Don't Look Back Part 1

Don't Look Back.

by Karin Fossum.

CHAPTER 1.

Ragnhild opened the door cautiously and peered out. Up on the road everything was quiet, and a breeze that had been playing amongst the buildings during the night had finally died down. She turned and pulled the doll's pram over the threshold."We haven't even eaten yet," Marthe complained.She helped push the pram."I have to go home. We're going out shopping," Ragnhild said."Shall I come over later?""You can if you like. After we've done the shopping."She was on the gravel now and began to push the pram towards the front gate. It was heavy going, so she turned it around and pulled it instead."See you later, Ragnhild."The door closed behind her a sharp slam of wood and metal. Ragnhild struggled with the gate, but she mustn't be careless. Marthe's dog might get out. He was watching her intently from beneath the garden table. When she was sure that the gate was properly closed, she started off across the street in the direction of the garages. She could have taken the shortcut between the buildings, but she had discovered that it was too difficult with the pram. Just then a neighbour closed his garage door. He smiled to her and b.u.t.toned up his coat, a little awkwardly, with one hand. A big black Volvo stood in the driveway, rumbling pleasantly."Well, Ragnhild, you're out early, aren't you? Hasn't Marthe got up yet?""I slept over last night," she said. "On a mattress on the floor.""I see."He locked the garage door and glanced at his watch; it was 8.06 a.m. A moment later he turned the car into the street and drove off.Ragnhild pushed the pram with both hands. She had reached the downhill stretch, which was rather steep, and she had to hold on tight so as not to lose her grip. Her doll, who was named Elise after herself, because her name was Ragnhild Elise slid down to the front of the pram. That didn't look good, so she let go with one hand and put the doll back in place, patted down the blanket, and continued on her way. She was wearing sneakers: one was red with green laces, the other was green with red laces, and that's how it had to be. She had on a red tracksuit with Simba the Lion across the chest and a green anorak over it. Her hair was extraordinarily thin and blonde, and not very long, but she had managed to pull it into a topknot with an elastic band. Bright plastic fruit dangled from the band, with her sprout of hair sticking up in the middle like a tiny, neglected palm tree. She was six and a half, but small for her age. Not until she spoke would one guess that she was already at school.She met no one on the hill, but as she approached the intersection she heard a car. So she stopped, squeezed over to the side, and waited as a van with its paint peeling off wobbled over a speed b.u.mp. It slowed even more when the girl in the red outfit came into view. Ragnhild wanted to cross the street. There was a pavement on the other side, and her mother had told her always to walk on the pavement. She waited for the van to pa.s.s, but it stopped instead, and the driver rolled down his window."You go first, I'll wait," he said.She hesitated a moment, then crossed the street, turning around again to tug the pram up on to the pavement. The van slid forward a bit, then stopped again. The window on the opposite side was rolled down. His eyes are funny, she thought, really big and round as a ball. They were set wide apart and were pale blue, like thin ice. His mouth was small with full lips, and it pointed down like the mouth of a fish. He stared at her."Are you going up Skiferbakken with that pram?"She nodded. "I live in Granittveien.""It'll be awfully heavy. What have you got in it, then?""Elise," she replied, lifting up the doll."Excellent," he said with a broad smile. His mouth looked nicer now.He scratched his head. His hair was dishevelled, and grew in thick clumps straight up from his head like the leaves of a pineapple. Now it looked even worse."I can drive you up there," he said. "There's room for your pram in the back."Ragnhild thought for a moment. She stared up Skiferbakken, which was long and steep. The man pulled on the handbrake and glanced in the back of the van."Mama's waiting for me," Ragnhild said.A bell seemed to ring in the back of her mind, but she couldn't remember what it was for."You'll get home sooner if I drive you," he said.That decided it. Ragnhild was a practical little girl. She wheeled the pram behind the van and the man hopped out. He opened the back door and lifted the pram in with one hand."You'll have to sit in back and hold on to the pram. Otherwise it'll roll about," he said, and lifted in Ragnhild too.He shut the back doors, climbed into the driver's seat, and released the brake."Do you go up this hill every day?" He looked at her in the mirror."Only when I've been at Marthe's house. I stayed over."She took a flowered overnight bag from under the doll's blanket and opened it, checking that everything was in place: her nightgown with the picture of Nala on it, her toothbrush and hair brush. The van lumbered over another speed b.u.mp. The man was still looking at her in the mirror."Have you ever seen a toothbrush like this?" Ragnhild said, holding it up for him. It had feet."No!" he said. "Where did you get it?""Papa bought it for me. You don't have one like it?""No, but I'll ask for one for Christmas."He was finally over the last b.u.mp, and he shifted to second gear. It made an awful grinding noise. The little girl sat on the floor of the van steadying the pram. A very sweet little girl, he thought, red and cute in her tracksuit, like a ripe little berry. He whistled a tune and felt on top of the world, enthroned behind the wheel in the big van with the little girl in the back. Really on top of the world.The village lay in the bottom of a valley, at the end of a fjord, at the foot of a mountain. Like a pool in a river, where the water was much too still. And everyone knows that only running water is fresh. The village was a stepchild of the munic.i.p.ality, and the roads that led there were indescribably bad. Once in a while a bus deigned to stop by the abandoned dairy and pick up people to take them to town. There were no night buses back to the village.Kollen, the mountain, was a grey, rounded peak, virtually neglected by those who lived there, but eagerly visited by people from far-off places. This was because of the mountain's unusual minerals and its flora, which was exceptionally rare. On calm days a faint tinkling could be heard from the mountaintop; one might almost believe it was haunted. In fact, the sound was from sheep grazing up there. The ridges around the mountain looked blue and airy through the haze, like soft felt with scattered woollen veils of fog.Konrad Sejer traced the main highway in the road atlas with a fingertip. They were approaching a roundabout. Police Officer Karlsen was at the wheel, keeping an attentive eye on the fields while following the directions."Now you have to turn right on to Gneisveien, then up Skiferbakken, then left at Feltspatveien. Granittveien goes off to the right. A cul-de-sac," Sejer said pensively. "Number 5 should be the third house on the left."He was tense. His voice was even more brusque than usual.Karlsen manoeuvred the car into the housing estate and over the speed b.u.mps. As in so many places, the new arrivals had taken up residence in cl.u.s.ters, some distance from the rest of the local community. Apart from giving directions, the two policemen didn't talk much. They approached the house, trying to steel themselves, thinking that perhaps the child might even be back home by now. Perhaps she was sitting on her mother's lap, surprised and embarra.s.sed