Karin Fossum - Don't Look Back

"I know them. I have a daughter and a grandchild," he said.

She swallowed and then went on. "Henning found him hanging in the harness, blue in the face. It took the ambulance more than 20 minutes to arrive, and by then there was no hope."

"They came from the central hospital?"

"Yes."

Sejer looked at the front room of the shop and saw a woman at the window. She was admiring a jumper that Mrs Johnas had on display.

"So it happened in the morning?"

"Early in the morning," she said.

"And you were asleep the whole time, is that right?"

Suddenly she looked him straight in the eye. "I thought you wanted to talk about Annie."

"You're welcome to tell me something about Annie," he said, and he felt a twinge in his chest.

But she didn't say anything. She sat up and crossed her arms.

"I take it you've talked to everybody who lives in Krystallen?"

"Yes, we have."

"So you already know all about this?"

"Yes, that's true. But what concerns me is Annie's reaction to the accident," he said. "The fact that she reacted so strongly."

"That's not so strange, is it?" she said, her voice a little sharp. "When a two-year-old dies like that. A boy she knew well. They were very attached to each other, and Annie was proud of the fact that she was really the only one who could handle him."

"I suppose it's not so strange. I'm just trying to find out who she was. What she was like."

"But I told you. I'm not trying to be uncooperative, but it's not easy to talk about this." She looked directly at him again. "But… you're looking for a sex criminal, aren't you?"

"I'm not sure."

"You're not? Well, that's what I assumed straight away, since it said that she was found naked. You know, after reading the papers, and they're always talking about sex." Now she was blushing as she fidgeted with her fingers. "What else could it be?"

"That's the question. As far as we know, she had no enemies. But if the motive wasn't sex, then the question is: what was it?"

"Those kinds of people probably aren't very logical. I mean, crazy people. They don't think like the rest of us."

"We have no idea how crazy he might be. How long were you married to your husband?"

She gave a start. "For 15 years. I was pregnant with Magne when we got married. Henning – he's a lot younger than I am," she said, as if to confirm something that she thought might have surprised him. "Eskil was actually the result of long discussions, but we were in total agreement, we really were."

"A kind of afterthought?"

"Yes." She stared at the ceiling, as if there were something of interest up there.

"So your older son is getting on for 17 now?"

She nodded.

"Does he have contact with his father?"

She gave him a look of dismay. "Of course he does! He often goes to Lundeby to visit old friends. But it's not always easy for us. After everything that has happened."

"Do you go out to Eskil's grave very often?"

"No," she said. "But Henning tends to it. It's difficult for me. As long as I know it's being looked after, I can bear it."

He thought about the neglected grave. Then the door opened and a young man came into the shop. Mrs Johnas glanced up.

"Magne! I'm in here!"

Sejer turned and studied her son. He bore a strong resemblance to his father, although he was much more heavily built. He paused in the doorway, apparently reluctant to talk. His expression was stony and remote; it suited his black hair and the bulging muscles of his upper arms.

"I must get going, Mrs Johnas," Sejer said, standing up. "You'll forgive me if I have to come back another time."

He nodded to mother and son, and was gone. Mrs Johnas stared after him for a long time and then gave her son an agonised look.

"He's investigating Annie's murder," she said. "But all he wanted to talk about was Eskil."

Outside the shop, Sejer paused for a moment. A motorcycle was parked next to the entrance; perhaps it belonged to Magne Johnas. A big Kawasaki. Leaning on the motorcycle, with her rear end against the seat, was a young woman. She didn't notice him because she was concentrating on her nails. Maybe she'd broken one of them and was now trying to save it by scraping at the break with another fingernail. She was wearing a short red leather jacket covered with studs, and she had a cloud of blonde hair that reminded him of angel-hair, the kind they used to put on the Christmas tree when he was a child. Then she looked up. He smiled and straightened his jacket.

"Hello, Sølvi," he said, and headed across the street.

He drove slowly, ordering his thoughts in neat rows. Eskil Johnas. A difficult child whom only Annie could handle. And who suddenly died, all alone, harnessed to his chair, with no one to help him. He thought of his own grandson and shivered as he took the Lundeby exit and headed for Halvor's house.

Halvor Muntz was standing in the kitchen, running cold water over some spaghetti. He kept forgetting to eat. Now he felt dizzy, and the sleeping pill he had taken in the night had left him feeling heavy and sluggish. He didn't hear the car pull up outside because the water was gushing out of the tap. But he heard his grandmother slam the door, mutter something to herself and shuffle across the floor in her Nike trainers with their black stripes. She looked comical. On the counter stood a bottle of ketchup and a bowl of grated cheese. He remembered that he had forgotten to add salt. His grandmother was groaning in the living room.

"Look what I found in the shed, Halvor!"

Something fell to the floor with a thud. He peeked into the room.

"An old school bag," she said. "With books inside. It's fun to look at old textbooks. I didn't know you were saving them."

Halvor took two steps forward and then stopped abruptly. From the buckle on the bag hung a bottle opener with an ad for Coke on it.

"That's Annie's," he whispered.

A pen had leaked blue ink through the leather and made little blotches along the bottom of the zippered compartment.

"Did she leave it here?"

"Yes," he said quickly. "I'll put it in my room for the time being and take it over to Eddie later."

His grandmother looked at him, and an anxious expression spread over her wrinkled face. Suddenly a familiar figure appeared in the dimly lit hallway. Halvor felt his heart sink; he stiffened and stood as if frozen to the spot, with the bag dangling from one strap.

"Halvor," Sejer said. "You'll have to come with me."

Halvor swayed and had to take a step sideways in order not to fall. The ceiling was moving down towards him, soon he would be crushed against the floor.

"You can take the bag to Annie's house on the way," his grandmother said nervously, twisting her wedding ring, which was much too big, around and around. Halvor didn't reply. The room was starting to swirl around him, and sweat poured out of him as he stood there shaking, with the bag in his hand. It wasn't very heavy because Annie had removed most of its contents. Inside was Sigrid Undset's novel The Wreath, the new biography of the author, and a notebook – along with her wallet, which contained a picture of him from the previous summer when he looked tanned and handsome, with his hair bleached by the sun. Not as he looked now, with sweat on his forehead and his face chalk-white with fear.

The mood was tense. Normally he had no trouble staying the course and taking whatever came his way. But now he felt caught off guard.

"You realise that this was necessary?" Sejer said.

"Yes."

Halvor raised one leg and studied his trainer, the frayed laces and the sole, which was beginning to separate along the edges.

"Annie's school bag was found in the shed at your house, which directly connects you with the murder. Do you understand what I'm saying?"