The Water's Edge

'The killer is from Huseby,' he said. 'He has to be, he knew about the earth cellar.'

'What's the name of the farmer?' Sejer asked, nodding towards Fagre Vest.

'Skagen. Waldemar Skagen.'

'Was he questioned when Edwin went missing?'

'Yes.'

'We need to interview him again.'

'Will there still be evidence of sexual assault after such a long period of time?' Skarre wondered.

'I hope so,' Sejer said. 'Snorrason won't miss a thing.'

'How big is the earth cellar?'

'Six square metres? Or what do you think? The local teenagers have clearly been having a good time on the old mattress. Perhaps there is nothing else to do down there in the dark.'

'Will they finish this evening?'

Sejer looked at the men working away.

'I hope so. I want Edwin's autopsy carried out tomorrow morning. I hope Snorrason finds something. What do you think of the hiding place for the body?'

'Clever, obviously,' Skarre said. 'No one would come here in the winter, and he didn't have to dig a grave. All he had to do was shut the trap door and bolt it.'

'And if the local youth hadn't been in the mood for love this very evening, Edwin could easily have lain there the whole summer,' Sejer said.

A crime scene officer walked past them with a bag. Its contents were visible through the clear plastic.

'This is what we found,' he said. 'Do you want to take a look?'

Sejer took the bag.

'Remove the topsoil,' he said, 'and sift it. Check every twig and blade of grass. Let's hope he's left something behind. Have you found any weapons yet?'

'No.'

Sejer held up the bag and studied its contents. 'One copy of Hello! magazine,' he said, 'and one of VG magazine. A packet of Petteroe cigarettes, empty. Cigarette stubs with and without filters. Two cans of Frydenlund beer, bottle tops. A comb missing practically all its teeth. Candle stumps, orange peel. A hair band. That is a hair band, isn't it?'

'Yes,' Skarre replied.

Sejer continued looking at the contents of the bag.

'Do you recall what the boys were doing down on the jetty the day Edwin went missing?' he asked.

'They chatted about Alex Meyer,' Skarre said, 'and they ate sweets.'

'Correct,' Sejer said. 'Jelly turtles.'

He pointed at the bag. 'And here's the empty packet.'

CHAPTER 47

Snorrason was an unhurried and methodical man with a mild and gentle view of the world, and he was moved by the body of the child who lay before him. A few parts of Edwin's body were covered by light grey corpse wax, a heavy, swollen substance which replaces fatty tissue. It was this wax which had preserved his body during the last eight months. Now his chest had been opened up and the ribs removed. His internal organs had been weighed, examined and placed in steel basins on the autopsy table. His liver, kidneys and his heart which had beaten for ten years. The smell was raw and acrid, a blend of something sweet and cloying, and something else, reminiscent of fish entrails. The strawberry-blond forensic pathologist got hold of an oscillating saw to open up his cranium. Its whirring sound screeched through the autopsy room, and an odd, burning smell filled the air.

'A ten-year-old boy weighing this much will have experienced numerous problems,' he explained. 'Knee pain, sores, aching joints, shortness of breath. At worst, diabetes. As far as his mental health is concerned, the pressure would have been huge. He wouldn't have been able to keep up with his friends, his life must have been a major struggle with a great deal of stress. In addition, I'm sorry to have to conclude that if his weight gain had continued, he would never have lived to see old age. Sooner or later his heart would have given out from the strain.'

For a while he worked in silence, then he continued to ponder the curse of obesity.

'Moreover,' he went on, 'obese people decompose faster than thin people.'

'Why?' asked Skarre.

'Because of the amount of subcutaneous fat. Fat insulates and prevents heat loss and heat causes the body to decompose. Do you follow?'

Sejer nodded. He measured one metre ninety-six and he weighed eighty-three kilos. It followed that he could expect to decompose at an average rate, but he was unsure whether or not this should be regarded as an advantage. He watched the pathologist secretively. He wondered how his job affected him, if it made him think of his own mortality, the decomposition of his own body or his children's.

'Have you found any evidence of abuse or strangulation?' Sejer asked.

Snorrason shook his head.

'Nothing at all,' he replied, 'not so far. No external signs of violence. His larynx is intact. No fractures to his skull, no signs of lesions or stab wounds. Blood and tissue samples have been sent to Toxicology, it will be a week or two before I'll get the results. But as I said, so far, nothing.' He looked up. 'Are you surprised?'

'No.'

'He died as a result of dehydration.'

'You're telling me he died from thirst?'

'Lean forward and let me show you something.'

Snorrason lifted Edwin's right hand up from the steel table.

'Look at his fingers, look at his nails, they're torn to shreds.'

'He was trying to claw his way out through the trap door,' Sejer said.

'I'm afraid we'll have to assume so.'

'This means he was buried alive,' Skarre said. 'What kind of death is that?'

'One of the very worst,' Snorrason said. 'It takes a long time to die from thirst. In Edwin's case, I would imagine that it took him a week. Four to five days at least. He would have lain all alone in the darkness growing weaker and weaker. He would start to feel nauseous. The nerve cells in his brain would start to malfunction, his heart would be unable to beat at full capacity, his blood would start to thicken in his veins. He would have been in a profound state of distress and been delirious. He would have cried out for his mother and he may have been praying to God. Finally he would have fallen into a coma.'

'And this,' Sejer said, 'is what we have to tell Tulla Asalid.'

CHAPTER 48

They left the building.

They inhaled the fresh air deeply.

They crossed the car park and got into the car. Frank Robert, who had been waiting on the back seat, poked his nose between the front seats to beg for a treat. Sejer gave him a dog biscuit. Skarre rolled down the window. Life had become so visible after death in the autopsy room. The cloud formations in the sky, the swaying treetops, the sun reflected in a window, parked cars. Two nurses walked across the car park in front of the hospital. Skarre followed them with his eyes; their white uniforms were practically luminous in the spring sunshine.

'He found nothing,' Skarre said.

'No,' Sejer said, 'but that in itself is significant.'

'I've got a theory, but I refuse to believe it.'