He Who Fears the Wolf by Karin Fossum

right now. It defies imagination," Gurvin said.
    "If they're still together, that is. Maybe the robber let Johrma go out of sheer fright."
    "It wouldn't surprise me."
    "And Errki isn't going to show up to file a complaint if he's been let go. How on earth are we going to handle this?"
    Sejer opened a folder on his desk and read aloud, "A brand-new white Renault Mégane was reported stolen from Frydenlund late last night. The robber had a similar car, so it might be the one. Maybe they've changed cars by now. Maybe he let Johrma go. Let's hope so."
    Skarre and Gurvin said nothing. A robber could be many things, but he was rarely outright dangerous, although they had no way of being sure of it in this case.
    "Would we even be able to question Johrma?"
    Gurvin thought, and said, "I assume we could, with a doctor present. But we might not get answers to our questions. Or at least not answers that we could understand. And if he did commit the murder, it's not at all likely that he would be convicted."
    "I suppose you're right." Sejer rubbed his eyes hard and then opened them again. "Was he committed?"
    "Yes."
    "That means he posed a threat?"
    "I don't know all the details. It could be that he was mostly a danger to himself."
    "Suicide attempts?"
    "I don't know about that. You'll have to talk to his doctor. He's been at the hospital for several months, so they must know something about him by now. Although I doubt that anyone is capable of truly understanding him. He seems like a chronic case to me. He was different even as a child."
    "Are his parents still alive?"
    "His father and a sister. They live in the United States."
    "Did he have his own place?"
    "A council flat. We've been to check. I contacted one of the neighbours, who promised to call if he shows up there, but so far no word."
    "Is he a Finn?"
    "His father is. Errki was born and raised in Valtimo. They came to Norway when Errki was four."
    "Ever been involved with drugs?"
    "Not as far as I know."
    "Physically strong?"
    "Not at all. His strength lies elsewhere." Gurvin tapped his finger against his forehead.
    Skarre stared at the screen. He tried to make out the eyes below the black hair, but couldn't.
    "In a way I can better understand him, now that I look at the tape," he said. "He doesn't behave the way you'd expect someone to in that situation. He doesn't resist. Or even say a word. What do you think was going on in his mind?" Skarre looked over at Gurvin and pointed at the screen.
    "He's listening to something."
    "Inner voices?"
    "It looks like it. I've often noticed the way he walks along, shaking his head, as if he were listening attentively to some sort of internal dialogue."
    "Does he ever speak?"
    "Once in a while. He has an oddly formal way of talking. Often you can't understand what he's saying. And that desperado with the mask probably hasn't understood much either, if they've even exchanged a single word."
    "Is Errki well known in the area?"
    "Very well known. He's always wandering along the roads. Once in a while he hitch-hikes, but not many people dare stop for him. He likes to take the bus or the train, going here and there. Prefers to be on the move. Sleeps wherever he feels like it – on a bench in the park, in the woods, at a bus stop."
    "No friends at all?"
    "He doesn't want any."
    "Have you ever asked him?" Sejer said curtly.
    "You don't ask Errki about anything. You keep your distance," Gurvin said.
    Sejer sat lost in thought. The sun shimmered on his close-cropped grey hair. He reminded Gurvin of a Greek ascetic; the only thing missing was the laurel wreath around his head. The chief inspector thought for a long time, absentmindedly scratching one elbow.
    "I thought there were only old people in the Beacon," he said at last.
    "In the past," said Gurvin. "Now it's a psychiatric unit for young people, with 40 patients divided up into four sections, one of them restricted. Or locked, as we say. It's known as the Lock-up by those who live there. I've