Hell Fire

7 July 2005

Frank was lying with his head on Sejer’s feet. Sejer liked the feeling of being close to something warm and alive, even if that generally meant his socks got wet because the dog slobbered. He was holding a glass of whiskey in his hand, with no ice. On the table beside him was a pouch of tobacco that he rarely opened, being a man of moderation.

He thought about Bonnie Hayden. The long knife had pierced her body four times. In a fury or more methodically? He was certain that the murder had been planned, that there was a motive behind the evil act. A motive that he could not yet see. He had studied the photographs of the naked bodies for some time, Bonnie slim, Simon thin as a beanstalk. Both of them washed clean of blood, leaving the sharp wounds gaping, strangely narrow and precise. Bonnie had a tattoo on her shoulder. And over her breast, three moles in a gentle arc, which reminded him of Orion’s Belt. He could just picture a man, perhaps Simon’s father, stroking a finger over them, counting them solemnly. He could not imagine the fear and terror that must have filled the old trailer. But sometimes his imagination ran wild and then he struggled to breathe. When the glass was empty, he got up and switched off the lamp. On his way to the bathroom, he passed a photograph of his late wife, Elise.

“I’ll never get over it,” he said to the picture. “Time passes, but this is not what I’d hoped for. Just so you know.”