Don't Look Back

CHAPTER 8

Knut Jensvoll didn't hear the car because he was working with an electric drill, trying to put up a shelf where he could leave his wet trainers to dry after exercising. When he stopped for a moment, he heard the doorbell. He peered out the window and saw Sejer looming on the top step. He'd had a feeling they might come. He took a moment to gather his thoughts, smoothed down his clothes and his hair. He had already anticipated several questions. He felt prepared.

One thought was uppermost in Jensvoll's mind: had they found out about the rape? That had to be the reason why they were here. Once a criminal, always a criminal; that was a maxim he knew well. He assumed a strained expression, but then realised that this might make them suspicious; so he pulled himself together and tried a smile instead. Then he remembered that Annie was dead, and went back to the strained mask.

"Police. Can we come in?"

Jensvoll nodded. "I just have to close the door to the laundry room." He waved them inside, disappeared for a moment, and returned at once. He cast a worried glance at Skarre, who was fishing a notebook out of his jacket. Jensvoll was older than they had expected, maybe even close to 50, and thickset. But his weight was well distributed; his body was firm and muscular, healthy and well-nourished, with good colour in his face, a thick mane of red hair, and an elegant, neatly trimmed moustache.

"I take it this has something to do with Annie?" he said.

Sejer nodded.

"I have never been so shocked in my life. I knew her well, so I think I have good reason to say that. But it's been a while since she left the team. That was a tragedy, by the way, because no one could replace her. Now we've got a real dunce out there who tends to duck when the ball comes towards her. But at least she fills up half the width of the goal."

He stopped his babbling and blushed a little.

"Yes, it's a real tragedy," Sejer said, somewhat more acidly than he had intended. "Has it been a long time since you last saw her?"

"As I said, she left the team. That was last autumn. In November, I think." He looked Sejer in the eye.

"Excuse me, but that sounds a little odd. She lived only a few hundred metres up the hill, didn't she?"

"Yes, no, well, I probably drove past her now and then. I thought you meant since I last had anything to do with her. In a proper sense, at practice. But I've seen her since then, of course. Downtown, maybe at the grocery shop."

"Then let me put the question this way: When did you last see Annie?"

Jensvoll had to think about it. "I don't know if I can remember. It must have been a while ago."

"We have plenty of time."

"Two or three weeks ago, maybe. At the post office, I think."

"Did you talk to her?"

"Just said hello. She wasn't particularly talkative of late."

"Why did Annie stop being a goalkeeper?"

"If only I knew." He shrugged. "I'm afraid I pressured her hard to change her mind, but it didn't do any good. She was fed up with it. Well, I don't really believe that, but that's what she said. Wanted to run instead, she said. And that's what she did, all right – day and night. I often drove past her on the plateau. Running full speed, long legs, expensive trainers. Holland spared no expense when it came to that girl."

He was still waiting for them to drag the skeleton out of the closet; he had no hope that it would be avoided.

"Do you live alone here?"

"I was divorced a while ago. My wife took the children and left, so now I'm on my own, and I like it this way. Don't have a lot of time to spare after I finish my job and sports practice. I coach a boys' team too, and I play on the Old Boys team. I'm in and out of the shower half the day."

"You didn't believe her when she said she was tired of it – so what do you think the real reason was?"

"I have no idea. But she had a boyfriend, and those kinds of things take up time. He wasn't especially athletic, by the way, a pipe-cleaner with skinny legs. Pale and slight, like a lima bean. He came to the matches once in a while, sat like a lump on the bench and never said a word. Just watched the ball going back and forth, back and forth. When they left, he wasn't even allowed to carry her bag. He wasn't the right type for her; she was a lot tougher than that."

"They were still together."

"Is that right? Well, each to his own."

Sejer nodded and kept his thoughts to himself. "I'm required to ask you this question. Where were you last Monday between 11 a.m. and 2 p.m.?"

"On Monday? You mean… on that day? At work, of course."

"And this can be confirmed by the warehouse?"

"I'm out driving a lot. We have home delivery, you see."

"So you were in your vehicle? Alone?"

"Part of the time I was in my truck. I delivered two wardrobes to a house on Rødtangen – that much, at least, they can confirm."

