Karin Fossum - Don't Look Back

The rest of the video flickered past. Annie and her mother playing badminton, out of breath in a wind that was much too strong, great for windsurfing but merciless to a shuttlecock. The family gathered around the table indoors, playing Trivial Pursuit. A close-up of the board clearly showed who was winning, but it wasn't Annie. She didn't say much; Sølvi and her mother talked all the time, Sølvi in a sweet, fragile voice, her mother's voice deeper and hoarser. Skarre blew his cigarette smoke down towards his knees and felt older than he had done for a long time. The tape flickered a little and then a ruddy face appeared with a gaping mouth. An impressive tenor voice filled the room.

"No man shall sleep," Sejer said in English and stood up with some effort.

"What did you say?"

"Luciano Pavarotti. He's singing Puccini. Put the tape in the file," he added.

"She was good at windsurfing," Skarre said with awe.

The phone rang before Sejer could reply. Skarre picked it up, grabbing a notepad and pencil at the same time. It was an automatic response. He believed in three things in this world: thoroughness, zeal and good humour. Sejer read along as he wrote: Henning Johnas, 4 Krystallen. 12.45 p.m. Horgen's Shop. Motorcycle.

"Can you come down to the station?" Skarre said. "No? Then we'll come to you. This is very important information. Thanks for calling. That's fine."

He hung up.

"One of the neighbours. Henning Johnas. He lives at number 4. Just got home and heard about Annie. He picked her up at the roundabout yesterday and let her out near Horgen's Shop. He says there was a motorcycle there. It was waiting for her."

Sejer perched on the edge of the table. "That motorcycle again, the one Horgen saw. And Halvor has a motorcycle," he said. "Why couldn't the man come here?"

"His dog is about to have puppies."

Skarre put the piece of paper in his pocket. "It might be hard for Halvor to verify how long he was out on his motorcycle. I hope he isn't the one who did it. I liked him."

"A killer is a killer," Sejer said. "And sometimes they're quite nice."

"Yes," Skarre said, "but it's easier to lock someone up if we can't stand his ugly face."

Johnas stuck his hand under the dog's stomach and pressed gently. She was breathing hard and her tongue was hanging out of her mouth, a moist pink tongue. She lay very still and let him touch her. It wouldn't be long now. He stared out the window, hoping it would soon be over.

"Good girl, Hera," he said, petting her.

The dog stared past him, unmoved by his praise, so he sank down on to the floor a short distance away. Sat there and watched her. The silent, patient animal had his full attention. There was never any trouble with Hera, she was always obedient and kind as an angel. Never left his side when they went out for a walk, ate the food he gave her, and padded quietly over to her corner when he went upstairs to bed at night. He would have liked to sit there like that, very close, until it was all over, just listening to her breathe. Perhaps nothing would happen until early morning. He wasn't tired. Then the doorbell rang, one brief, shrill ring. He got up and opened the door.

Sejer gave him a firm, dry handshake. The man radiated authority. The younger officer was different, a thin, boyish hand with slender fingers. Johnas invited them in.

"How's it going with your dog?" Sejer asked. A nice-looking Dobermann lay motionless on a black and crimson Oriental rug. Surely nobody would let a pregnant dog lie on a genuine Oriental rug, he thought. The dog was breathing hard, but otherwise she lay without moving, not even aware of the two strangers who had come into the room.

"It's her first time. Three pups, I think. I tried to count them. But it'll go fine. There's never any trouble with Hera."

He looked at them and shook his head. "I'm so upset about what happened that I can't concentrate on anything."

Johnas glanced at the dog as he talked, running a powerful hand over the top of his head, which was bald. A fringe of brown curls ringed his skull, and he had unusually dark eyes. A man of average build, but with a powerful torso and a few extra kilos around his waist, possibly in his late thirties. As a younger man he might have looked like a darker version of Skarre. He had handsome features and good colouring, as if he had been in the south lately.

"You don't want to buy a pup, do you?"

He gave them a look of appeal.

"I've got a Leonberger," Sejer said. "And I don't think he'd forgive me if I came home with a puppy in tow. He's very spoiled."

Johnas directed them to the sofa, and pulled the coffee table out so the two men could slip past. "I met Fritzner by the garage this evening, as I was coming back from a trade fair in Oslo. He told me about it. I don't think it's really sunk in yet. I shouldn't have let her out of the car, I shouldn't have done that."

He rubbed his eyes and glanced at the dog again.

"Annie came here often. She baby-sat for us. I know Sølvi too. If it had been her," he said in a low voice, "I could better understand it. Sølvi is more the type that would take off with someone if she got an invitation, even if she didn't know him. Doesn't think about anything but boys. But Annie…"

He looked at them. "Annie wasn't all that interested. And she was very cautious. And besides, I believe she had a boyfriend."

"That's right, she did. Do you know him?"

"No, no, not at all. But I've seen them in the street, from a distance. They seemed shy, weren't even holding hands."

He smiled rather sadly at the thought.

"Where were you headed when you picked up Annie?"

"I was going to work. For a while it looked as if Hera was going to have the puppies, but then there was another delay."

"When does your shop open?"

"At 11a.m."

"That's rather late, isn't it?"

"Yes, well, people need milk and bread in the morning, but Persian carpets come later, after their more basic needs have been satisfied." He gave an ironic smile. "I have a carpet shop," he explained. "Downtown, on Cappelens Gaten."

Sejer nodded. "Annie was going over to Anette Horgen's to work on a school assignment. Did she mention that to you?"

"A school assignment?" he said. "No, she didn't mention it."

"But she had a book bag with her?"

"Yes, she did. But that might have been a cover for something else, how would I know? She was going to Horgen's Shop, that's all I can tell you."

"What did you see?"

"Annie came running down the steep slope at the roundabout, so I pulled over into the bus stop and asked her if she wanted a lift. She was going to Horgen's after all, and that's quite a distance. Not that she was lazy or anything; Annie was very active. She was always out running. I'm sure she was very fit. But she got in anyway and asked me to put her down at the shop. I thought she was going there to buy something, or maybe to meet someone. I let her out and drove off. But I saw the motorcycle. It was parked next to the shop, and the last I saw of her, Annie was heading right towards it. I mean, I don't know for sure that he was waiting for her, and I didn't see who he was. I just saw that she made a beeline for the bike, and she didn't turn around."

"What kind of bike was it?" Sejer asked.

Johnas threw out his hands. "I realise you have to ask, but I don't know much about bikes. I'm in a whole different line of work, to put it mildly. For me it was just chrome and steel."

"What about the colour?"

"Aren't all bikes black?"

"Definitely not," he said.

"It wasn't bright red, at any rate, I would have remembered that."

"Was it a big, powerful bike, or a smaller one?" Skarre said.

"I think it was big."

"And the driver?"

"There wasn't a lot to see. He was wearing a helmet. There was something red on the helmet, that much I remember. And he didn't look like a grown man. He was probably a young guy."