at all the fuss. It was 1 p.m., so the girl had been missing for five hours. Two would have been within a reasonable margin, five was definitely too long. Their unease was growing steadily, like a dead spot in the chest where the blood refused to flow. Both of them had children of their own; Karlsen's daughter was eight, Sejer had a grandson of four. The silence was filled with images, which might turn out to be correct this was what struck Sejer as they drew up in front of the house.Number 5 was a low, white house with dark blue trim. A typical prefab house with no personality, but embellished like a playroom with decorative shutters and scalloped edges on the gables. The yard was well kept. A large veranda with a prettily turned railing ran around the entire building. The house sat almost at the top of the ridge, with a view over the whole village, a small village, quite lovely, surrounded by farms and fields. A patrol car that had come on ahead of them was parked next to the letterbox.Sejer went first, wiping his shoes carefully on the mat, and ducking his head as he entered the living room. It only took them a second to see what was happening. She was still missing, and the panic was palpable. On the sofa sat the mother, a stocky woman in a gingham dress. Next to her, with a hand on the mother's arm, sat a woman officer. Sejer could almost smell the terror in the room. The mother was using what little strength she had to hold back her tears, or perhaps even a piercing shriek of horror. The slightest effort made her breathe hard, as was evident when she stood up to shake hands with Sejer."Mrs Alb.u.m," he said. "Someone is out searching, is that correct?""Some of the neighbours. They have a dog with them."She sank back on to the sofa."We have to help each other."He sat down in the armchair facing her and leaned forward, keeping his eyes fixed on hers."We'll send out a dog patrol. Now, you have to tell me all about Ragnhild. Who she is, what she looks like, what she's wearing."No reply, just persistent nodding. Her mouth looked stiff and frozen."Have you called every possible place where she could be?""There aren't many," she murmured. "I've called them all.""Do you have relatives anywhere else in the village?""No, none. We're not from around here.""Does Ragnhild go to kindergarten or nursery school?""There weren't any openings.""Does she have brothers or sisters?""She's our only child."He tried to breathe without making a sound."First of all," he said, "what was she wearing? Be as precise as you can.""A red tracksuit," she stammered, "with a lion on the front. Green anorak with a hood. One red and one green shoe."She spoke in fits and starts, her voice threatening to break."And Ragnhild herself? Describe her for me.""About four foot tall. Two and a half stone. Very fair hair. We just took her for her sixth-year check-up."She went to the wall by the TV, where a number of photos were hanging. Most of them were of Ragnhild, one was of Mrs Alb.u.m in national costume, and one of a man in the field uniform of the Home Guard, presumably the father. She chose one in which the girl was smiling and handed it to him. Her hair was almost white. The mother's was jet-black, but the father was blond. Some of his hair was visible under his service cap."What sort of girl is she?""Trusting," she gasped. "Talks to everybody." This admission made her shiver."That's just the kind of child who gets along best in this world," he said firmly. "We'll have to take the picture with us.""I realise that.""Tell me," he said, sitting back down, "where do the children in this village go walking?""Down to the fjord. To Prestegrds Strand or to Horgen. Or to the top of Kollen. Some go up to the reservoir, or they go walking in the woods."He looked out the window and saw the black firs."Has anyone at all seen Ragnhild since she left?""Marthe's neighbour met her by his garage when he was leaving for work. I know because I rang his wife.""Where does Marthe live?""In Krystallen, just a few minutes from here.""She had her doll's pram with her?""Yes. A pink Brio.""What's the neighbour's name?""Walther," she said, surprised. "Walther Isaksen.""Where can I find him?""He works at Dyno Industries, in the personnel department."Sejer stood up, went over to the telephone and called information, then punched in the number, and waited."I need to speak with one of your employees immediately. The name is Walther Isaksen."Mrs Alb.u.m gave him a worried look from the sofa. Karlsen was studying the view from the window, the blue ridges, the fields, and a white church steeple in the distance."Konrad Sejer of the police," Sejer said curtly. "I'm calling from 5 Granittveien, and you probably know why.""Is Ragnhild still missing?""Yes. But I understood that you saw her when she left Marthe's house this morning.""I was just shutting my garage door.""Did you notice the time?""It was 8.06 a.m. I was running a little late.""Are you quite sure of the time?""I have a digital watch."Sejer was silent, trying to recall the way they had driven."So you left her at 8.06 a.m. by the garage and drove straight to work?""Yes.""Down Gneisveien and out to the main highway?""That's correct.""I would think," Sejer said, "that at that time of day most people are driving towards town and that there's probably little traffic going the other way.""Yes, that's right. There are no main roads going through the village, and no jobs, either.""Did you pa.s.s any cars on the way that were driving towards the village?"The man was silent for a moment. Sejer waited. The room was as quiet as a tomb."Yes, actually, I did pa.s.s one, down by the flats, just before the roundabout. A van, I think, ugly and with peeling paint. Driving quite slowly.""Who was driving it?""A man," he said hesitantly. "One man.""My name is Raymond." He smiled.Ragnhild looked up, saw the smiling face in the mirror, and Kollen Mountain bathed in the morning light."Would you like to go for a drive?""Mama's waiting for me."She said it in a stuck-up sort of voice."Have you ever been to the top of Kollen?""One time, with Papa. We had a picnic.""It's possible to drive up there," he explained. "From the back side, that is. Shall we drive up to the top?""I want to go home," she said, a bit uncertain now.He shifted down and stopped."Just a short ride?" he asked.His voice was thin. Ragnhild thought he sounded so sad. And she wasn't used to disappointing the wishes of grown-ups. She got up, walked forward to the front seat and leaned over."Just a short ride," she repeated. "Up to the top and then back home right away."He backed into Feldspatveien and drove back downhill."What's your name?" he asked."Ragnhild Elise."He rocked a little from side to side and cleared his throat, as if to admonish her."Ragnhild Elise. You can't go out shopping so early in the morning. It's only 8.15 a.m. The shops are closed."She didn't answer. Instead she lifted Elise out of the pram, put her on her lap and straightened her dress. Then she pulled the dummy out of the doll's mouth. Instantly the doll began to scream, a thin, metallic baby cry."What's that?"He braked hard and looked in the mirror."That's just Elise. She cries when I take out her dummy.""I don't like that noise! Put it back in!"He was restless at the wheel now, and the van weaved back and forth."Papa is a better driver than you are," she said."I had to teach myself," he said sulkily. "n.o.body wanted to teach me.""Why not?"He didn't reply, just tossed his head. The van was out on the main highway now; he drove in second gear down to the roundabout and pa.s.sed through the intersection with a hoa.r.s.e roar."Now we're coming to Horgen," she said, delighted.He didn't reply. Ten minutes later