down from the main road to the loch known as Loch Bonna. At the edge of the water was a beach with sharp stones and a steep drop further out. A narrow tarmac road wound its way like a grey ribbon between the fields, the houses lay arranged in colourful rows, their verandas and balconies facing north towards the water. In the distance well-kept farms with grey and white farmhouses and red barns could be seen. There was Fagre Vest which belonged to Waldemar Skagen whose horse, Evidence, was grazing inside an enclosure. East of the lake lay Fagre Ost, owned by Skagen's brother-in-law. A rainbow formed a colourful arch between the two farms, a shower of rain had crossed the sky recently and the sun was breaking through.

At the top of the road overlooking Loch Bonna was a shop, which had lately become a branch of the Kiwi supermarket chain; a bright spark in marketing had decided to dress the employees in green uniforms. On the front door was a notice ordering schoolchildren to leave their rucksacks outside, they shoplifted constantly, nicking cigarettes and sweets.

Signe Lund was sitting by the till, groceries gliding past her on the belt, daydreaming as teenagers do. She could see Loch Bonna through the window and Fagre Vest with its undulating pink and yellow fields. On a field below Svart Ridge was a small mound with pretty rowan trees, it rose like an island in a sea of wheat. The mound with its trees and bushes held a secret, a small earth cellar known to only a few. She was thinking of it now. The bittersweet memory lingered still.

CHAPTER 1

No one saw him walk through the woods; no one saw what he was carrying. A modest burden for a grown man, yet it caused him difficulty, his steps were faltering and he stumbled. From time to time he would stop, gasp for air and make noises which sounded like whimpering. Then he would stagger on as quickly as he could. He walked underneath the trees like an old man, weighed down by it all, weighed down by horror and tears. It was so overwhelming that his knees threatened to buckle; he kept looking over his shoulder, his head twitching nervously. He increased his speed as he approached a cluster of trees. He did not wish to discard his burden casually on the ground; he wanted this precise cluster of trees, which would serve as a kind of monument. This last scrap of decency comforted him, he was still a human being, he had feelings, many of them good ones. Again he looked over his shoulder: there was not a soul around. He remained standing, sensing every sound as his heart pounded. The forest was like a huge organism, it breathed, it watched him, it condemned him with its deep, ominous rustling. How could you stoop so low? the forest intoned, no human being will ever smile at you with warmth or love, not after this.

He had reached the cluster of trees.

He squatted down.

He placed his burden on a bed of soft moss. He got up and wiped the sweat from his brow; it felt hot. This does not look good, he thought, not in any way. Emotions surged inside him, a mixture of panic and rage, nothing ever worked out for him, it was a mistake, the whole thing. How could it have happened? Horrified, he buried his face in his hands, they smelled like hot iron. He tasted fear in his mouth and felt it in his blood and in his lungs. Fate had played a mean trick on him and dealt him a rotten hand; now he was being hurled down towards condemnation and denunciation. Hanging's too good for him, people would say, lock him up and throw away the key; a man like him should never be allowed out again. He lurched a little to the side, he felt weak at the knees. I have to go now, he thought, I need to get out of here, I must get back to my car, drive home to my house, lock the door and draw the curtains. Huddle in a corner and listen out in case anyone should come. But I won't answer the door, he decided, I'll lock myself in, I won't be able to cope with this! He raised a clenched fist towards the sky, towards God, who had created him with such strong urges, but who would not allow him to satisfy them the way he wanted to.

His car was parked close to a road barrier a little way off. He walked briskly without looking back and moved as quickly as he could through the forest. It was not long before he saw the barrier and his car. And something else: something was moving, something red and white against the green. He stopped abruptly. A man and a woman were out walking. His first thought was to hide between the spruces, but at the last second he thought better of it and continued, averting his eyes, along the short distance he had left. The storm raged inside him with renewed force. This is fatal, he thought, this will be my undoing, those two people walking towards me, they will remember me and tell the whole world. We saw him and we can describe him clearly, they would say, he was wearing a blue anorak. And the hunt would begin. He did not look up until he reached his car and he met the woman's eyes for a fleeting moment. It surprised him that she smiled at him, a broad and friendly smile. When he failed to return her smile and stared at her in horror, she looked puzzled. The couple continued past the barrier and into the forest. The woman, however, turned one last time and looked after him.

CHAPTER 2

They were a couple, but they had been married for many years and they no longer held hands. The woman was wearing a raspberry red coat, the man a white windbreaker. He was constantly one step ahead of her, tall, self-assured and fit. The woman watched him furtively while she contemplated her own thoughts. Her husband was a man who owned his space; now he owned this forest and he helped himself to it. The vegetation was compressed beneath his feet as he walked, dry twigs snapped and the woman struggled to keep up with him. They were out of step. They had thoughts they didn't want to share or admit. But they had gone out for a walk together, it was their habit and they needed habits, habits held them together and made the world predictable.

It was a surprisingly warm September day. The man unbuttoned his jacket and a gust of wind made it flap like a sail. He rummaged around in his pockets, looking for a cigarette.

'Reinhardt,' the woman said. 'It's ever so dry around here.'

Her voice was devoid of authority, it was more like a pitiful plea. He snarled in irritation; he was not one of those men who allowed themselves to be reprimanded. He closed his lips around the filter of the cigarette and lit it with a Zippo lighter. His irises were blue like the ocean with golden flecks, his nose was sharp and looked good in profile.

The woman chose to say nothing; experience had taught her this was her best option. She focused on the forest floor, there were tufts of grass and the odd dip; every now and again roots would crisscross the path. She glanced quickly at her husband: he was much taller than her, broader, stronger, he always led the way. She had suppressed her own views for years because he was so argumentative and opinionated. Now she worried about the dry ground and the burning cigarette.

The light that once existed between us has been extinguished, she thought sadly, nothing shines any more, we should have had a child. A child would have brought us closer, it would have united us and made us good people. This is what she believed. But the years had passed and no child had come; her husband had said no and she hadn't dared cross him. Whenever she raised the subject, he became sullen and would jut out his chin while she lowered her eyes and grew silent. We're all right as we are, aren't we, he would say, we both work full-time,