By Karin Fossum
Whilst children thieve a handbag from a stroller, it leads to an infant’s loss of life. blind to the enormity in their crime, Zipp and Andreas are motive on committing one other. They stick with an aged lady domestic, and Andreas enters her apartment together with his switchblade. at the hours of darkness, Zipp waits for his pal to come back out.Inspector Konrad Sejer and his colleague Jacob Skarre see no connection among the infant’s loss of life and the said disappearance of an area antisocial. And so whereas the confusion outdoors mounts, the heart-stopping fact unfolds contained in the outdated woman’s home.Unflappable as ever, Sejer digs lower than the skin of small- city tranquility so one can know the way and why violence destroys daily lives. (20060901)
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Extra info for When the Devil Holds the Candle
This memory is so real that I can still feel the hem of my dress tickling my knee. I'm standing in the yellowish green light again and noticing how alone I am. No one says hello. I'm the youngest. Not doing anything important. I don't mean that at the time my father should have stopped what he was doing, maybe lifted me up and tossed me in the air. I was too heavy for him. He had rheumatism, and I was big and chubby, with bones like a horse. That's what Mother used to say. Like a horse. It was just Irma who had come in.
Then I could stand there and watch while they devoured it. They would drop everything, forget the catastrophe: having something to devour would come first, I was sure of that. But I didn't find anything, so I kept on walking. I came to a derelict farmhouse, sat down on the front steps, and thought about the story of the people who had lived there, Gustav and Inger and their twelve children: Uno, Sekunda, Trevor, Firmin, Femmer, Sexus, Syver, Otto, Nils, Tidemann, Ellef, and Tollef. It was incomprehensible, yet true, and all of them were dead now.
What a burden it must be to have to read everything. I don't talk to my neighbors. If they say hello over the fence, I say hello back, but keep walking. I'm not unhappy, but I'm not happy either. I don't know anyone who is. A doctor whom I see once a year says that I'm as healthy as a horse. He says this in a stern, admonishing way, and I know what he's getting at, but he can't possibly understand. I don't feel like explaining. He's not being malicious or pretentious when he just sits there and looks at me.
When the Devil Holds the Candle by Karin Fossum