he turned left, up into the wooded mountainside. On the way they pa.s.sed a couple of farms with red barns and tractors parked here and there. They saw no one. The road grew narrower and peppered with holes. Ragnhild's arms were starting to grow tired from holding on to the pram, so she laid the doll on the floor and put her foot between the wheels as a brake."This is where I live," he said suddenly and stopped."With your wife?""No, with my father. But he's in bed.""Hasn't he got up?""He's always in bed."She peered curiously out of the window and saw a peculiar house. It had been a hut once, and someone had added on to it, first once, then again. The separate parts were all different colours. Next to it stood a garage of corrugated iron. The courtyard was overgrown. A rusty old trowel was being slowly strangled by stinging nettles and dandelions. But Ragnhild wasn't interested in the house; she had her eye on something else."Bunnies!" she said faintly."Yes," he said, pleased. "Do you want to look at them?"He hopped out, opened the back, and lifted her down. He had a peculiar way of walking; his legs were almost unnaturally short and he was severely bowlegged. His feet were small. His wide nose nearly touched his lower lip, which stuck out a bit. Under his nose hung a big, clear drop. Ragnhild thought he wasn't that old, although when he walked he swayed like an old man. But it was funny too. A boy's face on an old body. He wobbled over to the rabbit hutches and opened them. Ragnhild stood spellbound."Can I hold one?""Yes. Take your pick.""The little brown one," she said, entranced."That's Psan. He's the nicest."He opened the hutch and lifted out the rabbit. A chubby, lop-eared rabbit, the colour of coffee with a lot of cream. It kicked its legs vigorously but calmed down as soon as Ragnhild took it in her arms. For a moment she was utterly still. She could feel its heart pounding against her hand, as she stroked one of its ears cautiously. It was like a piece of velvet between her fingers. Its nose shone black and moist like a liquorice drop. Raymond stood next to her and watched. He had a little girl all to himself, and no one had seen them."The picture," Sejer said, "along with the description, will be sent to the newspapers. Unless they hear otherwise, they'll print it tonight."Irene Alb.u.m fell across the table sobbing. The others stared wordlessly at their hands, and at her shaking back. The woman officer sat ready with a handkerchief. Karlsen sc.r.a.ped his chair a bit and glanced at his watch."Is Ragnhild afraid of dogs?" Sejer said."Why do you ask?" she said with surprise."Sometimes when we're searching for children with the dog patrol, they hide when they hear our German shepherds.""No, she's not afraid of dogs."The words reverberated in his head. She's not afraid of dogs. She's not afraid of dogs."Have you had any luck getting hold of your husband?""He's in Narvik on manoeuvres," she whispered. "On the plateau somewhere.""Don't they use mobile phones?""They're out of range.""The people who are looking for her now, who are they?""Boys from the neighbourhood who are home in the daytime. One of them has a phone with him.""How long have they been gone?"She looked up at the clock on the wall. "More than two hours."Her voice was no longer quavering. Now she sounded doped, almost lethargic, as if she were half asleep. Sejer leaned forward again and spoke to her as softly and clearly as he could."What you fear the most has probably not not happened. Do you realise that? Usually, children disappear for all sorts of trivial reasons. And it's a fact that children get lost all the time, just because they're children. They have no sense of time or responsibility, and they're so maddeningly curious that they follow any impulse that comes into their head. That's what it's like to be a child, and that's why they get lost. But as a rule they turn up just as suddenly as they disappeared. Often they don't have a good explanation for where they've been or what they were doing. But generally" he took a breath "they're quite all right." happened. Do you realise that? Usually, children disappear for all sorts of trivial reasons. And it's a fact that children get lost all the time, just because they're children. They have no sense of time or responsibility, and they're so maddeningly curious that they follow any impulse that comes into their head. That's what it's like to be a child, and that's why they get lost. But as a rule they turn up just as suddenly as they disappeared. Often they don't have a good explanation for where they've been or what they were doing. But generally" he took a breath "they're quite all right.""I know!" she said, staring at him. "But she's never gone off like this before!""She's growing up and getting bigger," he said persuasively. "She's becoming more adventurous."G.o.d help me, he thought, I've got an answer for everything. He got up and dialled another number, repressing an urge to look at his watch again it would be a reminder that time was pa.s.sing, and they didn't need that. He reached the Duty Officer, gave him a brief summary of the situation and asked him to contact a volunteer rescue group. He gave him the address in Granittveien and gave a quick description of the girl: dressed in red, almost white hair, pink doll's pram. Asked whether any messages had come in, and was told none had been received. He sat down again."Has Ragnhild mentioned or named anyone lately whom you didn't know yourself?""No.""Did she have any money? Could she have been looking for a shop?""She had no money.""This is a small village," he went on. "Has she ever been out walking and been given a ride by one of the neighbours?""Yes, that happens sometimes. There are about a hundred houses on this ridge, and she knows almost everyone, and she knows their cars. Sometimes she and Marthe have walked down to the church with their prams, and they've been given a ride home with one of the neighbours.""Is there any special reason why they go to the church?""There's a little boy they knew buried there. They pick flowers for his grave, and then they come back up here. I think it seems exciting to them.""You've searched at the church?""I rang for Ragnhild at ten o'clock. When they told me she had left at eight, I jumped in the car. I left the front door unlocked in case she came back while I was out searching. I drove to the church and down to the Fina petrol station, I looked in the auto workshop and behind the dairy, and then I drove over to the school to look in the schoolyard, because they have jungle gyms and things there. And then I checked the kindergarten. She was so keen on starting school, she ..."Another bout of sobbing took hold. As she wept, the others sat still and waited. Her eyes were puffy now, and she was crumpling her skirt in her fingers in despair. After a while her sobs died away and the lethargy returned a shield to keep the terrible possibilities at bay.The phone rang. A sudden ominous jangle. She gave a start and got up to answer it, but caught sight of Sejer's hand held up to stop her. He lifted the receiver."h.e.l.lo? Is Irene there?"It sounded like a boy. "Who's calling?""Thorbjorn Haugen. We're looking for Ragnhild.""You're speaking with the police. Do you have any news?""We've been to all the houses on the whole ridge. Every single one. A lot of people weren't home, though we did meet a lady in Feltspatveien. A lorry had backed into her farmyard and turned around, she lives in number 1. A kind of van, she thought. And inside the van she saw a girl with a green jacket and white hair pulled into a topknot on her head. Ragnhild often wears her hair in a topknot.""Go on.""It turned halfway up the hill