The Water's Edge - By Karin Fossum Page 0,19

he hardly ever laughed. He took everything very seriously, life as well as his work, but on rare occasions his deep laughter could be heard. He was temperate, strong and decisive. He was always appropriately dressed, his shoes newly polished and in good condition, and his shirts freshly ironed. No one had ever taught him the art of flirtation, seduction or manipulation, unless he was facing a killer who denied all responsibility. Then he could charm the birds off the trees.

'Do you remember Jørgen Pihl?' Skarre asked. 'It was a fairly big case. He was a paediatrician at Ullevål Hospital, he treated kids the whole day and he had as much access to them as he could wish for. He finally went too far, the kids started talking. He was struck off, of course, and he went downhill from there, he started drinking, lost his home and his family.'

'Yes,' Sejer said, 'I remember him, and I remember Kristian Kruse. He held confirmation courses for the Humanist Society. And I remember Philip Åkeson.'

'No one will ever forget Philip Åkeson,' Skarre said. 'The man from Linde Forest hasn't contacted us,' he added. 'When do we start getting suspicious?'

'I already am,' Sejer said, 'but we should probably give him a few more days. There are people who don't follow the news.'

'I don't buy that,' Skarre said. 'This case has reached millions of people, it's gone beyond Norway, as has our request for him to get in touch. I'll give him until the end of the day and then I'll start suspecting him. Do we know anyone who walks with a limp?'

Sejer pondered this. 'No, I don't think so. But it might be an injury he's acquired recently.'

He went over to the window and looked out. 'No matter who he is,' he said, 'whether he's got a record or not, he's gone underground. He's afraid to answer the telephone. He might wear different clothes, he might start to shop at a different supermarket. Whatever strength he's got left, he's using to build a defence for himself. He feels that the world is against him and he is most likely resentful.'

He looked at Jacob Skarre. 'Criminals have a peculiar view of themselves,' he said. 'They regard themselves as unique, exceptional even. They think they are smarter than most people. They think they can jump the queue and help themselves, the rules don't apply to them. If anyone gets hurt, they've only got themselves to blame. So if you want to rehabilitate an offender, in other words, you have to change his entire mindset and that's not easy. When it comes to our man, he might very well have a previous conviction, and if he has, he's already an outcast. Once he's crossed the line he becomes even more dangerous; he has nothing to lose now. And if he's managed to suppress his paedophile tendencies for a long time, it might become harder for him now.'

'How do people develop such a predilection?' Skarre wondered. 'I don't understand it, it goes against nature. Kids don't send out sexual vibes.'

'That's what we need to find out,' Sejer said, 'and in order to do so we may have to put aside a great many prejudices.'

'That won't be easy,' Skarre said, 'I admit I have a lot of them.'

He leaned against the wall.

'A paedophile is someone who wanders around in shorts and a garish shirt on a beach in Thailand, watching kids play. He looks a bit scruffy. His pockets are stuffed with banknotes and he stays in a grotty room in a filthy hotel and he spends his evening in a bar. He watches people go by, while he drinks himself into a stupor. He drives a battered, old car filled with rubbish, newspapers and beer cans. Right, over to you.'

'He's weak, unsympathetic and self-obsessed,' Sejer said, 'with no friends, he's introverted and has some feminine features. His language is simple, he struggles to express himself. His mother was, or is, a domineering woman and he has never had the courage to stand up to her. His father was insignificant. He's an only child, anti-social and unattractive, he has little in the way of education and he's on a low income or on benefits. But when he's with kids he's in his element. Warm, approachable and friendly. Then he lights up and can do anything, he invites trust. What would you have done,' he wondered, 'if you were nearly eight years old walking alone down the road? And a