Authors: Karin Fossum
Brein brushed his hair away from his forehead. There is something theatrical about the movement. He clearly wants to come across as a tortured soul and I suppose he is, Sejer thought, anyone who ends up in this room is a tortured soul, they're here because someone wronged them.
'I had some Coke in the fridge,' Brein said, 'and he wanted some of it. We sat next to each other on the sofa and chatted. He answered all my questions with a voice as clear as a bell, he was so modest, he was so obedient. His thighs were so thin and I could see his round knees, I remember thinking that they would fit my hand exactly. So I raised my hand and placed it carefully on his knee. And you may not appreciate this, but it was a very special moment for me.'
'How did he react?' Sejer asked.
'He sat upright like a burning candle. He looked down at my hand and I saw no alarm or anxiety, merely wonder. His skin was golden, covered by downy hairs. As I sat there, I was overcome by dread, that he would tear himself loose and run to the door. There was nothing in the world I dreaded more than losing what I had finally found. And though I didn't want to hurt him, I lost control. And my conscience did trouble me a little, but I brushed it aside. I thought it would all be over in a minute, after which I would take care of him and drive him home, you know, look after him in every possible way.
'I pushed him down on the sofa and pulled off his shorts. At that moment I heard something clatter on to the floor, but I couldn't work out what it was. And then I had my way with him. I just took what I wanted. When I came round, and it was all over, something happened.'
'What happened, Brein?'
Brein rubbed his eyes with his knuckles, and when he looked up, they were red and raw.
'He started wheezing,' he whispered. 'While I sat there looking at him, he turned blue.'
'And what did you do?'
'Nothing. I panicked.'
'Go on, Brein,' Sejer said.
'He started scrambling around the sofa,' Brein said, 'as though he was looking for something.'
'Jonas August was struggling to breathe,' Sejer said, 'and you sat there watching him and you did nothing. How long before he lost consciousness?'
'Not long. I could hear something was wrong. And then he flung himself off the sofa and started fumbling around the floor, and I was upset because I didn't understand what was going on. Then he collapsed and lay still. I hid in a corner. I had no idea what to do.'
'What was he looking for, Brein? What was it that had fallen out of the pocket of his shorts?'
'An inhaler,' he whispered. 'I found it under the sofa.'
'Jonas August had asthma.'
'I know that now. But,' he put on a distraught face, 'it's too late.'
Sejer started walking around the room, all the time keeping his gaze pinned on Brein.
'Jonas August died in your presence,' he said. 'The one thing that could have saved him was lying under your sofa?'
'Yes.'
'You just sat there watching him struggling to breathe?'
'Yes.'
'You never once thought of calling someone or running out of the house to get help? This you have to explain to me.'
'I can't explain it. I felt cold all over. What will I be charged with?' he asked. 'Can you tell me that? It won't be murder, will it? Can you give me an idea of what my sentence will be?'
'Did it never occur to you that you had to save him?'
'You can't blame me for that.' Brein said. 'I had a panic attack.'
Sejer suddenly felt tired. He sat down in his chair again and closed his eyes.
'The charges aren't ready yet,' he said. 'You'll be told later.'
Brein gave him an expectant look. 'I was promised some food.'
'And you shall have some,' Sejer said. 'But don't ask me for sympathy,' he added. 'Talk to your defence lawyer. He's on his way.'
Now it was Brein's turn to get up from his chair. He positioned himself by the wall and his face was defiant.
'Perhaps you're the one who needs sympathy,' he said.
Sejer frowned.
'You're only halfway there and you know it. I never laid a finger on Edwin Åsalid.'
CHAPTER 43
Brein was transformed as if by a stroke of magic.
Gone was the bitterness, and the excuses, gone was the sullen look. He folded his arms and he straightened his back. He looked Sejer directly in the eye.
'I never laid a finger on Edwin Åsalid. I obviously know who he was; we can agree that he stood out, can't we? I used to see him walking along the road, poor lad, waddling along with all his excess weight, but we can stay here all night or till next spring for that matter, I'm not going to change my story. You've got to look elsewhere. He clearly got into someone's car, but it wasn't mine.'
'Brein is adamant,' Sejer said. 'And I'm inclined to believe him.'
'There must be two of them,' Skarre said. 'It is possible.'
'Or,' Sejer said, 'Brein is a first-rate actor. He confesses to one killing because he thinks it might be classed as an accident, hoping meanwhile that Edwin will never be found. And that consequently we'll never have a case against him.'
'Let's hope the prosecutor can find an expert witness who can prove that Brein's assault led directly to Jonas August's asthma attack and death,' Skarre said. 'Do you realise that the worst case scenario means he's convicted of manslaughter. He'll only get six years.'
'Yes,' Sejer said, 'but I don't concern myself with sentencing. And neither should you.'
'How many rounds are you going to go with him?'
'I don't know. I'm uncomfortable sitting in there with him. It feels like I'm wasting precious time and I can't afford to do that.'
He went over to the window and stared down at the traffic in the street. 'It's snowing,' he said despondently.
'A lot?' Skarre looked towards the inspector.
'Very heavily. I'm worried.'
'About what.'
'Time passing. We're bound to find Edwin sooner or later. But how much will be left of his body when we do?'