"When were you there?"

"Between 1 p.m. and 2 p.m., I think."

"Be a little more precise, Jensvoll."

"Hmmm… I suppose it was closer to 2 p.m."

Sejer did the calculation in his head. "And the hours before that?"

"Well, I was in and out. I overslept. And I grabbed a half hour at the tanning salon. We manage our own time, pretty much. Some days I have to put in overtime, which I don't get paid for. So I don't feel guilty. Even my boss has a tendency to…"

"Where were you, Jensvoll?"

"I got a late start that day," he said, clearing his throat. "A couple of us were out on the town on Sunday night. It's ridiculous, of course, to go out on the town on a Sunday when you know you have to get up and go to work, but that's how it was. I didn't get home until 1.30 a.m."

"Who were you with?"

"A friend. Erik Fritzner."

"Fritzner? Annie's neighbour?"

"Yes."

"So…" Sejer nodded to himself and stared at the coach, at his wavy shock of hair and his tanned face. "Do you think Annie was an attractive girl?"

Jensvoll knew what he was getting at. "What kind of question is that?"

"Answer it, please."

"Of course. You've seen her photo."

"Yes, I have," Sejer said. "She wasn't just nice to look at, she was quite grown up for her age. Mature, in a way, more than most teenage girls. Don't you agree?"

"Yes, I suppose so. Although I was more concerned with her expertise in the goal."

"Of course. That makes sense. Otherwise? Did you ever have any conflicts with the girls?"

"What type of conflicts?"

"Any kind," Sejer said deliberately, "regardless of type."

"Naturally I did. Teenage girls are quite volatile. But it was just the normal issues. No one wanted to replace Annie in goal, no one wanted to sit on the bench. Periods of unstoppable giggling. Boyfriends in the stands."

"What about Annie?"

"What about her?"

"Did you ever have a disagreement with Annie?"

He crossed his arms and nodded. "Well, yes, I did. On the day she called me and wanted to quit the team. I said a few desperate words that I should have held back. Maybe she took it as a compliment – who knows? She ended the conversation, hung up on me, and handed in her team uniform the next day. Done with it."

"And that's the only time the two of you had a falling out?"

"Yes, that's right. The only time."

Sejer nodded to Skarre. The conversation was over. They walked to the door, Jensvoll following. A good deal of suppressed frustration was about to get the better of him.

"Come on, be honest," he said, annoyed, as Sejer was opening the door. "Why are you pretending that you haven't looked at my record? Don't you think I have enough imagination to know that's the first thing you would do? That's why you're here, isn't it? I know what you're thinking."

Sejer turned around and stared at him.

"Do you have any idea what would happen to my team if that story got out around here? The girls would be locked in their rooms. The whole athletic programme would collapse like a house of cards, and years of work would come to nothing!" His voice grew louder as he talked. "And if there's one thing this place needs, it's a good sports programme. The ones who aren't involved sit in pubs and buy dope. That's the only alternative. Just so you're aware what you'll be starting if you publicise what you know. And besides, it was eleven years ago!"

"I haven't said a word about it," Sejer said quietly. "And if you keep your voice down, maybe we can prevent it from getting out."

Jensvoll shut up at once and blushed bright red. He retreated back to the hall, and Skarre shut the door behind them. "Jesus," he said. "A landmine with hair and a moustache."

"If we had enough personnel," Sejer said, "I'd put a tail on him."

Skarre gave him an astonished look. "Why's that?"

"Probably just to be unpleasant."

Fritzner lay on his back in the dinghy, sipping a Hansa Premium. After each sip he took a drag on his cigarette. His concentration was completely absorbed by the book on his lap, propped against his knees. A steady stream of beer and nicotine seeped into his bloodstream. After a while he put down the beer and went to the living-room window. From there he could look down into Annie's bedroom. The curtains were drawn, even though it was only early afternoon, as if it were no longer an ordinary room but almost a shrine into which no one must look. There was a faint glow from a single lamp, maybe the one on the desk.

