Hell Fire

27 August 2005

They were standing outside Simon’s daycare in Blåkollen.

The big playground was green and well equipped with climbing frames, swings, and sandboxes, as well as an old boat with a small cabin on top. Someone had painted “Captain Sabeltann” in black letters on the bow. This is where Simon played, Sejer thought. He could picture the little boy on top of the climbing frame, or onboard the old boat, pretending to be a pirate. They went in. Kaja came to meet them and showed them Simon’s coat peg under the snail.

“What have you told the children?” Sejer asked.

Kaja was now sitting behind her desk. “Well, we certainly gave it lots of thought, I can tell you. First we called a meeting with the parents, so they could all say what they thought, but there was no agreement. Some thought that the children should be spared, and others thought it was better to tell the truth because children have such lively imaginations.”

“And you?”

“I wanted to tell them the truth. Not all the gruesome details, of course, but that they had been killed with a knife. I consulted a child psychologist from the Educational and Psychological Counseling Service over at Haugane School, and she supported me in wanting to tell the truth. So that’s what we did in the end.”

“But some parents disagreed?”

“Yes.”

“So how did it go when you told the children?” Sejer asked.

“We took them all into the quiet room, where there are mattresses and pillows and no one is allowed to shout. No one shouted that day. It’s never been so quiet in that room.”

“How did they react?”

“With silence. The youngest ones put their thumbs in their mouths.”

“Did they ask any questions at all?”

“Yes, they wanted to know who had done it and why. We explained that he had probably been angry about something, but the police would find him and put him in jail. And that he would stay there for a long time, perhaps forever.”

She smiled when she said the last word.

The office was full of little statues and there were paintings on the wall. Sejer had a salt dough figure on his desk lamp in the office, a small constable in a blue uniform. Over the years, it had gotten drier and more cracked. He didn’t dare to touch it anymore because he guessed it would just crumble.

“Did you notice anything different about Bonnie’s behavior in the weeks before they were murdered? Did she mention any particular incidents?”

“No, nothing like that. But it was just heart-rending every morning when Bonnie had to leave. Simon was a nervous little boy and he was always devastated when she disappeared out the door.”

“He didn’t have much contact with his father,” Skarre remarked. “Do you know why?”

“Bonnie never talked about things like that. If we broached the subject, she was dismissive. But I believe that children should have a father.”

Sejer and Skarre didn’t say anything. There was nothing new to be learned at the daycare, but they hadn’t really expected there would be. The visit was on their list as it helped them to get a picture of how Bonnie and Simon had been before they were killed. Just as they were on their way out, Kaja stopped them.

“There was one thing I noticed — a little thing — so it may well mean nothing,” she said. “But a few days before it happened, I noticed a car outside the gate. It stopped as close as it could. It looked like they were waiting for someone, but no one got out. The car just idled there. It was just after Bonnie had picked Simon up and was about to pull out. For some reason, I stayed at the window and watched the car — because when you work in a daycare, I suppose you’re always a bit more vigilant. There are so many stories about fathers who have lost custody and kidnap their own children. We have to keep an eye out.”

“When Bonnie drove off, what did the other car do?” Sejer asked.

“It turned around and followed her.”

“And you saw the car only once?”

“No, it came back again the next day. I got the feeling that if they weren’t following Bonnie, whoever it was was looking for someone or watching a house farther down the street.”

“Did you mention it to Bonnie?”

“No,” she said, distraught. “Maybe I should have. But Bonnie had so much on her plate already; I didn’t want to make things worse. And I didn’t want to overreact either. But you said you needed to know everything...”

“Can you remember the dates?”

“No.”

“OK. But a few days before the murders, you saw this car twice. And both times it turned and followed Bonnie?”

“Yes.”

“Are you a car person?”

“No, not at all. The only thing I can say for certain is that it was red.”

They prepared a statement about the red car for the press. The hope was that observant people might have seen it in the area. Sejer knew that the switchboard would be inundated with sightings, of course, and that was precisely what he wanted. When they got back to the station, they once again sat for a long time and studied an enlarged photograph of the footprint. The front part of the sole had left a number of small circular prints, as if it had buttons. The heel had the same circles. It was a big foot, about a size fourteen. Who did it belong to? A furious or raving lunatic, a man who had been wronged in some way, a man whose head was full of revenge or delusions. A man who perhaps heard voices, a man who was out of his head on something. A man who was full of demons and fiends, a man who might not even be able to explain to himself, let alone to anyone else, why he did what he did. A man who drove a red car and had left a footprint on the worn linoleum floor and then fled through the woods.