'That he might be innocent. We've got to be very careful.'
'I knew it,' Skarre said. 'You're a better person than I am.'
A few snowflakes had landed on Sejer's grey hair. His sharp profile stood out clearly against the white background.
'We have nothing to fear, we live in a country with a decent legal system,' he said. 'If it turns out we have a DNA match, Brein will have access to a defence counsel and anything else he might need. He will be treated humanely and given plenty of time to tell us his side of the story. Jonas August won't have that privilege and neither will Edwin. They have lost the rest of their lives, and their deaths were horrific. They were alone and they were terrified. I think about that a great deal.'
'I try not to,' Skarre admitted. 'The thought of it chills me to the bone.'
'It has its uses,' Sejer said. 'You need to keep the crime in mind and remember how evil it was. And for that matter, the role we play in all this.'
'Which is what?'
'Well, you know,' Sejer said. 'We get involved and we restore order and dignity.'
'Good heavens,' Skarre exclaimed. 'That's beyond us. All we can do is clean up, Konrad.'
'Don't underestimate yourself or your own purpose.'
'What do you think the prosecutor will say?' Skarre said.
'That Jonas August died in particularly aggravating circumstances. And that the punishment should reflect it. But the man in the dock, if we end up with a man in the dock, will be preoccupied with saving his own skin, and that's his right. But I can't stop myself from saying that a little remorse would be appropriate. There is not enough remorse in Norwegian prisons. And remorse would help the victim's family. Mankind can be very magnanimous, given the chance.'
'Is that your honest opinion?'
'It's a belief that sustains me.'
Skarre bent down and scooped up some snow in his hands, pressing it together into a rock-hard ball.
'Here we are waiting for the results of the DNA test,' he said, 'and Brein is pottering about in blissful ignorance. I can't stand it.'
CHAPTER 39
Elfrid Lowe had come to the police station where she spent a long time talking to Jacob Skarre. He listened with kindness and attention, resting his chin on his hand.
'Jonas was a quick and gentle boy,' she said. 'Nimble like a squirrel, up and down the stairs like the wind. Curious, eager and positive. Sometimes he would look at me with his large, blue eyes, hungry for love. He needed so much attention, and I could offer him an endless supply, it was just the two of us. At school he was quiet and shy, his teacher was always telling me so at parents' evenings. Jonas is a little passive, she said, it would be good if he could try to be a little more assertive in lessons. He suffered from a number of allergies, but he managed his medication himself. I thought it was going well on the whole, but I always worried about his asthma. And he was tiny. Perhaps that's what held him back. I'm sure you'll start growing soon and you'll be big and strong in a few years, I used to say. Mothers always say things like that because we can't bear our children's disappointment when something upsets them, it tears us apart.
'But he was as good as gold, well-behaved and polite, so if an adult asked him to do something, I mean, like get into a car, because I suppose that's what happened, well, he would have got into the car because he was so trusting and because I taught him to be kind to everybody. So now I'm thinking it's all my fault. That if he had been a street-wise and shrewd boy then he would be alive today. But he thought the best of everyone and because of that he died, that's how it seems to me. I blame myself every hour of the day and I'll carry this guilt to my grave. The vicar has been to see me. I let him in because I don't want to hurt his feelings. He just stands there and he so desperately wants to help. He says that the only person who is to blame is the man who killed Jonas. He says I should remember Jonas with joy and cherish the memories, and I do because the memories are happy, but it's so hard. When I see other mothers with their children, I just want to scream. If I had another child, I would still have a reason to get up in the morning; now I'm just sitting there staring out of the window. My hands lie useless in my lap, no one needs me, no one bothers me. There's no point in going to bed at night, I don't need to get up in the morning. There is nothing to make me want to live the rest of my life.
'I used to sit by his bedside every evening. He would curl up under the duvet and his eyes would plead with me for comfort and encouragement, he needed so much support. We would talk about the day that had just passed and the day that was to come. I would think of some treat to look forward to, something to make him fall asleep with a smile on his face. That we would cook something special for tea the next day or watch a film together in the evening, the two of us, snuggled up on the sofa. All children deserve to have a treat every single day, all children deserve to be pampered.
'The worst moments are when my thoughts take control of me and I start to imagine what his last few hours must have been like. The pictures in my head are so disgusting they make me scream. What he had to go through. I don't know whether to think about it in all its horror so that I can suffer with Jonas or whether I should suppress it. The vicar says it's finished now and that Jonas isn't suffering any more, I'm the only one suffering now and he's right about that. I thought his funeral was so beautiful, the organ music and the flowers, and the poem that his teacher read out loud. I had to translate it into Norwegian for my parents, they don't speak any English. I visit his grave every single day. It took me for ever to choose his headstone; none of them was good enough. The one I chose was far too expensive. I had to take out a loan, but they were kind to me at the bank, they gave me a good rate. They all know about Jonas. The stone is heart-shaped with a cut-out in the middle and in it there is a lamp which lights up at night. There's an inscription underneath his name.
'Sometimes when I'm walking towards the church I notice how people stop at Jonas's grave. They stand there with a mixture of embarrassment and curiosity. It doesn't upset me, I like it that people stop and think, and then I wait until they've gone because I don't want to make them feel uncomfortable. I have reserved the plot next to him for myself, we're going to lie close to each other and I look forward to that. I'm not scared of dying. Jonas has done it, so I can do it too. I don't know much about eternity, but perhaps it's all right. I talk and talk and you listen with reverence. Perhaps you think that I'll be fine eventually because I can put words to my feelings. But the reality is that silence terrifies me.'
CHAPTER 40
'I've realised something,' Skarre said. 'We're always too late.'
'What do you mean?' Sejer said. 'Too late for what?'
'Once we arrive, the disaster is already a fact. Someone has lost control and the worst has happened. We can't ease the pain, either: isn't that a depressing thought?'
Sejer allowed himself a lenient smile. 'If you wanted to save lives, you should have become a fireman.'
Skarre circled the room restlessly. They were both waiting for the fax machine from which the result of Brein's saliva sample would soon emerge. They were paying the lab extra for a quick response.
'What are we going to do about Edwin?' Skarre asked. 'Even if we do get a perfect match, we have nothing to link Brein to Edwin.'
'I know. It's going to be a long winter.'
'That reminds me,' Skarre said. 'I was in Kaffebrenneriet the other day with some friends. And in a corner was a guy I recognised.'
'Go on?'
'It was Ingemar Brenner.'