He looked down the road and saw a police car by the letterboxes. There was the young officer with the curly hair. Probably going to the Holland house to give them the latest news. He didn't look particularly sombre; he walked with a light step, his face turned up to the sky, a slender, trim figure with lots of curls, surely on the borderline of what departmental regulations allowed. Suddenly he turned left and entered his own front yard. Fritzner frowned. Automatically he looked across the street to see if the visit had been noticed by anyone in the other houses. It had been. Isaksen was in his yard, raking leaves.

Skarre said hello and then went over to the window, just as Fritzner had done.

"You're looking down at Annie's bedroom," he said.

"Yes, I am."

Fritzner continued. "Actually, I'm a dirty old man, so I stood here often, gaping and drooling, hoping to catch a little peek. But she wasn't exactly the exhibitionist type. She would draw the curtains before she took off her jumper. I could see her silhouette, at least if she turned on the overhead light and there weren't too many folds in the curtains. Not a bad sight."

He had to smile when he saw Skarre's expression.

"If you want me to be honest," he said, "and I'm sure you do, I've never had any desire to get married. But I still would have liked to have one or two children to leave behind. And preferably with Annie. She was the kind of woman you wanted to impregnate, if you know what I mean."

Skarre still said nothing. He stood there, chewing on a sesame seed that had been stuck between two molars for a long while and had finally freed itself.

"Tall and slender, broad shoulders, long legs. Quick-witted. Beautiful as a wood nymph from Finnskogen. In other words, plenty of premium genes."

"She was only a teenager."

"They get older, you know. Although Annie won't."

"Frankly," he said, "I'm pushing 50 and I've got the same imagination as any other man. And I'm single. But as a bachelor I should have certain privileges, don't you think? There's no one out in the kitchen spluttering at me if I look at the ladies. If you lived here, right across the street from Annie, you would have cast an eye at her house now and then. That's not a crime, is it?"

"No, I don't believe it is."

Skarre studied the dinghy and the half-finished beer on the gunwale. He took his time, wondering whether it might be big enough to…

"Have you discovered anything?" Fritzner said.

"Of course. We have the silent witnesses. You know, the thousands of little things all around. Everyone leaves something behind."

Skarre watched Fritzner as he spoke. The man was standing with one hand in his pocket, and through the trouser material he could see the clenched fist.

"I see. By the way, did you know we have a crazy man here in the village?"

"Excuse me?"

"A guy with brain damage who lives with his father up on Kolleveien. Apparently he's very interested in girls."

"Raymond Låke. Yes, we know about him. But he doesn't have brain damage."

"He doesn't?"

"He has one too many chromosomes."

"Seems more like he has too few of something, if you ask me."

Skarre took another look at the Holland house, and at the window with the drawn curtains.

"Why do you think a snake would crawl into a sleeping bag?"

Fritzner opened his eyes wide. "Jesus, the things you know. I've asked myself the same thing. I'd actually forgotten about that; it was quite a little drama, I'll tell you. But it would make a perfect place to hibernate, wouldn't it? One of those bags from Ajungilak, with feather down and all that. I was sitting here in the dinghy with a whisky when that boyfriend of hers rang the bell. I guess they saw my light on. Annie was standing in a corner of her living room, white as a sheet. Normally she was pretty tough, but not that time. She was really frightened."

"How did you catch it?" asked Skarre with curiosity.

"My dear, it was nothing. I used my bucket. First I poked a hole in the bottom of it with an awl, about the size of a ten-ore coin. Then I crept inside the tent. It wasn't in the sleeping bag by then; it had crawled into a corner and coiled up. It was a big one. I slammed the bucket down over it and put my foot on the bottom. Then I sprayed Baygon into the hole."

"What's that?"

"Very powerful insect repellent. You can't buy it over the counter. The snake was knocked out at once."

"How do you have access to that kind of stuff?"

"I work at Anticimex. Pest control. Flies and cockroaches and all kinds of vermin."

"I see. Then what happened?"

"Then that skinny boyfriend of hers got a carving knife and I chopped the sucker in half, put it in a plastic bag, and tossed it into my rubbish bin. I really felt sorry for Annie. She hardly dared sleep in her own bed after that."

He shook his head at the thought.

"But you didn't come here to talk about my career as Superman, did you? In fact, why are you here?"

