looking at him through the spyhole in the door. He did his best to assume a trustworthy expression. A chain rattled. The lock clicked. A pale face came into view as the door opened a crack.
'Irma Funder?'
She didn't nod, only stared at him. He could see no more than her nose and eyes.
'What is it?' she said. Her voice was hoarse. He must have come at an inconvenient time.
'I was given your name by Runi Winther. Andreas' mother. You know that he's missing?' More rattling. Feet shuffling on the mat inside.
'She told me about it.'
The door opened a little wider. Skarre looked at the woman in disbelief. He studied the curly grey hair, the thin lips and the strong jaw. A bell started jangling in his head. It was her! The woman who turned up in his office. The woman who – he tried to compose himself – she was the one who left behind the baby bottle in the shop. It was a bizarre coincidence. For a moment he was thrown off balance. An eerie feeling started creeping down his spine and his brain whirled, trying to remember exactly what it was that she had said, when she stood in front of his desk. The very same thing the woman had said on the phone: 'He probably won't live much longer.' The hairs stood up on the back of his neck, as they had when she had been in his office.
'Could I come in?'
He was so agitated that his voice shook, and two bright red patches appeared on his face. She noticed, of course. She grew frightened and wanted to withdraw. The door closed again until only a narrow opening remained.
'I don't know anything!'
'Mrs Winther would like me to talk to you. She's very worried.'
'I know that. I'm sure he'll turn up.'
'Do you think so?'
Skarre stuck a shiny regulation shoe in the door and he smiled as warmly as he could.
'It's a routine matter. Your name is on my list,' he told her. 'And it's my job to come up with a few sentences to add to my report. That way we can cross you off the list and be done with it. And move on, to more important things.'
I'm talking too fast, he thought. Dear Jesus, help me so I don't scare this person off before I find out more!
'I know I'm not important,' she snapped. He looked at her. Beneath his curls, his mind was racing.
'This isn't a very good time.'
She was about to shut the door on him altogether.
'It will only take a minute.'
'But I don't know anything!'
'Now listen . . .' Skarre got a grip on himself. He had to get into this house and find out who the woman was, even though he couldn't see any connection between her and Andreas' disappearance. Except that she knew his mother. She was a woman who lived alone, cut off from the rest of society. Why would she know anything? But one sentence kept echoing through his memory: 'I know where he is'.
'If you won't speak to me, my boss will come here himself,' Skarre said. 'You know the type, a chief inspector of the old school.'
It was a threat. He could see that she was weighing it. Finally, she opened the door and he stepped into the hall. It was a tidy house. The kitchen was blue, with a striped rug lying at an angle on the floor.
'May I sit down?' He indicated a chair.
'I suppose so, if you can't stand for as long as a minute,' she said curtly. Skarre shook his head. What kind of person was this? Was she a bit crazed?
Mrs Winther hadn't suggested anything like that. Mrs Winther was perfectly normal herself. Why would this woman be her friend? May the Lord forgive my arrogance, he thought. And he sat down. Didn't take out a notebook or pen, just sat there, looking at her. She was busy with something on her kitchen counter. He looked about him, saw the baby bottle. It was standing next to the coffee maker. What was she using it for?
'Your name: Irma Funder. That's what it says on the postbox,' he began.
'That's my name,' she said, dismissively.
'It's not usual. Generally the man's name is on the postbox. Or the names of both husband and wife. Or simply a surname.'
'My husband is gone,' she said.
Skarre thought for a moment. 'He's gone? You said he was sick.'
She spun around. 'When?' she snapped.
'The last time we talked.'
'I don't know you!' Her face was contorted with anxiety.
'No,' he said. 'But we've met before. Quite recently. Have you forgotten already?'
He gave her a searching look. 'Tell me what you know about Andreas.'
She turned her back and shrugged. 'That's quickly done. I don't know anything. He was never at home whenever I used to visit Runi.'
'Used to? Don't you visit Mrs Winther still?'
'I'm not feeling very well,' she said.
'I understand,' he said, but he didn't understand a thing. Only that something was amiss.
'Tell me about your husband,' he went on. And then she did turn to face him. Her thin lips were colourless.
'He left me,' she said.
'How long ago was that?'
'Eleven years ago.'
'And now you think he's dead?'
'I never hear from him any more.'
'But you manage on your own?'
'As long as I'm left in peace,' she said. 'But all this coming and going makes me nervous.'
'All what coming and going? What do you mean by that?'
'Nothing. But there are so many strange people out at night. I don't usually open the door. I keep it locked. But since you're in uniform, I took a chance. It's not easy to see what people are made of.'
'What is Andreas made of?' he asked.
'Oh, Andreas,' she said. 'He's a funny one. Almost synthetic.'
'What?' Skarre was startled by her reply. 'Do you have any children of your own?'
'I had a son. Ingemar.'
'Had? Is he dead?'
'I don't know. I haven't heard from him in a long time. For all I know, he could be dead.' She turned away again. 'Time's up. You said one minute.'
'So you haven't seen Andreas?' asked Skarre.
'Many times,' she said. 'He doesn't interest me.' She's not all there, Skarre decided.
'Do you think he's got mixed up in something?' he asked.
'I think that's highly likely. I know that Runi wouldn't agree; she begged me to put in a good word for him. But I'm sure you want to hear the truth.'
'Of course.' He looked around the blue kitchen, at the two doors, leading to a bathroom and bedroom perhaps. The voice on the phone. The same voice. He was positive. Why did she come to the station? What was she trying to tell him?
'I would like to know the truth,' Skarre said.
'I'm sure he's capable of a little of everything. Him and that friend of his, the one he's always with.'
'Do you know him?'
'He calls himself Zipp.'
'We've talked to him, but he says he knows nothing.'
Irma Funder smiled at him. 'That's what they always say. Time's up.'
Reluctantly, Skarre stood up. There was something about this house. Something not right. During those few
