But of course if she was taken to the lake by car, they must have come that way.'
'I feel sorry for her boyfriend.'
'I guess we'll find out what kind of guy he is.'
'If a man takes a girl's life,' Skarre said, 'by holding her head underwater until she's dead, but then he pulls her out and proceeds to lay out her body, this suggests something along these lines: 'I didn't really mean to kill you, it was something I was forced to do.' It makes me think it was a way of asking for forgiveness, don't you agree?'
Sejer downed the water and crushed the paper cup flat. 'I'll talk to Holthemann in the morning. I want you on this case.'
'He's assigned me to the Savings Bank case,' he stammered, surprised. 'Along with Goran.'
'But you're interested?'
'Interested in a murder case? It's like a Christmas present. I mean, it's a big challenge. Of course I'm interested.'
He blushed and took the phone that was ringing furiously, listened, nodded, and put down the receiver.
'That was Siven. They've identified her. Annie Sofie Holland, born March 3, 1980. But she says they can't be interviewed until tomorrow.'
'Is Ringstad on duty?'
'Just came in.'
'Then you should be getting home. It's going to be a rough day tomorrow. I'll take the photos home,' he added.
'Are you going to study her in bed?'
'I was thinking of it.' He smiled sadly. 'I prefer pictures I can put away in a drawer afterwards.'
Like Granittveien, Krystallen was a cul-de-sac. It ended in a dense, overgrown thicket where a few citizens had furtively dumped their rubbish under cover of night. The houses stood close together, 21 in total. From a distance, they looked like terrace-houses, but as Sejer and Skarre walked down the street, they discovered narrow passageways between each building, just space enough for a man to pass through. The houses were three storeys high, tall with pitched roofs, and identical. This reminds me of the wharf area in Bergen, Sejer thought. The colours complemented each other: deep red, dark green, brown, grey. One stood out; it was the colour of an orange.
No doubt many of the residents had seen the police car near the garage, and Skarre who was in uniform. Before long the bomb was going to explode. The silence was palpable.
Ada and Eddie Holland lived in number 20. Sejer could almost feel the neighbours' eyes on the back of his neck as he stood at the front door. Something has happened at number 20, they were thinking now; at the Hollands' house, with the two girls. He tried to calm his breathing, which was faster than normal because of the threshold he was about to cross. This sort of thing was such an ordeal for him that many years ago he had fashioned a series of set phrases which now, after much practice, he could utter with confidence.
Annie's parents obviously hadn't done a thing since coming home the night before – not even slept. The shock at the morgue had been like a shrill cymbal that was still reverberating in their heads. The mother was sitting in a corner of the sofa, the father was perched on the armrest. He looked numb. The woman hadn't yet taken in the catastrophe; she gave Sejer an uncomprehending look, as if she couldn't understand what two police officers were doing in her living room. This was a nightmare, and soon she would wake up. Sejer had to take her hand from her lap.
'I can't bring Annie back,' he said in a low voice. 'But I hope that I can find out why she died.'
'We're not thinking about why!' shrieked the mother. 'We're thinking about who did it! You have to find out who it was, and lock him up! He's sick.'
Her husband patted her arm awkwardly.
'We don't yet know,' Sejer said, 'whether the person in question is really sick or not. Not every killer is sick.'
'You can't tell me that normal people kill young girls!'
She was breathing hard, gasping for air. Her husband had wrapped himself up in a stony knot.
'Nevertheless,' Sejer said, 'there's always a reason, even if it's not necessarily one we can understand. But first we have to ascertain that someone really did take her life.'
'If you think she took her own life, you'd better think again,' the mother said. 'That's impossible. Not Annie.'
They all say that, Sejer thought.
'I need to ask you about a few things. Answer as best you can. Then, if you want to put your answer another way or think you forgot something, give me a ring. Or if you think of something else. Anytime, day or night.'
Ada Holland shifted her eyes past Skarre and Sejer, as if she were listening to the reverberating cymbal, and she wondered where the sound was coming from.
'I need to know what kind of girl she was. Tell me whatever you can.' And, at the same time, he thought, what kind of question is that? What are they supposed to say to that? The very best, of course, the sweetest, the nicest. Someone totally special. The very dearest thing they had.
They both began to sob. The mother from deep in her throat, a painfully plaintive wail; the father soundlessly, without tears. Sejer could see the resemblance to his daughter. A wide face with a high forehead. He wasn't particularly tall, but strong and sturdy. Skarre clutched his pen in his hand, his eyes fixed rigidly on his notebook.
'Let's start again,' Sejer said. 'I'm sorry I have to distress you, but time is of the essence for us. What time exactly did she leave home?'
The mother answered, staring at her lap, 'At 12.30 p.m.'
'Where was she going?'
'To Anette's house. A schoolfriend. Three of them were doing a project. They'd been given time off from school to work on it together.'
'And she never got there?'
'We rang them at 11 p.m. last night, since it was getting awfully late. Anette was in bed. Only the other girl had turned up. I couldn't believe it…'
She hid her face in her hands. The whole day had passed and they hadn't known.
'Why didn't the girls ring you to talk to Annie?'
'They assumed she didn't feel like coming over,' she said, stifling her sobs. 'Thought she'd just changed her mind. They don't know Annie very well if that's what they thought. She never neglected her homework. Never neglected anything.'
'Was she going to walk over there?'
'Yes. It's four kilometres and she usually rides her bike, but it needs repairing. There isn't a bus connection.'
'Where does Anette live?'
'Near Horgen. They have a farm and a general store.'
Sejer nodded, hearing Skarre's pen scratching across the page.
'She had a boyfriend?'
'Halvor Muntz.'
'Had it been going on for long?'
'About two years. He's older. It's been on again, off again, but it's been going fine lately, as far as I know.'
Ada Holland didn't seem to know what to do with her hands; they fumbled over each other, opening and clenching. She was almost as tall as her husband, rather stout and angular, with a ruddy complexion.
'Do you know whether it was a sexual relationship?' he asked lightly.
The mother stared at him, outraged. 'She's 15 years old!'
'You have to remember that I didn't know her,' he said.
'There was nothing like that,' she said.
'I don't think that's something we would know,' the husband ventured at last. 'Halvor is 18. Not a child any more.'
'Of course I would know,' she interrupted him.
