A new day was already on the wane when Karlsen got back from the canteen with two prawn open sandwiches and a Coke. He’d just sat down and was cutting into one slice, when Sejer appeared in the doorway. The more abstemious inspector carried a couple of cheese sandwiches and a bottle of mineral water. There was a newspaper under his arm. “May I join you?”
Karlsen nodded, dipped the sandwich into mayonnaise, and took a bite.
Sejer drew up a chair, seated himself and pulled a slice of cheese out of the bread. He rolled it into a tube and bit off the end.
“I’ve got Maja Durban out of the file,” he said.
“Why? Surely there’s no connection there.”
“Nothing obvious. But there aren’t that many murders in this town, and they occurred within days of each other. Einarsson frequented the King’s Arms, Durban lived three hundred meters away. We ought to check more closely. Look at this!”
He got up, went to the map on the wall, and took two red mapping pins out of a tray. Accurately, and without searching, he stuck one pin in the block on Tordenskioldsgate and one in the King’s Arms. Then he sat down.
“Look at that map. It’s the whole of the county borough, the map is two meters by three.”
He reached for Karlsen’s anglepoise reading lamp, which could be turned in all directions. He pointed the light at the map.
“Maja Durban was found dead on the first of October. On the fourth of October, Einarsson was killed, at least that’s when we must assume it happened. This is hardly a metropolis, we’re not overwhelmed by such incidents, but look at how close the pins are!”
Karlsen stared. The pins showed like two closely spaced red eyes on the black and white map.
“True enough. But they weren’t acquainted as far as we know.”
“There’s a lot we don’t know. Is there anything we do know?”
“That’s rather pessimistic, isn’t it! But I think we ought at least to do a DNA on Einarsson and check it against Durban.”
“Well, why not? We’re not paying.”
For a while they ate in silence. They were men who had a great respect for one another, in a tacit way. They didn’t make a fuss about it, but they shared a decided mutual sympathy which they exercised with patience. Karlsen was ten years younger and had a wife who needed humoring. So Sejer kept in the background, in the certainty that the man had enough with his family, something he regarded as a sacred institution. He was interrupted in his thoughts by an officer who appeared at the door.
“A couple of messages,” she said, handing him a small piece of paper. “And Andreassen from TV two phoned, he wondered if you’d appear on Eyewitness with the Einarsson case.”
Sejer tensed and his gaze wavered uneasily.
“Er, perhaps that’s one for you, Karlsen? You’re slightly more photogenic than me.”
Karlsen grinned. Sejer loathed appearing in public, he had very few weak points, but this was one of them.
“Sorry. I’m just off to a conference now, don’t you remember? I’m away for ten days.”
“Ask Skarre. He’ll be delighted, no doubt. I’ll help him, provided I don’t have to sit under those studio lights. Go and tell him right away!”
She smiled and disappeared, and he began to read the messages. He glanced at his watch. The “oldies” were going to go parachuting at Jarlsberg that weekend, provided the weather held. And ring Jorun Einarsson. He took his time, finished his meal, and pushed the chair back in. “I’m going out for a bit.”
“My goodness, you’ve been inside for almost half an hour! Moss is already growing on your shoes.”
“The problem with people is that they stay inside all day long,” Sejer replied. “Nothing’s happening here in the office, is it?”
“No, you’re probably right. But you’re a devil for finding things to do out of doors. You’ve really got a talent for it, Konrad.”
“You’ve got to use your imagination,” he countered.
“Hey, just a sec.”
Karlsen looked sheepish and put his hand into his shirt pocket.
“I’ve got a shopping list from my other half. D’you know much about women’s stuff?”
“Try me.”
“Here, after shoulder of pork — it says ‘Pantyliners.’ Must be English. Got any ideas?”
“Couldn’t you phone her and find out?”
“She’s not answering.”
“Try Mrs. Brenningen. I think it sounds like tights or something. Well, good luck!” He chuckled and went out.
He’d just seated himself in the car and run his fingers through his hair, when suddenly he remembered. He got out again, locked the car, and went to one of the police cars instead, just as he’d promised little Jan Henry. Like most other people, Mikkelsen would almost certainly be at work now, so he headed for Rosenkrantzgate first. Jorun Einarsson was on the small lawn in front of the house hanging out washing. A pair of pajamas with a Tom & Jerry print and a T-shirt with a picture of Donald Duck on it flapped lustily in the breeze. She had just fished out a pair of lacy black panties when he arrived in front of the house, and was now standing there clutching them, not quite sure what to do.
“I didn’t have far to drive,” he explained politely, trying not to look at her underwear, “so I thought I might as well come around. Please, finish what you’re doing.”
She hung up the rest of her washing quickly and put the clothes basket under her arm.
“Isn’t your son at home?”