'I see your point,' Skarre said. 'We were handed Brein on a plate. We won't be that lucky a second time.'
CHAPTER 44
Sejer went to see Tulla Åsalid and they talked for hours.
'Obesity is a big problem,' she said. 'Literally. The doctors frightened the life out of me. One of them once told me that fat people move so little that they don't develop muscles, and if they don't have any muscles, the blood can't reach the brain as it's supposed to. After that I lay awake all night. I think that might be what's happened. Perhaps his heart stopped and he's lying in a ditch somewhere.
'I never thought Edwin would become so big. He weighed five kilos when he was born and I was proud as a peacock because I thought it meant he was fit and healthy. But later he started gaining weight at a pace which terrified me. When he wants something, he looks at me with a power no mother can resist. It's a vicious circle, more food, more excess weight and more despair, which leads to him eating more, so he has some comfort at least. I think Edwin feels permanently ashamed of himself because he's so fat, and there is nothing I can do. He constantly helps himself to everything, he's unstoppable. It's all my fault. This would never have happened if Edwin had been slim and strong. I've cared for him for ten years and I'm responsible. I'm not strong. I can't bear to say no. When he looks at me with his brown eyes, I just melt.
'At night, in my dreams, I can hear him calling, but I can't answer him, I've lost my voice. He's trying to find his way home, he's stumbling in the silent darkness and I can't move, I can't see. When I wake up I'm overwhelmed by my powerlessness. Sometimes I want to run out into the forest and howl, pull up trees and bushes by the root and turn over rocks. He's got to be out there somewhere; after all, they found Jonas August in the forest. Ingemar once said that Edwin looks like a jam doughnut, large, pale and spongy. He wasn't being unkind, he was just joking and that's why I love him, and I can't expect him to behave like a father to Edwin, because he's not his father. They get on all right, I think, though I often wish that Ingemar would show a bit more interest. But I'm glad he's here now to support me, I wouldn't be able to cope with this on my own. Sometimes I console myself with the memories. All our trips to my cottage, Pris, which Edwin and I used to take. We would go for walks in the forest together and we would fantasise about outrageous meals, dinners, puddings and cakes and we would laugh so hard we would end up crying. I don't want to go there any more, I'm thinking about selling the place. Ingemar has promised to help me. He says I ought to invest the money, that he can take care of it for me and I'm grateful for that. I don't know anything about money and investments, or what will give a good return, so it's great that he'll deal with that.
'Something happened recently, which really upset me. I had a telephone call. And I didn't react with kindness, but with rage. It was Elfrid Løwe. She wanted to meet me. I couldn't help it, I lost my temper. She assumes that Edwin is dead, too, and that we have something to talk about, that we have things in common. I screamed at her, told her to stay away, and I slammed down the receiver. Afterwards I stood shaking like a leaf. I felt so upset. How could I have treated her like that? One day I'll have to contact her and apologise. But I do think she had some nerve, no one really knows what has happened to Edwin. Kids have gone missing before and they turn up and they are fine. I mustn't give up hope.
'Some children came to see me, it's a while back, now. Sindre was there, and Sverre and Isak and some of the girls from Edwin's class, I don't remember their names. They had made a kind of scrapbook with pictures and messages, the sheets were holepunched and held together with red ribbon. 'We miss you Edwin, please come back,' things like that. Pictures of flowers and birds and animals, as children do. Alex Meyer had obviously told them to make this to show sympathy. I wasn't all that moved because I'm not sure how nice they actually were to him, normally.
'I'm still waiting for him, I wait every hour of the day, I wait as I lie in my bed, I wait as I cook, inside my head I hear my own voice crying out for Edwin. I'm convinced he'll be coming down the road soon with his rolling walk. I keep looking out of the window. I listen out for steps, or the door slamming. Whenever I hear a car pull up, my heart skips a beat. It might be the police or the vicar. I don't want the vicar to come round. I don't know what I'll do if he turns up. I used to go out a lot, now I mainly stay in. I can't bear to meet people. They look at me with compassion, but they avoid me because they don't know what to say. Imagine if they had dared to approach me! Hug me and comfort me. How are you? Is it bad? Is there anything I can do? But people are scared of feelings, that I might burst into tears, that they'll stand there not knowing what to do. I would rather have a grave than this uncertainty. The way things are now, there is nothing I can do for him. The feeling of powerlessness is overwhelming. It's all grief and despair and guilt, it's all emptiness and pain. What kind of life is this? I have Ingemar, of course, but he can't bring Edwin back to me. Still, he's the only one who can make me forget for a few brief seconds, the only one who can make me laugh. Afterwards I'm shocked that I could. It's as if I'm letting Edwin down in the worst way possible by being happy.'
CHAPTER 45
Sejer was often found hunched over the file, reading.
On the wall to the right of his desk hung a photo of Edwin as a constant reminder and sometimes Sejer would look up and ask him, 'What did you do, what happened to you?' He visited Alex Meyer. Meyer was happy to admit that Edwin had been a frequent visitor, sometimes with Sindre, or Sverre and Isak. Meyer had a steady gaze, as befits a man who has both confidence and a clear conscience. He talked about his class and everything they were going through. The children were having trouble sleeping. Parents had reported cases of bedwetting.