and drove back down. Disappeared around the curve.""Do you know what time it was?""It was 8.15 a.m.""Can you come over to Granittveien?""We'll be right there, we're at the roundabout now."He hung up. Irene Alb.u.m was still standing."What was it?" she whispered. "What did they say?""Someone saw her," he said slowly. "She got into a van."Irene Alb.u.m's scream finally came. It was as if the sound penetrated through the tight forest and created a faint movement in Ragnhild's mind."I'm hungry," she said suddenly. "I have to go home."Raymond looked up. Psan was shuffling about on the kitchen table and licking up the seeds they had scattered over it. They had forgotten both time and place. They had fed all the rabbits, Raymond had shown her his pictures, cut out of magazines and carefully pasted into a big alb.u.m. Ragnhild kept roaring with laughter at his funny face. Now she realised that it was getting late."You can have a slice of bread.""I have to go home. We're going shopping.""We'll go up to Kollen first, then I'll drive you home afterwards.""Now!" she said firmly. "I want to go home now."Raymond thought desperately for a way to stall her."All right. But first I have to go out and buy some milk for Papa, down at Horgen's Shop. You can wait here, then it won't take as long."He stood up and looked at her. At her bright face with the little, heart-shaped mouth that made him think of heart-shaped cinnamon sweets. Her eyes were clear and blue and her eyebrows were dark, surprising beneath her white fringe. He sighed heavily, walked over to the back door and opened it.Ragnhild really wanted to leave, but she didn't know the way home so she would have to wait. She padded into the little living room with the rabbit in her arms and curled up in a corner of the sofa. They hadn't slept much last night, she and Marthe, and with the warm animal in the hollow of her throat she quickly grew sleepy. Soon her eyes closed.It was a while before he came back. For a long time he sat and looked at her, amazed at how quietly she slept. Not a movement, not a single little sigh. He thought she had expanded a bit, become larger and warmer, like a loaf in the oven. After a while he grew uneasy and didn't know what to do with his hands, so he put them in his pockets and rocked a little in his chair. Started kneading the fabric of his trousers between his hands as he rocked and rocked, faster and faster. He looked anxiously out the windows and down the hall to his father's bedroom. His hands worked and worked. The whole time he stared at her hair, which was shiny as silk, almost like rabbit fur. Then he gave a low moan and stopped himself. Stood up and poked her lightly on the shoulder."We can go now. Give me Psan."For a moment Ragnhild was completely bewildered. She got up slowly and stared at Raymond, then followed him out to the kitchen and pulled on her anorak, and padded out of the house as the little brown ball of fur vanished back into its cage. The pram was still in the back of the van. Raymond looked sad, but he helped her climb in, then got into the driver's seat and turned the key. Nothing happened."It won't start," he said, annoyed. "I don't understand it. It was running a minute ago. This piece of junk!""I have to go home!" Ragnhild said loudly, as if it would help the situation. He kept trying the ignition and stepping on the accelerator; he could hear the starter motor turning, but it kept up a complaining whine and refused to catch."We'll have to walk.""It's much too far!" she whined."No, not from here. We're on the back side of Kollen now, we're almost at the top, and from there you can look straight down on your house. I'll pull your pram for you."He put on a jacket that lay on the front seat, got out and opened the door for her. Ragnhild carried her doll and he pulled the pram behind him. It b.u.mped a little on the pot-holed road. Ragnhild could see Kollen looming farther ahead, ringed by dark woods. For a moment they had to pull off to the side of the road as a car pa.s.sed them noisily at high speed. The dust hung like a thick fog behind it. Raymond knew the way, and he wasn't very fit, so it was no problem for Ragnhild to keep up. After a while the road grew steeper, ending in a turning s.p.a.ce, and the path, which went round to the right of Kollen, was soft and dusty. The sheep had widened the path, and their droppings lay as thick as hail. Ragnhild amused herself by treading on them, they were dry and powdery. After a few minutes there was a lovely glistening visible through the trees."Serpent Tarn," Raymond said.She stopped next to him, stared out across the lake and saw the water-lilies, and a little boat that lay upside down on the sh.o.r.e."Don't go down to the water," said Raymond. "It's dangerous. You can't swim here, you'd just sink into the sand and disappear. Quicksand," he added, with a serious expression. Ragnhild shuddered. She followed the bank of the tarn with her eyes, a wavy yellow line of rushes, except for one place where what might be called a beach broke the line like a dark indentation. That's what they were staring at. Raymond let go of the pram, and Ragnhild stuck a finger in her mouth.Thorbjorn stood fiddling with the mobile phone. He was about 16, and had dark, shoulder-length hair with a hint of dandruff, held in place with a patterned bandanna. The ends stuck out of the knots at his temples like two red feathers, making him look like a pale Indian. He avoided looking at Ragnhild's mother, staring hard at Sejer instead, licking his lips constantly."What you have discovered is important," Sejer said. "Please write down her address. Do you remember the name?""Helga Moen, in number 1. A grey house with a kennel outside." He almost spoke in a whisper as he printed the words in big letters on the pad that Sejer gave him."You boys have been over most of the area?" Sejer asked."We were up on Kollen first, then we went down to Serpent Tarn and went over the paths there. We went to the high tarn, Horgen's Store, and Prestegrds Strand. And the church. Last, we looked at a couple of farms, at Bjerkerud and at the Equestrian Sports Centre. Ragnhild was, uh, I mean is, is, very interested in animals." very interested in animals."The slip of the tongue made him blush. Sejer patted him lightly on the shoulder."Sit down, Thorbjorn."He nodded to the sofa where there was room next to Mrs Alb.u.m. She had graduated to another phase, and was now contemplating the dizzying possibility that Ragnhild might never come home again, and that she might have to live the rest of her life without her little girl and her big blue eyes. This realisation came in small stabs of pain. Her whole body was rigid, as if she had a steel rod running up her spine. The woman officer, who had hardly said a word the whole time they had been there, stood up slowly. For the first time she ventured to make a suggestion."Mrs Alb.u.m," she asked quietly, "why don't we make everyone some coffee?"The woman nodded weakly, got up and followed the officer out to the kitchen. A tap was turned on and there was the sound of cups clattering. Sejer motioned Karlsen over towards the hallway. They stood there muttering to one another. Thorbjorn could just see Sejer's head and the tip of Karlsen's shoe, which was shiny and black. In the dim light, they could check their watches without being observed. They did so and then nodded in agreement. Ragnhild's disappearance had become a serious matter, and all the department's resources would have to be utilised. Sejer scratched his elbow through his shirt."I can't face the thought of finding her in a ditch."He opened the door to get some fresh air. And there she stood. In her red jogging suit, on the bottom