The Water's Edge - By Karin Fossum Page 0,52

Linde Forest. And how that moment would be filled with surprise and triumph. But he had never imagined that his heart would pound like this or that his cheeks would start to burn. It was the middle of December and they had gone to the ICA superstore to do their shopping. Reinhardt pushed the trolley and Kristine selected the groceries. She jumped when Reinhardt grabbed her arm.

'Kristine,' he whispered. 'Look!'

She tried to free herself. She had no idea what he was talking about, but she looked in the direction he was pointing and noticed a middle-aged man in a worn leather jacket. He was standing in the fruit section choosing some apples.

'Hans Christian Andersen,' Reinhardt whispered.

Kristine's eyes widened.

'It's the man from Linde Forest,' he said.

'Him?' Kristine asked. 'With the apples? No.'

'Yes,' Reinhardt insisted. 'You can see that it's the same man. Don't you dare tell me I'm wrong. Remember we saw him clearly, just a few metres away and in broad daylight.' He shook his head in disbelief. 'Bloody hell. And here he is now, doing his shopping, pretending nothing has happened.'

The man had his back to them, but then he turned and they could see his profile. Kristine could not believe that it was him; this man looked utterly pathetic and selecting a few apples seemed an insurmountable task for him. He would pick one up, turn it this way and that, put it back down, take another, his whole being seemed weary and wretched. She just could not imagine him being responsible for the murder of two children. She had expected someone evil because her mind had embroidered on her actual experience and moulded him in the light of his crime. His eyes were blacker and his cheeks more hollow, that was how she remembered him.

'Just look at his profile,' Reinhardt said.

'He resembles him, that's all,' she declared, wanting to finish their shopping. She felt confused, she clung to the trolley. The man had turned away and all they could see was his back.

'It is him,' Reinhardt stated. 'We need to call the police.'

Kristine went over to the fruit section where she got some clementines. She glanced briefly at the man in the leather jacket and the memories came flooding back. She had to agree that he resembled him, but she still had doubts.

'I don't understand how you can be so sure,' she said. 'We only saw him for a few seconds and it was more than three months ago.'

'I'm certain,' he stated firmly. 'I'll never forget that face. Don't be silly now. This is what the police have been waiting for all this time.'

The man headed for the checkout.

'He's limping,' Kristine said.

'Exactly,' Reinhardt said. 'He's dragging one leg. Now do you believe me?'

Kristine was overcome by a sudden, inexplicable fear. She did not like being near him. She hated that he walked around all ordinary looking, buying apples like normal people.

'We've got to find out if he drives a Granada,' Reinhardt said. 'I bet you he does. Hurry up, we can't lose him!'

'I haven't finished my shopping,' Kristine objected.

'That's not important right now,' Reinhardt snapped.

They followed him at a suitable distance. He went to the checkout and placed his shopping on the belt.

'We'll take the checkout next to him,' Reinhardt said, 'otherwise he'll finish before we do. You pay and I'll pack!'

He slipped past her and waited while the cashier scanned their groceries. Kristine paid and they left. They quickly loaded their shopping and got into their car, where they waited for him. Shortly afterwards he appeared with a carrier bag in each hand.

'Do you see a Granada anywhere?' Kristine asked.

No, Reinhardt thought, no Granada, but he could have been wrong about the car. He did not say so out loud because he hated being wrong. The man was now heading towards a white car.

'A Carina,' he exclaimed. 'An old Toyota Carina. It looks like a Granada from the back, I should have known it was a Carina! We must get a look at the number plate. Do you have something to write with, Kristine? We'll get his registration number and give it to the police. Hurry up. For God's sake what are you waiting for?'

She fumbled around in her handbag for a pen and some paper while the man put his shopping in the boot of his car. There was something slow and hesitant about him, as if everything was an uphill struggle. Kristine scribbled down the registration number on a scrap of paper.

'We'll follow him,'