Authors: Karin Fossum
'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 Petterøe 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 Åsalid.'
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.'
'So do I, but it's all we've got. Who would trap another person?'
'Kids,' Skarre said.
'Precisely.'
'I can see the initial attraction. But surely they would have let him out. After a while. After a few hours.'
'Well, would they?'
'Of course. They can't trap one of their friends in an earth cellar and then go home to bed.'
'They may have trouble sleeping,' Sejer said.
The two men looked at each other, then they both shook their heads. Sejer took out his mobile and found a number.
'What are you doing?'
'I'm calling Alex Meyer.'
After a brief conversation he put the mobile back in his packet.
'Sverre is having trouble sleeping,' he said, 'and Isak has started wetting the bed.'
CHAPTER 49
Mathilde Nohr positioned herself by the window.
Her silhouette was sharply defined against the light outside. She placed her hands on Sverre's shoulders, a demonstration of ownership, and there was a smile on her lips, but it failed to reach her eyes. She had asked Sejer to give her a reason for the meeting and his reply had scared the living daylights out of her.
Isak and his father had sat down. His father was as thin as a rake, his hair and eyes were dark. It seemed as though everything was hard for him: his son, this meeting, life itself. Isak was silent and pale, his brown freckles clearly visible, scattered across his cheeks like a fine spray of mud. Sejer looked at the two boys. He noticed that Sverre's right hand was in plaster.
'What happened to your hand?' he asked.
Sverre looked away. 'I broke my finger.'
'Broke your finger? How did you do that?'
No reply.
'We've found Edwin,' Sejer said. He looked at Sverre. 'Do you know where we found him, Sverre?'
'In the earth cellar at Fagre Vest Farm ...'
'Did you hear that on the news?'
Sverre traced circles on the floor with his foot. 'Mum told me, she heard it in the shop.'
'What about you, Isak?' Sejer said. 'Did you know where we found him?'
Isak was twining his fingers so fiercely that he, too, was in danger of breaking them.
'Have you ever gone down there to play?'
'Not often,' Sverre said reluctantly.
'But you have been there? The two of you together?'
Sverre shrugged. The parents were on their guard as if they knew deep down that at any second, life would turn around and bite them.
'Someone trapped Edwin in that earth cellar,' Sejer said, 'and for some reason no one came back to let him out. We don't understand why.'
'Pardon me for asking, but what are you insinuating?' asked Mathilde Nohr. She had bags under her eyes. She had lain awake all night staring into the dark.
'I'm hoping I've found an answer,' Sejer said. 'There is not a single scratch on Edwin's body, no one has beaten him or abused him, or hurt him in any other way. Someone trapped him in the earth cellar and we think it might have happened as part of a game. He was with Sverre and Isak on the tenth of September, that's why I'm asking them what happened. If perhaps something went wrong.'
Sverre threw a glance at Isak, but Isak kept studying his hands.
'You need to tell us what happened,' Sejer said, 'and no matter what it is, you will not be punished, no one will hit you or send you to prison.'
At this Isak's father stirred. 'Edwin was picked up by someone in a car,' he said. 'Are you calling my son a liar?'
'I'm not accusing anyone of anything,' Sejer said. 'I'm trying to get the boys to explain themselves. They both have mobiles. Both are in their parents' names, and when we checked them out, we discovered that they called each other several times on the night of the tenth of September. We have a list of five calls in total, the last one made around midnight.'
He looked gravely at Sverre. 'That was when you called Isak and you spoke for three minutes. What was so important that you had to talk to him in the middle of the night?'
'We didn't do anything, really,' Sverre whispered. He emitted a small yelp like a puppy that has got its paw caught in a door.
'I'm sure there is an explanation,' Sejer said, 'and I need it. I need it now,' he added, 'because this business with Edwin has been going on for so long and we are all exhausted.'
Suddenly Sverre started talking. 'We were just sitting there,' he said, 'on the mattress. Just chatting. The trap door was open so we could see what we were doing. We watched Edwin eat the sweets.'
The boy's voice was frail and small. Again he looked at Isak, but received no help from him.
'What were you talking about?'
'Football. Carew. And Solskjær. That's all.'
'Go on.'
'We were starting to get bored.'