Karin Fossum - Don't Look Back

Car doors slammed in the courtyard, and he heard voices, mumbling. He wasn't sure whether he had done something wrong. It wasn't always that easy to know. For safety's sake he didn't budge when they knocked on the door, but it was clear that they weren't intending to give up; they knocked and knocked and called his name. Maybe his father would hear them. He started coughing loudly to drown out the sound. After a while it grew quiet. He was still in the corner of the living room, beside the fireplace, when he caught sight of a face at the window. A tall, grey-haired man was waving at him. It was probably just to lure him out, Raymond thought, and shook his head vigorously. He held on to the fireguard and nestled further into the corner. The man outside looked friendly enough, but that was no guarantee of his being nice. Raymond had found out these things long ago, and he wasn't stupid either. After a while he couldn't bear standing there any longer, so he ran to the kitchen instead, but there was a face there too. Fair, curly hair and a dark uniform. Raymond felt like a kitten in a sack, with cold water pouring over him. He hadn't been out with the van today; it still wouldn't start, so it couldn't have anything to do with that. It must be about the matter up by the tarn, he thought desperately. He stood there, rocking a little. After a while he went out to the hall and looked anxiously at the key in the lock.

"Raymond!" one of them called. "We just want to talk. We won't hurt you."

"I wasn't mean to Ragnhild!" he shouted.

"We know that. That's not why we're here. We just need a little help from you."

Still he hesitated, before finally opening the door.

"May we come in?" the taller one said. "We have to ask you a few questions."

"All right. I wasn't sure what you wanted. I can't open the door to just anyone."

"No, you certainly can't," Sejer said, looking around him. "But it's good if you open the door when it's the police."

"We'll sit in the living room then."

Raymond walked ahead of them and pointed to the sofa, which looked oddly handmade. An old tartan blanket lay on the seat. They sat down and studied the room, rather small and square with the sofa, table and two chairs. On the walls were paintings of animals and a photograph of an elderly woman with a boy on her lap. Perhaps his mother. The child had the features Sejer associated with Down's syndrome, and the woman's age might have been the reason for Raymond's fate. From where they were sitting, no television set was visible, nor a telephone. Sejer couldn't remember having seen a living room without a TV in years.

"Is your father home?" he began, looking at Raymond's T-shirt. It was white and bore the words: I'M THE ONE WHO DECIDES.

"He's in bed. He doesn't get up any more, he can't walk."

"So you take care of him?"

"I make the food and clean the house, just so you know!"

"Your father's pretty lucky to have you."

Raymond gave a big smile, in that uncommonly charming manner characteristic of people with Down's syndrome. An uncorrupted child in a robust body. He had powerful, broad hands with unusually short fingers and big bulky shoulders.

"You were so nice to Ragnhild yesterday, and you took her home," Sejer said, "so she didn't have to walk alone. That was a kind thing to do."

"She's not so big, you know!" he said, trying to sound grown-up.

"No, she isn't. So it was good she had you with her. And you helped her with her doll's pram. But when she came home, she had a story to tell, and we thought we'd ask you about it, Raymond. I'm talking about what the two of you saw at Serpent Tarn."

Raymond stared at him anxiously and stuck out his lower lip.

"You saw a girl, didn't you?"

"I didn't do it!" he blurted out.

"We don't think you did. That's not why we're here. Let me ask you about something else instead. I see you have a watch."

"Yes, I have a watch." He showed it to them. "It's Papa's old one."

"Do you look at it often?"

"Oh no, almost never."

"Why not?"

"When I'm at work the boss keeps track of the time. And here at home Papa keeps track."

"Why aren't you at work today?"

"I have a week off and then I work a week."

"I see. Can you tell me what time it is now?"

Raymond looked at his watch. "It's just after 11.10 a.m."

"That's right. But you don't look at your watch very often, you said?"

"Only when I have to."

Sejer nodded and glanced over at Skarre, who was assiduously taking notes.

"Did you look at it when you took Ragnhild home? Or, for instance, when you were standing by Serpent Tarn?"

"No."

"Can you guess what time it might have been?"

"Now you're asking me hard questions," he said, already tired from thinking so much.

"It's not easy to remember everything, you're right about that. I'm almost finished. Did you see anything else up by the lake – I mean, did you see any people up there? Besides the girl?"

"No. Is she sick?" he said suspiciously.

"She's dead, Raymond."

"Too soon, I think."

"That's what we think. Did you see a car or anything driving by the house here in the daytime? Going up or down? Or people walking past? While Ragnhild was here, for example?"

"A lot of tourists come this way. But not yesterday. Only the ones who live here. The road ends at Kollen."

"So you saw no one?"

He thought for a long time. "Well, yes, one car. Just as we were leaving. It zoomed past, like a regular racing car."

"As you were leaving?"

"Yes."

"Going up or down?"

"Down."

Zoomed past here, Sejer thought. But what does that mean to someone who never drives above second gear?

"Did you recognise the car? Was it someone who lives up here?"

"No, they don't drive that fast."

Sejer did some mental calculations.

"Ragnhild was home a little before two, so it might have been around 1.30 p.m., right? It didn't take you very long to go up to the lake, did it?"

"No."

"The car was going fast, you said?"

"It kicked up a cloud of dust. But it's been quite dry lately."

"What kind of car was it?"

Then he held his breath. A car sighting would be something to go on. A car in the vicinity of the crime scene, driving at high speed at a specific time.

"Just an ordinary car," Raymond said, pleased.

"An ordinary car?" Sejer said. "What do you mean, exactly?"

"Not a truck, or a van or anything. A normal car."

"I see. A normal passenger car. Are you good at recognising makes?"

"Not really."

"What kind of car does your father have?"

"A Hiace," he said proudly.

"Do you see the police car outside? Can you see what kind it is?"

"That one? You just told me. It's a police car."

Raymond squirmed in his chair and suddenly looked uncomfortable.

"What about the colour, Raymond? Did you notice the colour?"

He tried hard to remember but gave up, shaking his head.

"It was so dusty. Impossible to see the colour," he muttered.

"But could you tell us whether it was dark or light?"

Sejer refused to give in. Skarre kept on writing. He was impressed by the mild tone of voice his boss was using. Normally he was more brusque.

"In between. Maybe brown or grey or green. A dirty colour. It was so dusty. You could ask Ragnhild, she saw it too."

"We've already asked her. She also says the car was grey, or maybe green. But she couldn't tell us whether it was old or new."

"Not old and junky," he said firmly. "In between."

"Fine. I understand."

"There was something on the roof," he said suddenly.

"Is that right? What was it?"

"A long box. Flat and black."

"A ski-box maybe?" Skarre suggested.

Raymond hesitated. "Yes, maybe a ski-box."

Skarre smiled and made a note of it, delighted at Raymond's eagerness.