Hell Fire

36 August 2005

Sejer and Skarre continued to visit Henny Hayden at regular intervals. They had investigated the circumstances surrounding Bonnie’s inheritance, but there was nothing to indicate that the two had been killed for the money. Erna Vibe’s other heirs had been duly questioned, but it led nowhere. And according to Henny, very few people actually knew about the inheritance.

“I read all the papers,” she said, distraught, “and they’re saying it’s a very difficult case.”

“That’s true. But that doesn’t mean we won’t solve it. We first have to find the man who was observed near the crime scene. A big man driving a red car. And then we have to prove he went to Skarven Farm. And then we can find out the motive.”

“There are foreigners working there, you know,” Henny hastily informed them.

“Yes, we know. We questioned them some time ago now. You look tired,” Sejer added. “Are you getting enough sleep and eating properly?”

After their visit to Henny, they drove on to Skarven. Woiciech, Stanislav, Jürgen, and Thomas were sitting on the grass in front of the outbuilding eating their lunch, which consisted of thick slices of bread and ham and strong coffee from a thermos. They had taken off their shirts in the warm sun and were all strong, muscular men.

“Woiciech,” Skarre said, “have you ever seen the red car again?”

“No, just that once. We went to visit the graves,” he added. “They were good.”

He had a pair of black-and-yellow suspenders on to keep his sturdy work pants up, and they were all wearing heavy leather shoes. The soles had long since worn down and none of them had the characteristic pattern found on the floor of the trailer.

“When will you be going back home?” Skarre asked.

“In November,” Woiciech told him. “My kids are waiting for me. We’re going to build a house.”

Later, Sejer and Skarre walked down across the fields to where the trailer had stood. Randen had finally towed it away. They wandered around somewhat aimlessly, each lost in his own thoughts. There were other unsolved cases — of course there were — but not that many. Some cases would always gnaw at them.

“He’ll be following what’s happening,” Skarre said, looking at the inspector.

“Obviously,” Sejer replied. “And he may not be sleeping at night.”

When he got back to his apartment on the twelfth floor, he was ambushed by Frank. He knelt down and took one of the dog’s soft paws in his hand. The dog’s eyes, which were barely visible amid all the folds and wrinkles, were black.

“You need a facelift,” he said affectionately. “But it would cost a fortune.”

He went into the kitchen and started to rattle around with the pots and pans. Frank immediately trotted in to beg for scraps. Sejer hesitated before giving him a bit of sausage. I never learn, he thought sheepishly. If only Elise had seen that.