The Water's Edge - By Karin Fossum Page 0,47

to put words to her feelings. She had put a notice in the paper, she had chosen an outfit for herself, the dark blue suit. Now the vicar was about to take over and for a few hours she would be left to herself, no more practical things to think about. The rest of her life lay ahead of her, filled with long, black days.

The vicar looked out across the congregation.

'Today I'm angry with God.'

His statement made them sit up. Yes, that was to the point, surely that was what they all felt: anger and impotence? And who was God to say that this grotesque incident was part of His greater scheme?

'Today I'm angry with God,' he repeated, 'but I'm also filled with joy.'

Oh, Sejer thought, he's bringing in joy rather quickly, a tad too soon in my opinion. Again he sneaked a look at Skarre sitting, as befits the son of a vicar from S酶gne, with his straight back and his hands folded in his lap.

'For eight years Jonas August was a source of joy to us,' the vicar carried on. 'It was a brief joy, but who are we to count the hours and the days? Some people live short lives. Today we are gathered here to honour him, but it hurts. Today all we can see is evil and fear, the incomprehensible, the unforgivable, but with God's help we will one day see it in a different light. God will help us to accept this one day because he who took Jonas from us is a lost soul who has strayed.'

Has he now? Is that what's happened? Sejer thought, I'm hunting a lost soul who has strayed. No, that's not right. I'm hunting a man who puts his own desires before everything else, a man who cannot control himself, a man who will kill to satisfy his urges. When I'm at the police station interrogating him, there will be no room for acceptance. I will be polite and follow procedure, but I will offer him nothing: no mercy, no sympathy.

'Death is not final,' the vicar continued, 'because we are all on a journey, we will join this eternal river, it is the blood of all those who knew us and loved us and they will live on in us. We carry Jonas August. It is a heavy burden, but it will grow lighter. The tears we will shed in the months to come will turn into smiles. Do you remember Jonas August, we'll say, who was in our year at Solberg School? He always had a smile and a friendly word for everyone.'

He paused, lowered his head before raising it again with authority and gravity.

'Death has arrived in his carriage. Jonas August has stepped on board.'

He paused again. The signs of good living and contentment showed in the potbelly underneath his cassock, but his face with its feminine features spoke of humility.

Then Jonas's teacher stood up to read a poem. The sheet of paper refused to lie still in her hands, it rustled so that everyone could hear and her voice threatened to break, but the words reached them all the same. They sent shivers down their spines.

Towards the end of the service the vicar asked the children to come forward. Each of them was carrying one long-stemmed red rose. They lined up in the centre aisle and stepped forward, one by one, to leave their flower on the coffin, twenty-three roses in all. It was impossible not to be moved by this image, the children, the roses and the coffin. Then they found their seats again and sat down happily on the wooden pews because they had completed their task. A task they had discussed at great length and, as they saw it, they had executed it with style and dignity.

Then something happened. No one was prepared for it. The vicar was shocked, everyone could see that. Some people clasped a hand over their mouth in fear, and Sejer felt an icy chill shoot down his back. Elfrid L酶we started to scream. The service had helped her maintain her composure, she had clung to the vicar's voice, but now she was screaming uncontrollably, heartbreakingly, a protest which made people jump in their pews. The screams came from deep within her and pushed their way out with a force no one would have believed such a tiny woman possessed. For the best part of an hour the vicar had built a fragile construction of comfort and resignation.