"Well…" Skarre pushed a curl back from his forehead. "The boss says we should always measure the pressure twice."

"Is that right? Well… my pressure is pretty stable. But I still can't comprehend that someone has taken Annie's life. A perfectly ordinary girl. Here, in this village, on this street. Her family can't understand it either. Now they'll leave her room untouched for years, exactly the way she had it. I've heard about this happening. Do you think it's because of a subconscious wish that she'll suddenly reappear?"

"Perhaps. Are you going to the funeral?"

"The whole village is going. That's what it's like when you live in a small place. No use having any secrets. People feel they have the right to know. It has its good and bad sides. Hard to keep anything secret."

"That could be an advantage for us," Skarre said. "If the killer is from here."

Fritzner went over to the dinghy, picked up the beer bottle, and emptied it. "Do you think he's from here?"

"Let's say that we hope so."

"I don't. But if he is, I hope you catch him fast, by God. I expect all 20 houses in the street have noted that you've come to see me. For the second time."

"Does that bother you?"

"Of course it does. I'd like to go on living here."

"Surely there's no reason for you not to."

"We'll see. As a bachelor, a man feels extra vulnerable."

"Why is that?"

"It's unnatural for a man not to have a woman. People expect a man to find a woman, at least by the time he turns 40. And if he doesn't, they think there must be some reason for it."

"Now I think you sound a little paranoid."

"You don't know what it's like, living so close to each other. There will be difficult times ahead for a lot of people."

"Are you thinking of anyone in particular?"

"As a matter of fact I am."

"Jensvoll, for example?"

Fritzner didn't reply, but stood there for a moment, thinking. Looked at Skarre out of the corner of his eye and then seemed to make up his mind. He pulled his hand out of his pocket and held out something. "I wanted to show you this."

Skarre peered at it. It looked like a hair tie, covered with material, blue, with beads sewn on.

"It's Annie's," Fritzner said, staring at him. "I found it in the car. On the floor in front, stuck between the seat and the door. It was just a week ago that I gave her a lift into town. She dropped it in the car."

"Why are you giving this to me?"

He took a deep breath. "I could have kept it. Burned it in the fireplace, not said a word. It's to show you that I'm playing with a clean deck."

"I never thought otherwise," Skarre said.

Fritzner smiled. "Do you think I'm stupid?"

"Possibly," said Skarre, smiling back. "Maybe you're trying to trick me. Maybe you're such a conniving person that this whole sweet confession has been staged. I'll take the hair tie with me. And take you into consideration to a greater extent than before."

Fritzner turned pale. Skarre couldn't resist laughing at him.

"Where did you get the name for your boat?" he asked. "It's a strange name for a boat, isn't it? Narco Traficante?"

"It was just a whim."

He was trying to pull himself together after the incident. "But it sounds good, don't you think?"

He gave the young officer a worried look.

"Have you ever taken it out on the water?"

"Never," he said. "I get terribly seasick."

The district prosecutor had given his verdict. Annie Holland could be buried, and now Eddie saw by his watch that more than 24 hours had passed since the first shovelful of dry earth struck the top of the coffin. Earth on top of Annie. Full of twigs and stones and worms. In his pocket he had a crumpled piece of paper, a few words he had intended to read as they stood near the casket after the sermon. The fact that he merely stood there, gasping, without managing to utter a single word, would haunt him for the rest of his life.

"I wonder if Sølvi might have a little problem," he said, putting a plump finger to his forehead, then changing his mind and moving it to his temple. "Not something that would show up in a scan or anything, she's learned what she needs to learn here in the world, she's just a little slow. A little one-sided, perhaps. You mustn't talk to Ada about this," he said.

"Would she deny that Sølvi has a problem?" Sejer asked.

"She says that if they can't find anything, then it must not be there. People are just different, she says."

Sejer had called him to his office. Holland still seemed lost in a vast darkness.

"I have to ask you about a few things," Sejer said. "If Annie had met Axel Bjørk on the road, would she have got into his car?"

The question made Holland gape in surprise. "That's the most monstrous thing I've ever heard," he said.

"A monstrous crime has been committed here. Just answer my question. I don't know these people as well as you do, and I actually regard that as an advantage."

