that way I can see how the wrong sort of man would be tempted.'
CHAPTER 27
Jonas August Lowe's funeral was held in Huseby Church and it was packed. What will the vicar say, they wondered as they found a seat in the hard pews; can he really find words for a tragedy like this? They doubted him on two fronts: they questioned his profession and they wondered whether he would manage to comfort them, though at the same time that was the reason they were here.
Sejer and Skarre observed everyone as they entered the church. Elfrid Lowe sat at the front. She was wearing a dark blue suit and the blazer-style jacket made her look like an adolescent boy. The vicar was standing in front of the altar with his back to the congregation. Conferring with God, Skarre thought, wondering if he would get any kind of explanation. Sejer noticed a couple in their sixties sitting either side of Elfrid; her parents, presumably. Her mother's Parkinson's was obvious, she shook uncontrollably. Jonas August's classmates sat in the pews behind them, each child very soberly dressed for the occasion. In contrast to the adults, who were all staring at a point on the floor, the children allowed their eyes to wander around the church with undisguised curiosity and they lingered on the coffin. It was strangely small and barely visible underneath the profusion of flowers. A hush of mourning filled the church, but there was something else, a sense of communal fear.
The organ began its swelling notes. I'm not a believer, Sejer reminded himself, so why do I feel joy at this sound? The organ? The vaulted ceiling with the angels? The stained-glass windows which filter the light beautifully across the pews? I find serenity, I find comfort. As though the absence of a God creates a void after all, but one I only become aware of when it's filled? He glanced furtively at Skarre seated next to him. He looked as if he was struggling with similar thoughts. What's harder, Sejer wondered: basing your entire existence on the divine only to doubt in a few moments of darkness, or embracing the beauty of a brief, earthly life before turning to dust, to dark nutritious soil? He was not an atheist, far from it, but neither had he ever believed that there was a God, externally or inside him. He had no awareness of any spiritual power. He thought that nature and mankind were physical entities which could be understood according to their laws and were by definition transitory. Surely their beauty lay precisely in the fleeting nature of their existence? Of course he had experienced some glimpses of spirituality, moments which lifted him up and out of himself, moments that broke barriers, when he suddenly sensed something greater, like opening a curtain to let in the light. Like when his daughter Ingrid was born.
He looked down at the order of service, which the verger had handed him. There was a photo of Jonas August on the front, smiling cheerfully and revealing large front teeth. Then he raised his eyes and watched Elfrid Lowe, her short hair, her thin neck. Ever since her son had been found she had had to deal with so much. Shock and paralysis, fear and grief, identifying his body. Yes, that's Jonas. That is my Jonas. Finding an undertaker, choosing flowers and music and clothes for Jonas to be buried in, his pyjamas perhaps or a white shirt. She had talked to the vicar, she had tried to put words to her feelings. She had put a notice in the paper, she had chosen an outfit for herself, the dark blue suit. Now the vicar was about to take over and for a few hours she would be left to herself, no more practical things to think about. The rest of her life lay ahead of her, filled with long, black days.
The vicar looked out across the congregation.
'Today I'm angry with God.'
His statement made them sit up. Yes, that was to the point, surely that was what they all felt: anger and impotence? And who was God to say that this grotesque incident was part of His greater scheme?
'Today I'm angry with God,' he repeated, 'but I'm also filled with joy.'
Oh, Sejer thought, he's bringing in joy rather quickly, a tad too soon in my opinion. Again he sneaked a look at Skarre sitting, as befits the son of a vicar from Sogne, with his straight back and his hands folded in his lap.
'For eight years Jonas August was a source of joy to us,' the vicar carried on. 'It was a brief joy, but who are we to count the hours and the days? Some people live short lives. Today we are gathered here to honour him, but it hurts. Today all we can see is evil and fear, the incomprehensible, the unforgivable, but with God's help we will one day see it in a different light. God will help us to accept this one day because he who took Jonas from us is a lost soul who has strayed.'
Has he now? Is that what's happened? Sejer thought, I'm hunting a lost soul who has strayed. No, that's not right. I'm hunting a man who puts his own desires before everything else, a man who cannot control himself, a man who will kill to satisfy his urges. When I'm at the police station interrogating him, there will be no room for acceptance. I will be polite and follow procedure, but I will offer him nothing: no mercy, no sympathy.
'Death is not final,' the vicar continued, 'because we are all on a journey, we will join this eternal river, it is the blood of all those who knew us and loved us and they will live on in us. We carry Jonas August. It is a heavy burden, but it will grow lighter. The tears we will shed in the months to come will turn into smiles. Do you remember Jonas August, we'll say, who was in our year at Solberg School? He always had a smile and a friendly word for everyone.'
He paused, lowered his head before raising it again with authority and gravity.
'Death has arrived in his carriage. Jonas August has stepped on board.'
He paused again. The signs of good living and contentment showed in the potbelly underneath his cassock, but his face with its feminine features spoke of humility.
Then Jonas's teacher stood up to read a poem. The sheet of paper refused to lie still in her hands, it rustled so that everyone could hear and her voice threatened to break, but the words reached them all the same. They sent shivers down their spines.
Towards the end of the service the vicar asked the children to come forward. Each of them was carrying one long-stemmed red rose. They lined up in the centre aisle and stepped forward, one by one, to leave their flower on the coffin, twenty-three roses in all. It was impossible not to be moved by this image, the children, the roses and the coffin. Then they found their seats again and sat down happily on the wooden pews because they had completed their task. A task they had discussed at great length and, as they saw it, they had executed it with style and dignity.
Then something happened. No one was prepared for it. The vicar was shocked, everyone could see that. Some people clasped a hand over their mouth in fear, and Sejer felt an icy chill shoot down his back. Elfrid Lowe started to scream. The service had helped her maintain her composure, she had clung to the vicar's voice, but now she was screaming uncontrollably, heartbreakingly, a protest which made people jump in their pews. The screams came from deep within her and pushed their way out with a force no one would have believed such a tiny woman possessed. For the best part of an hour the vicar had built a fragile construction of comfort and resignation. Now she tore it down. She screamed and she demolished it and people could no longer mourn with dignity.
'Come on,' Sejer whispered to Skarre. 'We're leaving now.'
The men left quietly and inhaled the fresh September air outside. Again they heard the organ, now muted behind the closed doors. Skarre fished out a packet of cigarettes from his dark jacket.
'My hands are shaking,' he admitted. He managed to light a cigarette and inhaled deeply. 'And if you dare to mention God right now, I'll leave.'
Sejer shook his head. 'No, but there's something else I want to tell you.'
'What's that?'
'Did you notice the man sitting in the last pew? On his own, wearing a grey suit, sitting closest to the wall?'
'No. What about him?'
'That,' Konrad Sejer said, 'was Reinhardt Ris.'
CHAPTER 28
The sight of Reinhardt in his grey suit was so unexpected that Kristine did a double-take. It was five minutes