“He’s in the garage.” She pointed along the road. “He used to hang out in there with his father. Before. Watched him mucking around with the car. Sometimes he still goes in there, and just sits staring at the wall. He’ll be out again in a while.”
Sejer looked at the garage, which was a double one, green, the same color as the house. Then he followed her inside.
“What was it, Mrs. Einarsson?” he asked straight out. They were standing in the entrance to the living room. She put the basket on the floor and pushed a few wisps of bleached hair away from her face.
“I rang my brother. He’s in Stavanger at a hardware trade fair. It was a boiler suit. You know, one of those green nylon ones with lots of pockets. Egil used it when he was working on the car and he always kept it in the trunk. I searched for it, because I remembered it cost quite a lot. And he liked to have it handy in case the car broke down and he had to get out and start tinkering, as he used to call it. That was what my brother wanted it for, too. So when I didn’t find it in the car, I searched in the garage. But it wasn’t in there either. It’s simply vanished. That, and a large torch.”
“Did you ask us about them?”
“No, but surely the police can’t just take things from cars without saying?”
“Certainly not. But I’ll check to make sure. Did he always have it with him?”
“Always. He was very organized when it came to that car. He never drove anywhere without an extra can of petrol. And engine oil and screen wash and some water. And that green boiler suit. I could have done with that torch myself really, the fuses go sometimes. The electrics are so bad here, something should be done about them. But the committee we’ve got now are the most useless bunch we’ve ever had, they put up the rent once a year and tell us they’re saving up for balconies. But that won’t happen in my time. Well, anyway, as I said, it was a boiler suit.”
“That’s useful information,” he said, praising her. “A good thing you remembered it.”
And it had been useful to the murderer, too, he thought, something he could pull over his own bloody clothes.
She blushed becomingly and picked the clothes basket up again. It was a large basket made of turquoise plastic, and when she balanced it on her hip as she was doing now, she assumed a somewhat strange and crooked posture.
“I promised your boy a ride in the car. May I fetch him from the garage?”
She glanced at him in surprise. “Certainly. But we’re going out later, so you mustn’t be too long.”
“Just a short run.”
He went outside again and made for the garage. On a workbench against one wall Jan Henry was sitting, swinging his legs. He’d got oil on his trainers. When he caught sight of Sejer, he started slightly, then brightened up.
“I’ve got the police car with me today. Your mom’s given me permission to take you on a little run, if you’d like to come. You can try the siren out.”
He jumped down from the bench, which was quite high, and he had to take a couple of steps to regain his balance.
“Is it a Volvo?”
“No, it’s a Ford.”
Jan Henry ran ahead and Sejer looked at his legs, at how pale and almost abnormally thin they were. He was nearly swallowed up by the front seat, and it was difficult to fasten the seat belt in a secure fashion, but it would have to do. He could barely see out over the dashboard, even if he craned his neck. Then Sejer started up and swung on to the road. There was silence for a while, just the even hum of the engine and the occasional swish of cars passing in the left-hand lane. The boy had stuffed his fingers between his thighs as if he was frightened of touching anything inadvertently.
“D’you miss your dad, Jan Henry?” Sejer asked quietly.
The boy stared back in surprise, as if it were the first time anyone had thought to ask him such a question. His answer was clear.
“Very much,” he said simply.
They fell silent again. Sejer headed down toward the textile mill, indicated right, and drove toward the rapids.
“It’s so quiet in the garage,” the boy said suddenly.
“Yes. A pity Mom can’t do car repairs.”
“Mmm. Dad was always in there doing things. In his spare time.”
“And all those nice smells,” Sejer grinned, “oil and petrol and suchlike.”
“He promised me a boiler suit,” he went on, “just like his one. But he didn’t have time before he disappeared. The boiler suit had fourteen pockets in it. I was going to wear it when I was working on my bike. It’s called a mechanic’s suit.”
“Yup, a mechanic’s suit, that’s right. I’ve got one myself, but mine’s blue, and it’s got FINA on the back. I’m not sure it’s got fourteen pockets. Eight or ten perhaps.”
“The blue ones are nice, too. Do they have them in children’s sizes?” he asked precociously.
“I’m not sure about that, but I’ll definitely look into it.”
He made a little mental note, indicated right again, and drew up. They could see down to NRK’s local broadcasting center in its idyllic setting down by the river. He pointed to the windows glinting in the sun.
“Shall we wind them up a bit? With the sirens?”
Jan Henry nodded.
“Press here,” he said pointing, “then we’ll see just how hungry they are for news down there. Perhaps they’ll come rushing out with all their microphones.”
The siren started and wailed loudly in the silence, rebounded off the hillside opposite, and came howling back again. Inside the car it didn’t sound so piercing, but when its hundred decibels had been going for a few seconds, the first face appeared at one of the shiny windows. Then another. Then one of them opened a door and walked out on to the balcony at the end of the building. They could see him raise a hand and shade his eyes from the sun.