"Sølvi's father," he said. "Yes, I suppose so. They went to his place two or three times, so she knew him. She would probably have got into his car if he asked her to. Why wouldn't she?"

"What kind of relationship do you have with him?"

"We don't have a relationship."

"But you've talked to him?"

"Barely. Ada has always stopped him at the door. Claimed that he was trying to force his way in."

"What do you think about that?"

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, as if his own weakness were obvious. "I thought it was pretty stupid. He didn't want to ruin things for us, he just wanted to see Sølvi once in a while. Now he's lost everything. Even his job."

"What about Sølvi? Did she want to see him?"

"I'm afraid Ada wrecked any desire she might have had. She can be very harsh. I think Bjørk has given up. But he was at the funeral, and at least then he had a chance to see her. You see, it's not easy to go against Ada," he said. "Not that I'm afraid of her, or anything," he gave a brief, ironic laugh. "But she gets so upset. It's not easy to explain. She gets very upset, and I can't deal with it."

He fell silent again, and Sejer sat, waiting, as he tried to imagine the interaction between these people. How thousands of threads became tangled up in each other over the years, forming a tough, finely woven net in which a person felt trapped. It fascinated him. And an individual's intense resistance to pulling out a knife and cutting himself loose, even though he was sick with longing for freedom. Holland would probably like to get out of Ada's net, but thousands of little ties held him back. He had made a choice; he would sit in those sticky threads for the rest of his life, and the decision had pushed him down a notch so that his whole, heavy body slumped and sagged.

"So you haven't got anything?" Holland asked after a while.

"Unfortunately, no," Sejer said. "All we have is a great many people who speak warmly and lovingly of Annie. There are very few forensic clues, and they haven't given us any leads, and there seems to be no apparent motive. Annie was not sexually assaulted or abused in any way. No one observed anything that might be of use to us in the vicinity of Kollen on that particular day, and everyone who travelled that stretch of road by car has been identified and checked out. There is one exception, but that car has been described in such vague terms that it hasn't led anywhere. The motorcyclist seen at Horgen's Shop seems to have vanished into thin air. Perhaps he was a tourist who was just passing through. No one saw his number plates. We've sent divers down to search for her bag, so far without success, so we have to assume that it's still in the killer's possession. We have no basis for an arrest, and so we can't search anyone. We don't even have a concrete theory to work with. We have so little to go on, in fact, that we're practically reduced to speculation. For instance, Annie might have come across some kind of sensitive information, perhaps quite by accident, and was murdered to ensure her silence. The information would have to have been extremely compromising, since it led to her death. She was naked but untouched, which might mean that the murderer wanted to steer us towards a sexual theory, possibly to divert attention from the real motive. That's why," he concluded, "we're interested in Annie's past."

He stopped and scratched the back of his hand, where he had a red, scaly patch as big as a 20-krone coin.

"You're one of the people who knew her best. And I'm sure you've had a thousand thoughts about this. I have to ask you again whether there was anything in Annie's past – experiences, acquaintances, opinions, impressions, anything at all – that surprised you. Don't limit yourself to a specific line of thought, just think about whether anything troubled you. Look for the smallest detail, even if it seems silly. A reaction you hadn't expected. Comments, hints, facts that have stayed with you. Annie had undergone a change in behaviour. I had the impression that it might have been due to something more than just puberty. Can you confirm that?"

"Ada says-"

"But what do you say?" Sejer held his gaze. "She rejected Halvor, quit the handball team, and then withdrew into herself. Did something happen at that time, something out of the ordinary?"

"Have you talked to Jensvoll?"

"Yes, we have."

"Well, I heard some rumours, but maybe they're not true. Rumours spread fast around here," he said, a little embarrassed, his cheeks slightly flushed.

"What are you getting at?"

"Just something that Annie mentioned. That he was once in prison. A long time ago. I don't know why."

"Did Annie know?"

"So he was in prison?"

"That's correct, he was. But I didn't think anyone knew about it. We're checking everyone around Annie, to see whether they had an alibi. We've talked to more than 300 people, but unfortunately, no one is yet a suspect in the case."

