Karin Fossum - Don't Look Back

She sighed heavily. "Let me tell you, I sat and cried in class, yes I did. Not because I didn't know my lessons, but because I was so hungry. Of course you're handsome, all of you young people today. I envy you! Do you hear what I'm saying, Halvor? I envy you!"

"Yes, Grandmother."

His hands shook as he pulled photos out of a yellow Kodak envelope. A slender young man with narrow shoulders, he didn't look much like the skater in the TV commercial. He had a small mouth, like a girl, and one corner was stretched taut – when he smiled, which happened rarely, it refused to turn upwards. Close up, it was possible to see the scar from the stitches; it extended from the right side of his mouth to his temple. His hair was brown, cut soft and short, and his sideburns were sparse. From a distance he was often taken for a 15-year-old, and for a long time he'd had to show his ID at the cinema. He never made a fuss about it though, he was no troublemaker.

Slowly he shuffled through the pictures, which he had looked at countless times before. But now they had acquired a new dimension. Now he was searching them for signs of what was to happen later on, things that he hadn't known when he'd taken them. Annie with a wooden mallet, pounding in a tent peg with great force. Annie on the end of the diving board, erect as a pillar in her black bathing suit. Annie asleep in the green sleeping bag. Annie on her bike, her face hidden by her blonde hair. A picture of him as he struggled with the Primus stove. One of both of them, taken by the people in the next tent. He had to nag her to get her to agree. She couldn't stand being photographed.

"Halvor!" cried his grandmother from the window. "There's a police car outside!"

"Yes," he said in a low voice.

"Why are they coming here?" She looked at him, suddenly anxious. "What do they want?"

"It's because of Annie."

"What's wrong with Annie?"

"She's dead."

"What did you say?"

Frightened, she stumbled back to her chair and leaned on the armrest.

"She's dead. They're coming here to interrogate me. I knew they would come. I've been waiting for them."

"Why are you saying that Annie's dead?"

"Because she is dead!" he shouted. "She died yesterday! Her father called me."

"Yes, but why?"

"How should I know! I don't know why, all I know is that she's dead!"

He hid his face in his hands. His grandmother collapsed like a sack of flour into her chair, looking even paler than usual. Things had been so peaceful for such a long time. But it couldn't last, of course it couldn't.

Someone knocked loudly on the door. Halvor gave a start, shoved the photos under the tablecloth, and went to open the door. There were two of them. They stood on the porch for a moment and looked at him. It wasn't hard to guess what they were thinking.

"Are you Halvor Muntz?"

"Yes."

"We've come to ask you some questions. Do you know why?"

"Her father called last night." Halvor nodded over and over. Sejer caught sight of the old woman in the chair and said hello to her.

"Is she a relative of yours?"

"Yes."

"Is there somewhere we can talk in private?"

"My room's the only place."

"Well, if it's all right with you…"

Halvor led the way out of the living room, through a cramped little kitchen, and into his bedroom. This must be an old house, Sejer thought, they don't make houses with this floor plan any more. The two men cleared a place to sit on a sagging sofa, Muntz sat down on his bed. An old-fashioned room with green-painted panelling and wide windowsills.

"Is she your grandmother? The woman in the living room?"

"Yes, my father's mother."

"And your parents?"

"They're divorced."

"Is that why you live here?"

"I was allowed to choose where I wanted to live."

The words sounded terse and clacking, like pebbles falling.

Sejer looked around, searching for pictures of Annie, and found a small one in a gold frame on the bedside table. Next to it stood an alarm clock and a statue of the Madonna and child, perhaps a souvenir from the Mediterranean. A single poster hung on the wall, presumably a rock singer, with the words "Meat Loaf printed across the picture. A stereo and CD player. A wardrobe, a pair of trainers, not as fancy as Annie's. A motorcycle helmet hung from the doorknob of the wardrobe. The bed had not been made. Beside the window stood a narrow desk with a good computer. Next to it was a box containing diskettes. Sejer could see the one on top: Chess for Beginners. From the window he looked out on the courtyard, and he could see their Volvo parked in front of the shed, an empty doghouse, and a motorcycle covered with plastic.

"You ride a motorcycle?" he began.

"When it's running. It doesn't always start. I have to get it fixed, but I don't have the money right now."

He fidgeted with the collar of his shirt.

"Do you have a job?"

"At the ice cream factory. Been there two years."

The ice cream factory, Sejer thought. For two years. So he must have left at the end of middle school and gone to work. Might not be such a bad idea after all; he was getting work experience. It was clear that he wasn't athletic – a little too thin, a little too pale. Annie was much fitter in comparison, training diligently and working hard at school, while this young man packed ice cream and lived with his grandmother. Sejer didn't think it added up. But this was an arrogant thought, and he pushed it aside.

"I'm going to have to ask you about various things. Is that all right with you?"

"Yes."

"Let's start with this: When did you last see Annie?"

"On Friday. We went to the movies, the 7 p.m. show."

"What did you see?"

"Philadelphia. Annie cried."

"Why?"

"It's a sad movie."

"I see, of course. And then?"

"We ate at the Kino Pub and took the bus back to her house. Sat in her room and listened to music. I took the bus home at 11 p.m. She walked me to the bus stop on Meieriet."

"And you didn't see her again?"

He shook his head. The tight pull of his mouth gave him a sullen look. Actually that's unfair, thought Sejer, because otherwise he had quite a nice face, with green eyes and regular features. The compressed lips made it look as if he wanted to hide bad teeth or something. Later Sejer would discover that they were more than perfect. Four up and two down were made of porcelain.

"And you didn't talk to her on the phone or anything?"

"Oh yes," he said at once. "She called me the next evening."

"What did she want?"

"Nothing."

"She was a very quiet girl, wasn't she?"

"Yes, but she liked to talk on the phone."

"So she didn't want anything, but she called you all the same. What did you talk about?"

"If you really must know, well… we talked about all sorts of things."

Sejer smiled. Halvor stared out of the window the whole time, as if he wanted to avoid eye contact. Perhaps he felt guilty, or maybe he was just shy. They felt a sad empathy for him. His girlfriend was dead, and probably he had no one to talk to except his grandmother who was waiting in the living room. And maybe, Sejer thought, he's our killer.

"And yesterday you were at your job, as usual? At the ice cream factory?"

He hesitated for a moment. "No, I was at home."

"You were home? Why?"

"I wasn't feeling too good."

"Do you often call in sick?"

"No, I don't often call in sick."

His voice was raised. For the first time they caught a glimpse of anger.

"Your grandmother can confirm all this, of course?"

"Yes."

"And you didn't go out at all during the day?"

"Just for a short while."

"Even though you were sick?"

"We have to eat! It's not easy for Grandmother to get to the shops. She can only manage to walk on her good days, and there aren't many of those. She has arthritis," he said.