step with a tiny white hand on the railing."Ragnhild?" he said in astonishment.A happy half-hour later, as their car sped down Skiferbakken, Sejer ran his fingers through his hair with satisfaction. Karlsen thought his hair looked like a steel brush now that it was cut shorter than ever. The kind of brush used to clean off old paint. Sejer's lined face looked peaceful, not closed and serious as it usually did. Halfway down the hill they pa.s.sed the grey house. They saw the kennel and a face at the window. If Helga Moen was hoping for a visit from the police, she would be disappointed. Ragnhild was sitting safely on her mother's lap with two thick slices of bread in her hand.The moment when the little girl stepped into the living room was etched into the minds of both officers. The mother, hearing her thin little voice, rushed in from the kitchen and threw herself at Ragnhild, lightning fast, like a beast of prey grasping its victim and never ever wanting to let it go. Ragnhild's thin limbs and the white sprout of hair stuck out through her mother's powerful arms. And there they stood. Not a sound was heard, not a single cry from either of them. Thorbjorn was practically crushing the phone in his hand, the woman officer was making a clatter with the cups, and Karlsen kept twisting his moustache with a blissful grin on his face. The room brightened up as though the sun had suddenly shot a beam through the window. And then, finally, with a sobbing laugh:"YOU TERRIBLE CHILD!""I've been thinking," Sejer cleared his throat, "about taking a week's holiday. I have some time off due to me."Karlsen crossed a speed b.u.mp."What will you do with it? Go skydiving in Florida?""I thought I'd air out my cabin.""Near Brevik, isn't that where it is?""Sand Island."They turned on to the main road and picked up speed."I have to go to Legoland this year," Karlsen muttered. "Can't avoid it any longer. My daughter is pestering me.""You make it sound like a punishment," Sejer said. "Legoland is beautiful. When you leave I guarantee you'll be weighed down with boxes of Lego and you'll be bitten by the bug. Do go, you won't regret it.""So, you've been there, have you?""I went there with Matteus. Do you know that they've built a statue of Sitting Bull out of nothing but pieces of Lego? One point four million pieces with special colouring. It's unbelievable."He fell silent as he caught sight of the church off to the left, a little white wooden church a bit off the road between green and yellow fields, surrounded by lush trees. A beautiful little church, he thought; he should have buried his wife in a spot like that, even though it would have been a long way to come. Of course, it was too late now. She had been dead more than eight years and her grave was in the cemetery in the middle of town, right by the busy high street surrounded by exhaust fumes and traffic noise."Do you think the girl was all right?""She seemed to be. I've asked the mother to ring us when things calm down a bit. She'll probably want to talk about it eventually. Six hours," he said thoughtfully, "that's quite a while. Must have been a charming lone wolf.""He evidently had a driver's licence, at least. So he isn't a total hermit.""We don't know that, do we? That he has a driver's licence?""No, d.a.m.n it, you're right," Karlsen said. He braked abruptly and turned into the petrol station in what they called "downtown", with a post office, bank, hairdresser and the Fina station. A poster bearing the words "Sale on Medicine" was displayed in the window of the low-price Kiwi grocery, and the hairdresser had a tempting advertis.e.m.e.nt for a new tanning bed."I need something to eat. Are you coming?"They went in and Sejer bought a newspaper and some chocolate. He peered out the window and down to the fjord."Excuse me," said the girl behind the counter, staring nervously at Karlsen's uniform. "Nothing has happened to Ragnhild, has it?""Do you know her?" Sejer put some coins on the counter."No, I don't know her, but I know who they are. Her mother was here this morning looking for her.""Ragnhild is all right. She's back at home."She smiled with relief and gave him his change."Are you from around here?" Sejer asked. "Do you know most people?""I certainly do. There aren't many of us.""If I ask you whether you know a man, maybe a little odd, who drives a van, an old, ugly van with its paint peeling off, does that ring a bell?""That sounds like Raymond," she said, nodding. "Raymond Lke.""What do you know about him?""He works at the Employment Centre. Lives in a cabin on the far side of Kollen with his father. Raymond has Down's syndrome. About 30, and very nice. His father used to run this station, by the way, before he retired.""Does Raymond have a driver's licence?""No, but he drives anyway. It's his father's van. He's an invalid, so he probably doesn't have much control over what Raymond does. The sheriff knows about it and pulls him over now and then, but it doesn't do much good. He never drives above second gear. Did he pick up Ragnhild?""Yes.""Then she couldn't have been safer," she smiled. "Raymond would stop to let a ladybird cross the road."They both grinned and went back outside. Karlsen bit into his chocolate and looked around."Nice town," he said, chewing.Sejer, who had bought an old-fashioned marzipan loaf, followed his gaze. "That fjord is deep, more than 300 metres. Never gets above 17 degrees Celsius.""Do you know anyone here?""I don't, but my daughter Ingrid does. She's been here on a folklore walk, the kind of thing they organise in the autumn. 'Know your district.' She loves stuff like that."He rolled the candy wrapper into a thin strip and stuck it into his shirt pocket. "Do you think someone with Down's syndrome can be a good driver?""No idea," Karlsen said. "But there's nothing wrong with them except for having one chromosome too many. I think their biggest problem is that they take longer to learn something than other people do. They also have bad hearts. They don't live to be very old. And there's something about their hands.""What's that?""They're missing a line on their palm or something."Sejer gave him a surprised look. "Anyway, Ragnhild certainly let herself be charmed.""I think the rabbits helped."Karlsen found a handkerchief in his inside pocket and wiped the chocolate from the corners of his mouth. "I grew up with a Down's syndrome child. We called him 'Crazy Gunnar'. Now that I think of it, we actually seemed to believe that he came from another planet. He's dead now only lived to be 35."They got into the car and drove on. Sejer prepared a simple little speech that he would serve up to the department chief when they were back at headquarters. A few days off to go up to his cabin seemed tremendously important all of a sudden. The timing was right, the long-term prospects were promising, and the girl showing up safe and sound at home had put him in a good mood. He stared over fields and meadows, registered that they had slowed down, and saw the tractor in front of them. A green John Deere with b.u.t.ter-yellow wheel rims was crawling at a snail's pace. They had no chance to overtake it; each time they came to a straight stretch, it proved to be too short. The farmer, who was wearing a gardener's cap and earm.u.f.fs, sat like a tree stump, as though he was growing straight up out of the seat. Karlsen changed gears and sighed."He's carrying Brussels sprouts. Can't you reach out and grab a box? We could cook them in the kitchen at the canteen.""Now we're going as fast as Raymond does," muttered Sejer. "Life in second gear. That really would be something, don't you think?"He settled his grey head against the head-rest and closed his eyes.

CHAPTER 2.