"There's a man who lives up on Kolleveien," Holland said, "who's not all there. I've heard that he's tried things with girls around here."

"We've talked to him too," Sejer said patiently. "He was the one who found Annie."

"Yes, that's what I thought."

"He has an alibi."

"If it's reliable."

Sejer thought about Ragnhild and didn't tell Holland that his alibi was a six-year-old child.

"Why do you think she stopped baby-sitting?"

"I think she just grew out of it."

"But I understand that she really loved taking care of children. That's why I think it's a little strange."

"For years she did nothing else. First she'd do her homework and then she'd go outside to see if anyone on the block needed a ride in a pushchair. And if there was a fight going on, she'd calm everybody down. The poor child who threw the first stone would have to confess. Then he would be forgiven, and everything was fine again. She was good at mediating. She had authority, and everybody did what she said. Even the boys."

"A diplomatic personality, in other words?"

"Exactly. She liked to work things out. She couldn't stand unresolved conflicts. If there was something going on with Sølvi, for example, Annie would always find a solution for us. She was a kind of middleman. But in a way…" he said, "she seemed to lose interest in that too. She didn't get involved in things the way she used to."

"When was this?"

"Sometime last autumn."

"What happened last autumn?"

"I've already told you. She didn't want to be part of the team any more, didn't want to be with other people the way she used to do."

"But why!"

"I don't know," he said in despair. "I'm telling you that I don't understand it."

"Try to look beyond yourself and your immediate family. Beyond Halvor and the team and the problems with Axel Bjørk. Did anything else happen in the village at that time? Anything that might not have been directly related to you?"

Holland threw out his hands. "Well, yes. Although it doesn't have anything to do with this. One of the children she baby-sat for died in a tragic accident. That didn't help matters. Annie didn't want to take part in anything after that. The only thing she thought about was putting on her trainers and running away from home and the street."

Sejer could feel his heart take an extra beat.

"What did you just say?" He leaned his elbows on the table.

"One of the children she took care of died in an accident. His name was Eskil."

"Did it happen while Annie was baby-sitting for him?"

"No, no!" Holland gave him a frightened look. "No, are you crazy! Annie was extremely careful when she was caring for children. Didn't let them out of her sight for an instant."

"How did it happen?"

"At his house. He was only about two years old. Annie took it really badly. Well, we all did, of course, since we knew them."

"And when did this happen?"

"Last autumn, I told you. About the time that she withdrew from everything. In fact, a lot was going on then, it wasn't a good period for us. Halvor kept calling and Jensvoll did too. Bjørk was putting on the pressure about Sølvi, and Ada was almost impossible to live with."

He fell silent, suddenly looking as if he were ashamed.

"When exactly did this death occur, Eddie?"

"I think it was in November. I don't remember the exact date."

"Did it happen before or after she left the team?"

"I don't remember."

"Then we'll keep going until you do. What kind of accident was it?"

"He got something caught in his throat and they couldn't get it out. He was in the kitchen alone, eating."

"Why didn't you tell me about this before?"

Holland gave him an unhappy look. "Because it's Annie's death you're supposed to solve," he whispered.

"And that's what I'm doing. It's important to eliminate certain things."

There was a long silence. There was sweat on Holland's high forehead, and he was constantly kneading his fingers, as if he had lost all sensation in them. Several idiotic pictures kept appearing in his mind, pictures of Annie wearing a red snowsuit and Russian cap, Annie wearing a wedding dress. Annie with an infant on her lap. Pictures that he would never take.

"Tell me about Annie, about how she reacted."

Holland straightened up in his chair and paused to think. "I don't remember the date, but I remember the day because we overslept. I had the day off. Annie was late for her bus, but she came home early from school because she wasn't feeling well. I didn't dare tell her right away. She went to her room to lie down, said she was going to have a sleep."

"She was sick?"

"Yes, well, no, she was never sick. It was just something temporary. She woke up later in the day, and I sat in the living room, dreading having to tell her. Finally I went to her room and sat down on the edge of her bed."

"Go on."

"She was stunned," he said thoughtfully. "Stunned and frightened. Turned away and pulled the covers over her head. I mean, what can you say to that? Afterwards she didn't show much of her feelings; she grieved in silence. Ada wanted her to take some flowers over to the house, but she refused. She didn't want to go to the funeral either."

