'They were driving a small green car. One was tall and thin, with long legs. Wearing a yellow shirt. I couldn't see his hair because it was hidden under the cap. He was very good-looking. He had light eyes, blue or green. He was wearing trousers with wide legs. I remember noticing that when he ran to the car, his trousers were flapping around his legs. And he had black shoes.'
Sejer sat there agog. She had given the description with great confidence. That was how he looked.
'And the other one?' he asked. At the same time a clock began ticking in his mind.
'The other was shorter and more compact. Blond hair, tight jeans, running shoes. He tried to stop the pram,' she added. 'But he didn't reach it in time.'
Something sounded so familiar. What was it about everything she had said? Something was niggling him. Something was ticking in the background, saying: here, here it is, for heaven's sake, can't you see it!
'Their age?' he whispered, as he struggled to decipher the peculiar signals buzzing in his mind. He thought: If I take too deep a breath, it will escape. So he sat there for a long time, hardly breathing.
'Maybe 18, maybe 20.'
He wrote down key words. And began to have the satisfaction when the dots and lines, which had been whirling unpleasantly before his eyes for so long, started to form a pattern. Clear, distinct, almost beautiful. A warm feeling inside. This was what he loved.
'Can't you tell me anything more about the car?'
He strained to keep a calm tone to his voice, but it wasn't easy.
'I don't know much about cars,' she murmured.
'They all look alike to me.'
'But it was a small car?'
'Yes. A small, oldish car.'
He scribbled more notes. 'This neighbourhood isn't very big. We'll find them,' he added, 'I'm positive we will.'
'I'm sure that will make you happy,' she said, smiling.
For a few seconds she hadn't been thinking about the dead child, and the first pang of guilt appeared, at the discovery that her child could be forgotten even for a few moments. What a betrayal!
'They're performing the autopsy now,' she said bitterly. 'And when they've finished, I won't have anything to say about it. What if they're wrong?'
'You mean as far as the cause of death is concerned? They're specialists,' he said. 'You can depend on them.'
'People make mistakes all the time,' she said. 'I shouldn't have let go of the pram.'
'You were being assaulted,' he said forcefully.
'No,' she said. 'They stole my handbag, that's all. An old handbag, a thing of no importance. Four hundred kroner. And then I let go of the pram. Even though we were near the shore. I don't understand it.'
'Why didn't you report it straightaway?' He didn't like asking the question; it seemed to ask itself.
'It was such an insignificant business. I was worried about the boy, that's all. Because he kept crying. Besides,' she said, looking up at him, 'what would you have been able to do? File a report? Until such time as you could have dropped the case for lack of evidence?'
'Perhaps,' he admitted. 'But society is going to fall apart if we stop reporting crime. You shouldn't worry about how much work we have, you should always speak up if something happens. And the more reports we receive, the greater likelihood of increased resources. In fact, you have a responsibility to report an incident like that one.' She uttered a sound that might have been a laugh, he couldn't tell.
'I'm not laughing at you,' she said. 'I'm laughing at everything else. We can't do anything about the fact that we're here in this world. But why do we stay?'
She stood up. She didn't have a handbag. Her arms moved nervously, as if they were searching for the handle of a pram. At the door, she turned.
'Do you know what the worst thing is?' He shook his head.
'He doesn't have a name.'
She started down the corridor but turned round one last time. 'I was never able to make up my mind. This is my punishment.'
The lift doors closed behind her. He went into his office and slammed the door. Finally! Two men, one blond, one dark, in a green car. Zipp and Andreas.
Two officers left to pick up Sivert Skorpe. His mother stood in the doorway, regarding them with growing concern. 'He always comes home at night,' she insisted. They drove around town looking for him. Sejer wanted to be notified the second he was found. Then he went home, stopping at the Shell garage to put petrol in the car. Bought a CD at the till: Sarah Brightman. The traffic was at its peak, a steady roar that he hardly heard. As he drove, he went over his day's work. It had consisted of decisions he had made on the handling of various incidents, some major, some minor. Yet for others, the worst of all things had happened. They got at him, but at the same time he could deal with them, file them away. Was he made differently from other people? Plenty of people could not have handled the job he did. All he had to put up with, on the path to becoming chief inspector. Drunkenness and brawls, vomit all over his uniform. People with no willpower or strength or opportunities. And worse still, occasionally people with no scruples, no remorse and no fear. Even if he was confident that he had held on to most of his humanity, he was also capable of closing it off. To sit down and eat. Put it behind him, as Robert had said. Maybe sleep for half an hour on the sofa. He could usually sleep soundly through the night, though sometimes the itching on his elbows or his knees disturbed him. But his eczema had got better. When Sejer had reached home and Kollberg had finished greeting him, he caught sight of Sara. She wore only an undershirt and panties, and her hair was dishevelled, her cheeks red.
'What's up?' he asked.
'Yoga,' she said, smiling. 'I was doing some yoga exercises.'
'Without any clothes on?'
She laughed as she pointed out how hard it was to do a headstand with a skirt falling over your head. He could surely see that. 'You should learn some of the postures. I could help you.'
'I don't have any ambition to stand on my head,' he said.
'Are you afraid of acquiring a new perspective?' He shrugged. Wasn't it too late for that? He was too old.
'Did anything exciting happen?' she asked, as she pulled on a skirt and blouse. He didn't want to stare at her while she got dressed so he went into the kitchen and turned on the oven. She came padding after him, barefoot.
'No,' he said quietly. 'Not what you'd call exciting.'
Something about his voice made her uneasy.
'Robert,' he said. 'He's no longer alive.'
'Anita's boyfriend?'
'They found him in his cell.'
'How did he do it?' she asked. Professional interest. She had experienced similar things in her own work.
'He tore a shirt into strips and hanged himself. From the door handle of the wardrobe.'
He went into the living room. Pulled the CD out of his jacket pocket and put it in the player. Found the track he liked best: 'Who Wants To Live Forever?' He now had 537 CDs, all with female vocalists. He sat down heavily, thinking about what kind of determination it took to hang yourself from a kneeling position. All that willpower he could have used for a new life. Kollberg trotted over and lay at his feet. Sejer leaned down and took the dog's enormous head in his hands. He stared into the black eyes, touched his snout. It was as it was supposed to be, cool and moist. He lifted the silky soft ears and peered inside. His ears looked fine and didn't smell. He drew his fingers through the thick fur, which was longer and shinier than ever, reddish-yellow, with a few lighter patches; only his face was black, with hints of silver in places. His claws were long without being troublesome. In short, Kollberg was perfect. The only thing he lacked was the proper training.
'You may be huge,' Sejer told him, 'but you're not especially smart.' The dog wagged his tail expectantly, but seeing there were no dog biscuits, he let his head fall onto Sejer's feet with its full weight. Sara appeared in the doorway. She had a packet of spaghetti in her hand.
'So what do you do? In those situations?' He sighed. 'The usual things. The incident is investigated as what is