After the quiet of the countryside the city seemed like a filthy, teeming chaos of people and cars. The main route for traffic was still through the town centre; the city council was fighting tooth and nail for a tunnel which they had ready on the drawing-board, but new groups kept popping up to protest against it with one or another weighty argument: the eyesore that the ventilation towers would create in the landscape by the river; the noise and pollution of the construction work; and, last but not least, the cost.Sejer stared down at the street from the chief's office. He had put in his request, and now he was waiting for the reply. It was a formality: Holthemann would never dream of turning down Konrad Sejer. But the chief did like everything done by the book."You've checked the duty rosters? Talked to the rest of the team?"Sejer nodded. "Soot will take two shifts with Siven; I expect she'll keep him in line.""Then I don't see any reason to-"The telephone rang. Two short peeps, as if from a hungry bird. Sejer wasn't religious, but he said a prayer anyway possibly to Providence that his holiday wouldn't be s.n.a.t.c.hed from under his nose."You want to know if Konrad is in my office?" Holthemann said. "Yes, he's here. Put the call through."He pulled on the cord and handed Sejer the receiver. He took it, thinking it might be his daughter Ingrid wanting him for something. He hoped it wasn't bad news. It was Mrs Alb.u.m."Is everything all right with Ragnhild?" he asked."Yes, she's fine. Perfectly fine. But she told me something very odd when we were finally alone. I had to ring you, I thought it sounded so peculiar, and she doesn't usually make things up, so to be on the safe side I thought I'd better let you know. In any case, I will have told someone.""What is it about?""This man she was with, he showed her the way home. His name is Raymond, by the way, she remembered it afterwards. They drove up the far side of Kollen and past Serpent Tarn, and there they stopped for a while.""Yes?""Ragnhild says there's a woman lying up there."He blinked in surprise. "What did you say?""That there's a woman lying up at the lake. Quite still and with no clothes on." Her voice was anxious and embarra.s.sed at the same time."Do you believe her?""Yes, I do. Would a child think up something like that? But I don't dare go up there alone, and I don't want to take her with me.""I'll have it looked into. Don't mention this to anyone. We'll be in touch."He hung up and in his mind he closed up his cabin. The scent of sea spray and fresh-caught cod sprats vanished abruptly. He smiled at Holthemann."You know, there's something I have to take care of first."Karlsen was out on patrol in the only squad car they could spare that day, and it had to cover the entire city centre. So he took Skarre with him instead, a young curly-haired officer about half his age. Skarre was a cheerful little man, mild-mannered and optimistic, with traces of the rhythmic Southland dialect in his speech. They parked again by the letterbox in Granittveien and had a brief talk with Irene Alb.u.m. Ragnhild clung like a burr to her mother's dress. A number of admonitions had undoubtedly been impressed on the tow-headed child. Her mother pointed and explained, saying they had to follow a signposted path from the edge of the woods facing the house, uphill to the left past Kollen. For active men like them it would probably take 20 minutes, she said.The tree trunks were marked with blue arrows, indicating the way. They eyed the sheep s.h.i.t bale-fully, stepping out into the heather now and again, but persevered upwards. The path grew steeper and steeper. Skarre was panting a little, while Sejer walked easily. He stopped once, turning to stare down towards the housing estate. They could see only the roofs, brownish-pink and black in the distance. Then they set off again, no longer talking, partly because they needed their breath for the climb, partly because of what they were afraid of finding. The forest was so thick that they were walking in semi-darkness. Instinctively, Sejer kept his eyes on the path, not because he was afraid of tripping, but if something had indeed happened up here, it was crucial to take note of everything. They had been walking for exactly 17 minutes when the forest opened up and the sunlight shone through. Now they could see the water. A mirror-like tarn, no bigger than a large pond, lying among the spruce trees like a secret s.p.a.ce. For a moment they scanned the terrain, following the yellow line of the reeds with their gaze, and caught sight of something that looked like a beach a little farther away. They set out towards it at a good distance from the water; the belt of rushes was fairly wide, and they had only their street shoes.It could hardly be called a beach, but was more like a muddy patch with four or five large stones, just enough to keep the reeds out, and probably the only place that allowed access to the water. A woman lay in the mud and dirt. She was on her side with her back to them, a dark anorak covering her upper body. Otherwise she was naked. Blue and white clothes lay in a heap next to her. Sejer stopped short and automatically reached for the mobile phone on his belt. Then he changed his mind. He approached carefully, hearing the gurgling in his shoes."Don't move," he said in a low voice.Skarre obeyed. Sejer was at the water's edge. He balanced himself on a rock a little way out in the tarn so he could see the woman from the front. He didn't want to touch anything, not yet. Her eyes had sunk in a little. They were half-open and fixed on a point out in the lake. The eye membrane was dull and wrinkled. Her pupils were large and no longer quite round. Her mouth stood open; above it and extending up over her nose was a yellowish bit of foam, as if she had vomited. He bent down and blew on it; it didn't move. Her face was only a few centimetres from the water. He placed two fingers over her carotid artery. The skin had lost all elasticity, and felt as cold as he had expected."Gone," he said.On her earlobes and on the side of her neck he found some faint reddish-purple marks. The skin on her legs was gooseb.u.mped but undamaged. He went back the same way. Skarre stood waiting with his hands in his pockets looking a little puzzled. He was terrified of making a mistake."Totally naked under her jacket. No visible external injuries. I should say about 18 to 20 years old."Then he telephoned Headquarters and requested an ambulance, forensics, photographer and technicians. Explained the route that went up from the back side of Kollen and was accessible by car. He asked them to park some way off so as not to disturb any tyre tracks. When he'd finished he looked round for something to sit on, choosing the flattest stone. Skarre sank down next to him. They stared silently at her white legs and blonde hair, which was straight and shoulder-length. She lay almost in a foetal position. Her arms were folded over her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, her knees drawn up. The wind-breaker lay loosely over her torso and reached to mid-thigh. It was clean and dry. The rest of her clothes were piled in a heap behind her and were wet and soiled. A pair of dungarees with belt, a blue-and-white checked blouse, bra.s.siere, dark blue high-school pullover. Reebok trainers."What's that above her mouth?" muttered Skarre."Foam.""But... foam? What would that come from?""I suspect we'll find out soon enough." Sejer shook his head. "Looks like she lay down to go to sleep. With her back to the world.""People don't undress to commit suicide, do they?"Sejer didn't reply. He looked at her again, at the white body by the black water, surrounded by dark spruce trees. The scene had nothing of violence in it; in fact, it looked peaceful. They settled in to wait.Six men came tramping out of the woods. Their voices died out except for a few faint coughs when they caught sight of the men by the water. A second later they saw the dead woman. Sejer stood up and gestured."Stay on that side!" he shouted.They did as he ordered. They all recognised his grey shock of hair. One of them measured the terrain with a practised eye, trod a bit on the ground, which was relatively solid where he stood, and muttered something about a lack of rain. The photographer went first. He didn't spend much time by the body, but instead looked at the sky, as if he wanted to check the light conditions."Take pictures from both sides," Sejer said, "and get the vegetation in the shot. I'm afraid you'll have to go out in the water after that, because I need pictures from the front without moving her. When you've used up half the roll, we'll take off her jacket.""Mountain lakes like this are usually bottomless," he said sceptically."You can swim, can't you?"There was a pause."There's a rowboat over there. We can use that.""A dinghy? It looks rotten.""We'll soon know," Sejer