"Did you and your wife go?"

"Yes, yes, we did. Ada was upset because Annie wouldn't go, but I tried to explain that's it's hard for a child to go to a funeral. Annie was only 14. They don't know what they're supposed to say, do they?"

"Did she visit his grave later?"

"Oh yes, she did. Several times. But she never went to their house again."

"But she must have talked to them, didn't she? Since she had baby-sat for the boy?"

"I'm sure she did. She had spent a lot of time with them. Mostly with the mother. She moved, by the way; they were separated after a while. Of course it's difficult to find each other again after a tragedy like that. You have to start over with a new relationship. And none of us will ever be the way we once were."

He seemed to have disengaged from the conversation and was sitting there talking to himself, as if the other man didn't exist. "Sølvi is the only one who's the same. I'm actually surprised that she can be the same after what's happened. But then she's not like other people. We have to take the children we've been given, though, don't we?"

"And… Annie?" Sejer said.

"Yes, Annie," he murmured. "Annie was never the same. I think she realised that we're all going to die. I remember the same feeling when I was a boy, when my mother died; that was the worst thing. Not that she was dead and gone. But that I was going to die too. And my father, and everyone I knew."

His gaze seemed fixed on something far away, and Sejer listened with both hands resting on his desk.

"We have more to talk about, Eddie," he said after a while. "But there's something you should know first."

"I don't know if I can stand to hear anything else."

"I can't keep it from you. Not with good conscience."

"What is it?"

"Can you remember if Annie ever complained of feeling pain?"

"No… I can't. Except from the time before she got shock-absorbent trainers. Her feet used to hurt."

"Did she ever mention having abdominal pain."

Holland gave him an uneasy look.

"I never heard her say anything like that. You should ask Ada."

"I'm asking you because it's my understanding that you were the person closest to her."

"Yes. But those kinds of girl's things… I never heard about anything like that."

"She had a tumour in her abdomen," Sejer said in a low voice.

"A tumour?"

"About as big as an egg. Malignant. It had spread to her liver."

Now Holland's whole body grew rigid.

"They must be mistaken," he said. "Nobody was healthier than Annie."

"She had a malignant tumour in her abdomen," Sejer repeated. "And in a short time she would have been very sick. There was a high chance that her illness would have led to death."

"Are you saying she would have died anyway?"

Holland's voice had an aggressive edge to it.

"That's what the pathologist says."

"Am I supposed to be happy that she didn't have to suffer?" he screamed, a drop of spit striking Sejer on the forehead. Holland hid his face in his hands. "No, no, I didn't mean that," he said, his voice choking, "but I don't understand what's happening. How could there be so many things I didn't know about?"

"Either she didn't know herself, or else she concealed the pain and purposely decided not to consult a doctor. There's no mention of it in her medical records."

"It probably doesn't say anything at all in them," Holland said. "There was never anything wrong with her. She had a couple of vaccinations over the years, but that was all."

"There's also one thing I want you to do," Sejer said. "I want you to talk to Ada and ask her to come down here to the station. We need to have her fingerprints."

Holland smiled wearily and leaned back in his chair. He hadn't slept much, and nothing seemed to be standing still any more. The chief inspector's face was flickering slightly, along with the curtain at the window, or maybe there was a draft, he wasn't quite sure.

"We found two fingerprints on Annie's belt buckle. One of them was Annie's. One of them might be your wife's. She told us that she often laid out Annie's clothes in the morning, so it might be her fingerprint on the buckle. If it's not hers, then it belongs to the killer. He undressed her. He must have touched the buckle."

At last Holland understood.

"Please ask your wife to come here as soon as possible. She should ask for Skarre."

"That eczema you have," Holland said suddenly, nodding at Sejer's hand. "I've heard that ash is supposed to help."

"Ash?"

"You smooth ash over the area. Ash is the purest substance that exists. It contains salts and minerals."

Sejer didn't reply. Holland's thoughts seemed to withdraw inward. Sejer left him in peace. It was so quiet in the room that they could almost feel Annie's presence.