CHAPTER 15
They searched the road and the verges, but found nothing else.
His mother's warnings had been brushed aside, barely noticeable, like the trace of a feather across a cheek and Jonas had discarded his stick and got into a stranger's car. People are unpredictable creatures, they invent rules which they break incessantly and they follow impulses which they later cannot explain.
Sejer and Skarre returned to their car. Spurred on by genuine curiosity and without any ulterior motives, they headed for the town and the older development by the river bank. One of the houses, a former pharmacy, was now the home of a convicted sex offender. His name was Philip Akeson. They remembered him as mild and agreeable, open and generous by nature, and they decided to pay him a visit. It was unlikely to cause problems. During his trial eight years earlier, when he was charged with having indecently assaulted a number of young boys, he had charmed the whole courtroom by confessing to his passion for children with great enthusiasm and making no excuses of any kind. But also by making manifest to the jury the problem he represented. He never tried to justify himself or trivialise the assaults, he co-operated fully with the judicial system and confessed to everything. He wanted help and he was concerned about the boys he had abused. His plea was long and heartfelt, his tone was genuinely remorseful and on a few occasions he had displayed an infectious sense of humour. The words had flowed in a steady, mellifluous stream.
The men drove through the town with the river to their left, broad and swift.
'Well,' Skarre said in a somewhat patronising tone of voice, 'I know that paedophiles are human beings, too, even though they prefer kids. But it's difficult not to be repulsed by the mental images. It's hard to stay objective.'
'It is,' Sejer agreed, 'but we have to. It's one thing to have fantasies, quite another to carry them out. My guess is that the number of actual paedophiles is high and that's worrying. They have to hide away the whole time, they always have to pretend.'
'Why are they mainly men?' Skarre wondered.
'Well,' Sejer said, 'I'm no expert, but women are much better at intimacy and emotions than men. What we're dealing with here are men who aren't in touch with their own feelings. They need an object in order to connect to their feelings. They try to solve the problem by developing paraphilia. Paraphilia means 'to love something else'.'
He stopped at a red light. 'I mean, something outside the norm. Some desire very young children, others want them as they reach puberty. Some fall deeply in love with a specific child and others are attracted to children in general because they are small and fragile, and because they can be controlled.'
The light changed to green; he drove on. 'It's actually interesting,' he said. 'Whereas gay men have finally become accepted, paedophiles will forever be outcast. They will remain the object of the utmost contempt, they will never be understood.'
He pulled in and parked outside the green pharmacy. Shortly afterwards they noticed the white curtain twitch.
Akeson opened the door to them before they even had time to ring the bell. He had not changed. His face was remarkably round and smooth, his eyes brown and alert, they lit up at the sight of the two men. He had very little hair left, just a few tufts, which looked like white candyfloss; a few strands kept falling across his forehead. He had a round body with short limbs and now he held out a hand and greeted them effusively.
'Well, I never,' he said. 'So you two gentlemen have come out for a stroll. Of course, I have read quite a lot about you in the papers recently, this is a serious business, that much I have understood. I recognise you, Sejer. You still tower over the rest of us, if I may say so, but it's meant as a compliment. Whereas you,' he looked at Skarre, 'I do believe I've forgotten your name. Or, rather, I only remember your curls. Do the police really allow you to grow your hair that long? I thought uniform guidelines were much stricter than that. What is your name again?'
'Skarre,' said Skarre.
'Of course. So it is. Skarre. And you roll your r's because you're from the south, how very charming. But please, do come in, come in, come in. It was only a matter of time before you would come knocking on my door, I knew that, but I also know that you know that I'm not involved, so I'm delighted to welcome you to my humble abode. Yes, truly delighted, I don't get many visitors. I do hope you're not in a hurry,' he said chattily, 'so we can have ourselves a nice long natter, I'd appreciate that, I really would.'
He padded into the house and showed them the way. His living room was cosy and a touch feminine with wall-to-wall carpet and wicker furniture. From the living room there was a view of the river and outside a few steps led into a small garden which ended right at the water's edge. A fat, sprawling cat was lazing about in an armchair on something that looked liked a goatskin. On the windowsills were flowering begonias, blossoming prodigiously.
Akeson gestured towards the armchairs. 'Just chuck the cat aside,' he said speaking to Skarre. 'That cat is so lazy, I don't know what to do about him. Do you think he can be bothered to go hunting? Oh, no, he just lies there the whole day holding court. Can I tempt you with a cup of tea?'
He bustled around like an old woman.
'No, thank you, Akeson,' Sejer said. 'Please sit down. You know we're very busy at the moment. And you already know why we're here. Or to put it another way, we don't have that many places to go.'
Akeson let himself flop into the wicker armchair. He crossed his legs and folded his hands across his knee.
'True, and I have to say this,' he said. 'You've got to catch this man. We can't have this, I'm sure you'll agree.'
'We agree,' Sejer said kindly. His eyes rested on Akeson's face and the sight of it made him smile.
Skarre shifted the cat on to the floor and sat down on the goatskin.
'He might strike again.' Akeson said. 'I hope to God not, but that's how it is: once you've crossed that line, it's easy to keep going.'
'So you know something about this?' Skarre asked cautiously.
'I see things on the television,' Akeson said, 'and I've been thinking that he might be a first timer.'
Sejer pricked up his ears. 'What makes you think that?'
'Well, he's kept a lid on things, a whole lifetime perhaps, possibly by being married. I'm only guessing here. His marriage breaks down and he's all alone in the world. He might have children of his own, but he no longer has any contact with them. The pressure grows until finally he snaps and when he comes to his senses again, he panics.'
Akeson looked at them with his brown eyes.
'I mean,' he said theatrically, 'we need to ask ourselves the following question: are we looking for an experienced, predatory paedophile? Has this man invited boys to his house for years, has he been befriending them, giving them money, grooming them? And if so, why did it suddenly go wrong?'
Sejer and Skarre looked at each other.
'Are you sure you don't want a cup of tea after all?' Akeson asked. 'I've got some custard creams. If you fancy some.'
'You're very kind,' Sejer said, 'but we're on duty and we can't stay for long.'
'Then I won't ask you again,' he said, 'though the golden rule for being a good host is to always ask three times. Anyway, you need to understand this man and what kind of preferences he has. Is he looking for any kid, or just boys, and in that case what type of boy? I mean, we're as discerning as anyone else, we don't swoon at just anyone coming our way.'
'Are you in touch with other paedophiles, Akeson?' Skarre asked.
'Every now and then.'
'Have you noticed anyone in particular? Is there anyone who stands out?'
'No, not really. And there's not always much support to be had there, either, it depends on the individual. You know me, of course, and you know that I'm a simple soul who keeps myself to myself. So despite the tragic