“They think it’s at least a murder!” the boy exclaimed.
Sejer chuckled and studied the winter-wan faces that continued to emerge from the building.
“We’d better pipe down. See if you can switch it off, now.”
He could. His eyes were shining with delight and his cheeks were flecked with red.
“How does it work?” he asked with childish confidence in Sejer’s abilities.
“Well,” said Sejer, digging deep into his memory, “it’s like this, first they make an oscillating circuit electronically, which in turn creates a square pulse, which is amplified by an amplifier and fed into a loudspeaker.”
Jan Henry nodded.
“And then they vary it from eight hundred to sixteen hundred cycles. In other words, they alter its strength, to make it easier to hear.”
“At the siren factory?”
“Yup. At the siren factory. In America, or Spain. But now we’ll go and get an ice cream, Jan Henry.”
“Yes. We deserve one, even though we haven’t caught any baddies.”
They pulled out on to the main road again and turned left toward the town. When they got to the trotting course, he stopped, parked, and steered the boy over to the kiosk. Once he’d got it, he needed a bit of help with the paper. They sat on a bench in the sun sucking and licking. Jan Henry had chosen an ice lolly, red and yellow and tipped with chocolate, while Sejer ate a strawberry ice cream, which had been his favorite ever since boyhood. He’d never seen any reason to change.
“Are you going back to work afterwards?” Jan Henry was wiping juice from his chin with his free hand.
“Yes, but I’ve got to visit a man first. In Erik Børresensgate.”
“Is he a baddie?”
“No, no,” Sejer smiled. “Probably not.”
“But you’re not completely certain? He could be?”
Sejer had to capitulate and chuckled a little.
“Well, yes, possibly. That’s why I’m going to see him. But it’s mainly to make sure that he isn’t. Because then I can cross him off the list. That’s the way we do it, you see, until there’s only one person left.”
“I bet he’ll be scared when you come in that car.”
“Yes, I’m sure he will. Everyone is. People are funny like that. You see, nearly everyone’s got something in their past they feel guilty about. And when I suddenly turn up at their door, I can almost see them searching their memories to work out what I’ve discovered. I shouldn’t laugh, but sometimes it’s impossible not to.”
The boy nodded, and basked in the company of this wise policeman. They finished their ice creams and returned to the car. Sejer got a serviette from the kiosk and wiped the boy’s mouth and helped him with his seat belt.
“Mom and me are going to town to rent videos. One for each of us.”
Sejer put the car in gear and checked the mirror.
“And what are you going to get? A film about baddies?”
“Yes. Home Alone Two. I’ve seen the first one twice.”
“You’ll have to take the bus out and back. If you haven’t got a car.”
“Yes. It takes rather a long time, but it doesn’t matter, ’cause we’ve got lots of time, really. Before, when Dad — when we had a car, it only took a minute to drive there and back.” He poked a finger up his nose and picked it a bit. “Dad wanted a BMW. He’d been to see it. It was white. If that woman had bought the Manta.”
Sejer almost drove off the road. His heart gave a great leap, then he controled himself.
“What was that you were saying, Jan Henry — I wasn’t quite paying attention.”
“A woman. Wanted to buy our car.”
“Did Dad talk about it?”
“Yes. In the garage. It was that day — the last day he was at home.”
“A woman?” Sejer felt a shiver run down his spine. “Did he say what she was called?” He glanced in the mirror, changed lanes, and held his breath.
“Yes, because he had her name on a bit of paper.”
“Oh, really?”
“But I can’t remember it now, it’s such a long time ago.”
“On a piece of paper? Did you see it?”
“Yes, he had it in the pocket of his boiler suit. He was lying on his back under the car, and I was sitting on the bench as usual. Well, it wasn’t a piece of paper exactly, more a bit of paper. Sort of half of a sheet of paper.”
“But you say you saw it — did he take it out of his pocket?”
“Yes, from his chest pocket. He read the name, and then...”
“He put it back in his pocket?”
“No.”
“Did he throw it away?”
“I can’t remember what he did with it,” he said wistfully.
“If you were to think very hard, do you think you could remember what he did with it?”
“Don’t know.” The boy looked earnestly at the policeman, he was beginning to realize that it was important. “But if I remember about it I’ll say,” he whispered.
“Jan Henry,” Sejer said softly, “this is very, very important.”
They’d arrived at the green house.
“I know it is.”
“So if you should remember anything about this woman, anything at all, you must let Mom know, so that she can phone me.”
“All right then. If I remember. But it is a long time ago.”
“It certainly is. But it is possible, if you try very hard and think about something for a long time, day after day, to remember something you thought you’d forgotten.”
“Bye.”
“See you,” Sejer said.
He turned the car and watched him in the mirror as he ran to the house.
“I ought to have realized,” he said to himself, “that the boy would know something. He was always hanging around the garage with his father. Will I never learn?”