said, brusquely.While the photographer was working, the others stood still and waited. One of the technicians was already working further up the sh.o.r.e, searching through the area, which proved to be quite free of litter. This was an idyllic spot, and in such places there was usually bottle caps, used condoms, cigarette b.u.t.ts, and sweet wrappers. Here they found nothing."Unbelievable," he said. "Not so much as a burnt match.""He probably cleaned up after himself," Sejer said."It looks like a suicide, don't you think?""She's stark naked," he replied."Yes, but she must have done that herself. Those clothes were not pulled off by force, that's one thing for certain.""They're dirty.""Maybe that's why she took them off," he smiled. "Besides, she threw up. Must have eaten something she couldn't digest."Sejer bit back a reply and looked at her. He could understand how the technician had come to that conclusion. It really did look as if she had lain down herself; her clothes were piled carefully next to her, not thrown about. They were muddy but seemed undamaged. Only the jacket that covered her torso was dry and clean. He stared at the mud and dirt and caught sight of something that looked like a shoe print. "Look at that," he said to the technician.The man squatted down in his coveralls and measured all the prints several times."This is hopeless. They're filled with water.""Can't you use any of them?""Probably not."They squinted into the water-filled ovals."Take pictures anyway. I think they look small. Maybe a person with small feet.""Roughly 27 centimetres. Not a big foot. Could be hers." The photographer took several shots of the footprints, then got into the old rowboat and sloshed around. They had found no oars, so he had to keep paddling into position with his hands. Every time he moved, the boat tilted alarmingly."It's leaking!" he shouted anxiously."Relax, we've got a whole rescue team here!" Sejer said.When the photographer was done, he had taken more than 50 photos. Sejer went down to the water, took off his shoes and socks and placed them on a rock, rolled up his trousers and waded out. He stood a metre from her head. She had a pendant around her neck. He fished it out carefully with a pen he took from his inside pocket. "A medallion," he said in a low voice. "Probably silver. There's something on it. An H and an M. Get a bag ready."He bent over and loosened the chain, then he removed the jacket."The back of her neck is red," he said. "Unusually pale skin all over, but extremely red on the back of her neck. An ugly blotch, as big as a hand."Snorrason, the medical examiner, waded out in his gumboots and inspected in turn the eyeb.a.l.l.s, the teeth, the nails. Noticed the flawless skin and the light red marks there were several of them scattered seemingly at random across her neck and chest. He noticed every detail: the long legs, the lack of birthmarks, which was uncommon, and found nothing more than a few small spots on her right shoulder. He cautiously touched the foam above her mouth with a wooden spatula. It seemed solid and dense, almost like a mousse.Sejer nodded to her mouth. "What's that?""Right off I would think it's a fluid from the lungs, containing protein.""Which means?""Drowning. But it could mean other things."He sc.r.a.ped away some of the foam, and soon new foam began oozing out."The lungs are collapsed," he said.Sejer pressed his lips tight as he watched. The photographer took more pictures of her, now without the jacket."Time to break the seal," Snorrason said, rolling her carefully on to her stomach. "A slight incipient rigor mortis, especially in the neck. A big, well-built woman in healthy condition. Broad shoulders. Good musculature in upper arms and thighs and calves. Probably played sports.""Do you see any sign of violence?" Sejer asked.Snorrason inspected her back and the backs of her legs. "Apart from the reddening of the neck, no. Someone may have grabbed her hard by the back of the neck and pushed her to the ground. Obviously while she was still clothed. Then she was pulled up again, carefully undressed, laid in place, and covered with the jacket.""Any sign of s.e.xual a.s.sault?""Don't know yet."He proceeded to take her temperature, quite unperturbed, in the presence of everyone, and then squinted at the result."It's 30 degrees Celsius. Together with the blood spots under the skin and only a slight rigor mortis in the neck, I would estimate the time of death as being within the past ten to twelve hours.""No," Sejer said. "Not if this isn't where she died.""Are you doing my job for me?"He shook his head. "There was a search made here this morning. A group of boys with dogs searched along this tarn for a little girl who was reported missing. They must have been here sometime between midday and 2 p.m. The body wasn't here then they would have seen it. The little girl turned up by the way, in good shape," he said.He looked about him, staring down at the mud with his eyes narrowed. Something tiny and pale-coloured caught his attention. He picked it up carefully between two fingers. "What's this?"Snorrason peered into his hand. "A pill, or a tablet of some kind.""Do you think you might find more in her stomach?""Quite possibly. But I don't see a pill bottle here.""She could have carried them loose in her pocket.""In that case we'll find powder in her dungarees. Bag it up.""Do you recognise it?""It could be almost anything. But the smallest tablets are often the strongest. The lab will figure it out."Sejer nodded to the men with the stretcher and stood watching them with his arms crossed. For the first time in a long while he raised his eyes and looked up. The sky was pale, and the pointed firs stood around the tarn like raised spears. Of course they would figure it out. He made himself a promise. They'd figure everything out.Jacob Skarre, born and raised in Sogne in the mild Southland, had just turned 25. He had seen naked women plenty of times, but never as naked as the one by the tarn. It struck him just now, as he sat with Sejer in the car, that this one had made more of an impression than all the other corpses he had seen before. Maybe it was because she lay as if trying to conceal her nakedness, with her back to the path, head tucked down and knees drawn up. But they had found her anyway, and they had seen her nakedness. Turned her and rolled her over, pulled back her lips to look at her teeth, raised her eyelids. Took her temperature, as she lay on her stomach with her legs spread. As if she were a mare at auction."She was quite pretty, wasn't she?" he said, shaken.Sejer didn't answer. But he was glad of the comment. He had found other young women, had heard other comments. They drove for a while in silence, staring at the road in front of them, but further in the distance they kept on seeing her naked body the ripple of her backbone, the soles of her feet with a slightly redder skin, the calves with blonde hair on them hovering above the asphalt like a mirage. Sejer had an odd feeling. This resembled nothing he had ever seen."You're on the night shift?"Skarre cleared his throat. "Just till midnight. I'm doing a few hours for Ringstad. By the way, I heard you were thinking of taking a week's holiday is that off now?""Looks that way."He had forgotten all about it.The missing persons list lay before him on the table.Four names, two men, and two women, both born before 1960 and therefore not the woman they had found by Serpent Tarn. One was missing from the Central Hospital psychiatric ward, the other from a retirement home in the next town. "Height 155 centimetres, weight 45 kilos. Snow-white hair."It was 6 p.m., and it might be hours before some anxious soul reported her missing. They would have to wait for the photos and the autopsy report, so there wasn't much that could be done until they had the woman's ident.i.ty. He grabbed his leather jacket from the back of the chair and took the lift down to the first floor. Bowed gallantly to Mrs Brenningen at the front desk, recalling at the same moment that she was a widow and perhaps lived much the same life as he did. She was pretty too, blonde like his wife Elise, but plumper.He headed for his own car in the car park, an elderly ice-blue Peugeot 604. In his mind he could see the face of the corpse, healthy and round, without make-up. Her clothes were neat and sensible. The straight, blonde hair was well cut, the trainers expensive. On her wrist she wore an expensive Seiko sports watch. This was a woman with a decent background, from a home with order and structure. He had found other women for whom a quite different lifestyle spoke its unequivocal language. Still, he had been surprised before. They didn't know yet whether she was drunk or drugged or full of some other misery. Anything was possible, and things were not always what they seemed.He drove slowly through the town, past the market square and the fire