The Water's Edge - By Karin Fossum Page 0,17

now.'

CHAPTER 11

'Why are we so drawn to the death of others?' Skarre asked.

Sejer shook his head, he had never considered this question before. He was not drawn to death, he had never been seduced by sensation. Not even when he was a young officer.

'I'm not drawn to death,' he said. 'Are you?'

'But we chose this profession,' Skarre said. 'The murder of Jonas is a dreadful event. Others could have dealt with it, and we could be doing a much nicer job.'

Sejer started rolling a cigarette. He allowed himself one only every evening, as befits an exceedingly temperate man.

'A nicer job?' he asked suspiciously. 'Like what?'

'Well, you could have been a pastry chef,' Skarre suggested. 'You could have spent your whole day decorating cream cakes. And making tiny marzipan roses.'

'I could never have been a pastry chef,' Sejer declared. 'Cream cakes are pretty to look at, but they have no stories to tell. What would you have been doing?'

'I would have been a taxidermist.'

'Someone who stuffs dead animals, you mean?'

'Yes. Squirrels, minks and foxes.'

Sejer instinctively picked up his dog and put him on his lap. 'So tell me this,' he said. 'Why are you interested in criminals?'

'It's possible that somewhere deep inside I might be just a tad jealous of them,' Skarre said.

'Jealous? Of criminals?'

'They do what they want. They have no respect for authority: if they want something they just take it and they have nothing but contempt for us. It's a kind of protest, a deep and profound disdain. Personally, I am extremely law-abiding, to the point where it becomes scary, if you know what I mean. Why do you think people are so fascinated by crime?' he went on. 'Nothing sells better than murder and the worse it is, the more interested people are. What does that say about us?'

'I'm sure there are many answers to that,' Sejer said, 'and you're just as well placed to provide them as I am.'

'But you must have thought about it?'

'I think it has to do with the image we have of our enemy,' he said. 'All nations have an image of their enemy, you know, something that unites people. During the war we were united against the Germans. It gave us a sense of identity and camaraderie, it made us take action and behave heroically. People were forced to choose sides, and in that way we could tell the good from the bad. But in our wealthy western world where peace and democracy reign, criminals have taken over this role. Their misdeeds unite us, we enjoy plenty of peace and quiet, but we also need excitement and stimulation to make us feel alive. But it's more than that. Every time someone's killed, we experience a kind of fortuitous assurance.'

'Why?' Skarre asked.

'It's the satisfaction of knowing that it wasn't you who committed this awful deed, because you're a good person; and you weren't the victim, either, because you're lucky, too. And then there's a third, uncomfortable, factor: some criminals acquire a heroic status. It might have to do with what you just said. Their lack of respect for the law and the authorities. We're terribly law-abiding individuals, but this slavish obedience in every aspect of our lives can lead to self-loathing.'

He looked over at Skarre.

'Would you do something for me, please?'

'Sure.'

'Would you go to that bookcase and get the first volume of the encyclopaedia?'

Skarre did as he was asked, he pulled out the heavy volume and placed it on Sejer's desk. Sejer eased the dog on to the floor, opened the book at 'A'. Skarre peered over his shoulder as he thumbed through the book.

'What are you looking for?'

Sejer glanced up at him. 'We're looking for a man.'

'Correct.'

'A killer,' Sejer added.

Skarre watched as he leafed through the book.

'And you think he's in the encyclopaedia? That would be a first,' he said.

Sejer continued for a while before finally stopping at a black and white portrait the size of a postage stamp.

'Hans Christian Andersen,' Skarre said.

They studied the picture in silence. Sejer noted the low, sloping forehead, the large nose, the high cheekbones and the crescent of curly hair at the back of his head. Precisely like Kristine Ris's description of the man by the barrier.

'How much do we see in a split second?' Sejer wondered. 'When we pass someone on the road?'

Skarre considered this. 'Not many details,' he stated. 'We see the sum total. And our brain will automatically look for a pre-existing, recognisable match.'

'Like the Danish writer.' Sejer said. 'His face is