His eyes grew shiny; he badly needed a lolly.
'Go on, let the boy have a lolly,' said Ingemar cheerfully.
Tulla surrendered to the men in her life. Edwin took out a blackcurrant lolly, tore off the paper and sank his teeth into it.
That evening they watched television.
Ingemar sat in the corner sofa with his feet up and Tulla sandwiched between his knees. Edwin sat in an armchair. The dining table was littered with wrappers and lolly sticks. He had already eaten four. In his hands he held a soft toy. It was a dinosaur filled with fine sand and he was stroking his lips with the tip of its tail. This repetitive movement induced a trance-like state in him. He was sated and felt a sense of calm, but it was never long before his hunger returned to torment him. The television seemed to be nothing but meaningless flickering. From time to time his mother's laughter would break through if anything funny happened on the screen. Ingemar was playing with her hair. When Ingemar was in the house, his mother became unavailable. Everything was better before Ingemar turned up, Edwin thought; fortunately, Ingemar had to go away a lot. His mother had explained to him that he travelled widely and gave talks to people. He would often call in the evenings and when he did, his mother sprang to life like a clockwork toy that had been wound up.
'Your homework, Edwin,' she suddenly burst out. 'Have you done your homework?'
She had finally remembered his existence. He hugged the dinosaur and shook his head.
'In my day we always had homework,' Tulla said. 'I don't understand what it is they're doing now.'
'We do it at school,' Edwin explained. 'We do it in the last lesson, it's called project work.'
'But then it's not homework,' Tulla said.
Edwin shrugged. Again he held up the dinosaur to his mouth. He would be going to bed soon. Any minute now his mother would look at her watch, remember it was his bedtime and send him upstairs where he would lie listening to the voices downstairs: Ingemar's deep, calm voice and his mother's girlish laughter. Sometimes Ingemar would stay over and then he would hear them tiptoe down the corridor like naughty little kids. Other nights he would drive home and then Edwin would hear their voices on the doorstep. They always took ages to say goodbye. He preferred it when they went to their cottage, just him and his mother. Their little cottage named Pris which lay by Lake Sander. Ingemar never came with them and up there Edwin felt safe. And when there was no one else around his mother did not care how much he ate.
'Please can we go to Pris?' he asked.
'Not this weekend,' his mother said. 'Now charge your mobile,' she added. 'Do it right now. You're always forgetting to charge it.'
Edwin planted his hands on the armrests and pushed himself into an upright position. It was heavy going. He could feel Ingemar's eyes on his back as he went out into the kitchen. He was going to fetch his mobile from the bottom of his school bag, but he was distracted by the lollies in the freezer. The couple in the living room had already forgotten about him. He was acting on a mixture of grief and defiance as he gobbled down the lolly, standing by the kitchen window.
His massive body was clearly reflected in the glass.
CHAPTER 21
September 10th.
Edwin Asalid was reported missing at seven o'clock in the evening exactly. By then Tulla Asalid had been waiting for four hours, she had looked for him everywhere and she had wept. She had thought about Jonas August, and she was about to lose her mind.
'Paedophiles often follow a pattern,' Sejer said. 'They roam around, they carry out an assault and then they flee. I know what you fear, but this could be something else. There are many other explanations.'
Tulla Asalid had been standing by the window. Now she turned around and looked at him.
'He's not able to move very quickly,' she said anxiously. 'I mean, if anyone's chasing him.'
Sejer and Skarre tried to understand what she was telling them. She went over to a chest of drawers to fetch a photograph. Sejer noticed that her hand was trembling.
'Take a look at this picture,' she said, 'and you'll know what I mean.'
They leaned forward to see. It was a full-length photo of Edwin with a small cottage in the background, and his reluctance to be photographed was obvious from his evasive eyes. He was without a doubt the largest ten- year-old they had ever seen. Yet there was something remarkable about him; he had inherited his mother's looks, his skin was pale like marzipan, his eyes large and dark. Despite his obesity, he was a handsome lad with big brown curls.
'Where does he tend to go?' Sejer asked. 'In his spare time.'
'They often go down to Loch Bonna,' she said, 'to Guttestranda. That was the first place I looked. I looked for them on the beach and on the jetty.'
'Is he able to swim?'
'No.'
'Has he ever been late before?'
'Never.'
She fell silent. They could hear how she swallowed.
'He tires easily,' she went on. 'If anyone offered him a lift, he would probably accept it because he's very unfit. He only moves when he has to, and he spends most of his time indoors, in front of his computer, munching something or other. So when he finally decided to go outside and get some fresh air I was overjoyed, despite what's happened, despite this business with Jonas, but he was meeting some friends and so I felt safe. I can't keep him locked up in here for ever. He sometimes sees Sindre or Sverre and Isak and I've tried calling them, but no one's at home at Sverre's or Sindre's, and Isak's parents are ex-directory. And, of course, I've been trying his mobile, but it was at the bottom of his school bag, I've told him time and time again that he must always take it with him, but he's so forgetful.'
She stopped to catch her breath.
Sejer stayed calm. They had speculated that this might happen, that another boy might go missing, but it had only been a police hypothesis, a scenario they had never really thought possible because it represented a type of offending which only happened elsewhere, in other countries. Under corrupt regimes, places marred by poverty and desperation like Russia, where the kidnapping of young boys was large-scale.
'We need to take this step by step,' Sejer said, 'and it's possible that Edwin might come home while we sit here talking. We've seen it so many times and I'm sure he'll have a good explanation when he finally shows up.'
He could tell she was trying hard to believe him, that she needed a strong voice, an assurance which could stem this tide of fear.
'He hasn't had anything to eat for several hours,' she burst out, 'and he can't manage without food for very long!'
Sejer started wandering around the room. There were several photographs of Edwin on the walls, but they were not recent, and he could see clearly how his weight had increased year by year. One of the photographs showed Edwin as a toddler sitting on a man's lap, and he asked Tulla Asalid about Edwin's father.
'He lives in Germany,' she replied. 'In Munich, he has a new family.'
It had to have been Tulla Asalid who had ended the relationship, Sejer thought. She appealed to all of his senses and despite the circumstances she retained a sensuality which could not be ignored. He continued wandering around. The living room was elegantly furnished. She had several paintings on the walls, good ones too. There were oriental rugs on the floor, cream-coloured curtains, and a scarlet blanket had been casually thrown across the sofa. Behind all of this lay only one clear thought: everything was irrelevant now. They were nothing but inanimate objects. Out of the corner of his eye Sejer could see Skarre making notes. Tulla listed names and addresses, she ran off to find more telephone numbers. She told them about Ingemar, her boyfriend. She had been trying to get through to him for hours and finally succeeded. When she heard his voice, she broke down completely.