station. Skarre had promised to call as soon as the woman was reported missing. On the medallion were the letters H.M. Helene, he thought, or maybe Hilde. He didn't think it would be long before someone contacted them. This was an orderly girl who kept appointments.As he fumbled with the key in the lock he heard the thump as the dog jumped down from the forbidden spot on the armchair. Sejer lived in a block of flats, the only one in town that was 13 storeys high, so it looked out of place in the landscape. Like an outsized Viking monument it loomed in the sky above the surrounding buildings. When he'd moved in 20 years ago with Elise, it was because the flat had an excellent floor plan and a spectacular view. He could see the entire town, and compared with it the other possible flats seemed too closed in. Inside, it was easy to forget what sort of building it was; inside, the flat was cosy and warm with wood-panelling. The furniture, old and of solid sand-blasted oak, had belonged to his parents. For the most part, the walls were covered with books, and in the little remaining s.p.a.ce he had hung a few favourite pictures. One of Elise, several of his grandson and Ingrid. A charcoal drawing by Kathe Kollwitz, Death with Girl on His Lap, Death with Girl on His Lap, taken from a catalogue and framed in black lacquer. A photograph of himself in freefall above the airport. His parents, solemnly posing in their Sunday best. Each time he looked at the picture of his father, his own old age seemed to advance uncomfortably upon him. He could see how his cheeks would sink in, while his ears and eyebrows would continue to grow, giving him the same bushy appearance. taken from a catalogue and framed in black lacquer. A photograph of himself in freefall above the airport. His parents, solemnly posing in their Sunday best. Each time he looked at the picture of his father, his own old age seemed to advance uncomfortably upon him. He could see how his cheeks would sink in, while his ears and eyebrows would continue to grow, giving him the same bushy appearance.The rules in this apartment society, in which the families were stacked on top of one another as in Vigeland's monolith, were extremely strict. It was forbidden to shake rugs from the balcony, so they sent them out to be cleaned every spring. It was nearly time to do that again. The dog, Kollberg, shed hair like crazy. This had been discussed at the building's board meeting but had somehow slipped through, probably because he was a detective inspector and his neighbours felt secure having him there. He didn't feel trapped, because he lived on the top floor. The apartment was clean and tidy and reflected what was inside him: order and simplicity. The dog had a corner in the kitchen where dried food was always scattered about with spilt water; this corner indicated Sejer's one weak point: his attachment to his dog was an emotional one. The bathroom was the only room that displeased him, but he would get around to that eventually. Right now he had this woman to deal with, and possibly a dangerous man on the loose. He didn't like it. It was like standing at a bend in the road and not being able to see beyond it.He braced his legs to receive the dog's welcome, which was overwhelming. He took him out for a quick walk behind the building, gave him fresh water, and was halfway through the newspaper when the phone rang. He turned down the stereo and felt a slight tension as he picked up the receiver. Someone might have called in already; maybe they had a name to give him."Hi, Grandpa!" said a voice."Matteus?""I have to go to bed now. It's nighttime.""Did you brush your teeth?" he asked, sitting down on the telephone bench.He could see before him the little mocha-coloured face and pearl-white teeth."Mama did it for me.""And you took your fluoride pill?""Uh-huh.""And said your prayers?""Mama says I don't have to."He chatted to his grandson for a long time, with the receiver pressed to his ear so he could hear all the little sighs and lilts in the lively voice. It was as pliant and soft as a willow flute in the spring. Finally he exchanged a few words with his daughter. He heard her resigned sigh when he told her about the body they had found, as if she disapproved of the way he had chosen to spend his life. She sighed in exactly the same way as Elise had done. He didn't mention her involvement in Somalia, wracked by civil war. He looked at the clock instead and thought that somewhere someone was sitting and doing exactly the same thing. Somewhere else someone was waiting, staring at the window and the telephone, someone who would wait in vain.Headquarters was a 24-hour inst.i.tution that served a district of five communities, inhabited by 115,000 citizens, some good, some bad. More than 200 people were employed in the entire courthouse and prison offices, and 150 of them worked at Police Headquarters. Of these, 30 were investigators, but since some staff members were always on leave or attending courses and seminars by order of the Minister of Justice, in practice there were never more than 20 people at work each day. That was too few. According to Holthemann the public was no longer in focus they were more or less outside the field of vision.Minor cases were solved by single investigators, while more difficult cases were a.s.signed to larger teams. Between 14,000 and 15,000 cases poured in annually. In the daytime the work might consist of dealing with applications from people who wanted to set up stands to sell things like silk flowers or figures made out of dough at the market, or who wanted to demonstrate against something, such as the new tunnel. The automated traffic cameras had to be reviewed. People would come in, simmering with indignation, to be confronted by undeniable images of themselves in the act of crossing double lines or running red lights. They would sit snorting in the waiting room, 30 or 40 per day, with their wallets quaking in their jackets. Pelle Police Car, the community public relations vehicle, had to be manned, and it had to be admitted that the officers weren't exactly fighting over this important duty. Detainees had to be taken to hearings. The Headquarters staff came in with applications of their own, requests for leave that had to be dealt with, and the days were packed with meetings. On the fourth floor was the Legal and Prosecution Section, where five lawyers worked in close co-operation with the police. On the fifth and sixth floors was the county jail. On the roof was a yard where the prisoners could get a glimpse of the sky.The duty officer was the Headquarters representative to the outside world, and the job placed great demands on the flexibility and patience of that officer. Citizens were on the phone 24 hours a day, an almost endless barrage of complaints: bicycles stolen, dogs lost, break-ins, claims of hara.s.sment. Excitable parents from the better residential areas would ring to complain about joy-riding in the neighbourhood. Occasionally only a gasping voice was heard, a pitiful attempt to report abuse or rape that expired in despair, leaving nothing but a dead dial tone on the line. Less frequent were calls reporting murder or missing persons. In the midst of this barrage Skarre sat, waiting. He knew that it would come, he could feel the tension mounting as the clock ticked and the hours rolled into evening and then night.It was almost midnight when Sejer's phone rang for the second time. He was dozing in his armchair with the newspaper on his lap. His blood was flowing gently in his veins, thinned by a shot of whisky. He rang for a cab, and 20 minutes later he was in his office."They arrived in an old Toyota," Skarre said. "I was waiting for them outside. Her parents.""What did you say to them?""Probably not the right things. I was a little stressed. They called first, and half an hour later they drove up. They've already gone.""To the morgue?""Yes.""They were quite certain?""They brought along a photo. The mother knew exactly what she was wearing. Everything matched up, from the belt buckle to the underwear. She was wearing a special kind of bra, a sports bra. She exercised a lot. But the anorak wasn't hers.""Are you kidding?""Incredible, isn't it?"Skarre couldn't help himself he could feel his eyes light up."He left us a clue, free of charge. In the pockets there was a packet of sugar and a reflector shaped like an owl. Nothing else.""To leave his jacket behind, I can't believe it. Who is she, by the way?"He looked at his notes. "Annie Sofie Holland.""Annie Holland? What about the medallion?""Belonged to her boyfriend. His name is Halvor.""Where is she from?""Lundeby. They live at 20 Krystallen. It's actually the same street where Ragnhild Alb.u.m stayed overnight, just a little further up the block. An odd coincidence.""And her parents? What were they like?""Scared to death," he said in a low voice. "Nice, decent people.