one comes forward, I'm going to have to put pressure on those kids about that car.'
'How are you going to do that?'
'Don't know yet. Maybe they can draw. Kids are always drawing things.'
Afterwards they ate in the cafeteria at the courthouse.
'This omelette is dry,' Skarre said. 'It was in the frying pan too long.'
'That right?'
'The point is for the egg to solidify after it's on your plate. You have to take it out of the pan while it's still soft.'
Sejer wasn't going to dispute this; he couldn't cook at all.
'And besides, they put milk in it. Which ruins the colour.'
'Did you go to cooking school?'
'Just one course.'
'Jesus, the things we don't know.'
He mopped up the last scraps on his plate with a piece of bread, then carefully wiped his mouth with his napkin.
'We'll start with Krystallen. We'll take one side each, ten houses apiece. But we'll wait until after five, when people are home from work.'
'What should I be looking for?' Skarre said, checking his watch. Smoking was permitted after 2 p.m.
'Irregularities. Anything at all out of the ordinary. Ask about Annie in the past too, about whether they think she had changed. Turn on the charm, whatever you've got of it, and make them open up. In short: Get them to talk.'
'We'd better talk to Eddie Holland by himself.'
'I thought of that. I'll ask him to come out here after a few days. But you should remember that the mother is in shock. She'll calm down after a while.'
'They made very different observations about Annie, don't you think?'
'That's how it goes. You don't have kids, Skarre?'
'No.'
He lit a cigarette and blew the smoke away from his boss.
'Her sister must be home by now, from Trondheim. We need to talk to her too.'
When they had finished, they went over to the forensics institute, but no one could tell them anything significant about the blue anorak that had covered the body.
'Imported, from China. Sold by all the discount chains. The importer said they'd brought in two thousand jackets. A packet of butterscotch in the right pocket, a reflector and a few light-coloured hairs, possibly dog hairs. And don't ask me what breed. Otherwise nothing.'
'The size?'
'Extra large. But the sleeves must have been too long, the cuffs were folded back.'
'In the old days people had name tags sewn into their jackets,' Skarre said.
'Oh sure, that must have been back in the Middle Ages.'
'What about the pill?'
'Not very exciting, I'm afraid. It's nothing more than a menthol lozenge, the kind that are popular right now. Very tiny and incredibly strong.'
Sejer was disappointed. A menthol lozenge told them nothing. Everyone had that sort of thing in their pockets; even he always carried a packet of Fisherman's Friends.
They drove back. There was more traffic on Krystallen now. It was teeming with children, on various vehicles: tricycles, tractors, some with doll's prams, and one homemade go-cart with a mangy flag flapping in the wind. When the police car pulled up next to the letterboxes, the colourful tableau froze like ice. Skarre couldn't resist checking the brakes on one of the toy vehicles, and he was positive that the owner of a blue and pink Massey Ferguson wet his pants from sheer fright when he told him that the rear light was out.
Almost everyone realised that something had happened, but they didn't know what. No one had dared to call the Hollands to enquire.
They presented their questions at every house, one on each side of the street. Time after time they had to watch disbelief and shock flood the frightened faces. Many of the women started to cry, the men turned pale and fell silent. They would wait a proper amount of time and then ask their questions. Everyone knew Annie well. Some of the women had seen her leave. The Hollands lived at the end of the cul-de-sac; she had to pass all the houses on her way out. For years she had baby-sat their children, up until last year, when she started getting too old for it. Almost everyone mentioned her handball career and their surprise when she had left the team. Annie had been such a good player that her name was often in the local paper. One elderly couple remembered that she had been livelier and much more outgoing in the past, but they ascribed the change to her getting older. She had changed tremendously, they said. She'd been quite short and thin; then all of a sudden she'd shot up so tall.
Skarre didn't take the houses in order; he went first to the orange one. It belonged to a bachelor named Fritzner, who was in his late 40s. In the middle of the living room was a little boat with full sails. In the bottom of the boat lay a mattress and lots of cushions, and a bottle holder was fastened to the gunwale. Skarre stared at it, intrigued. The boat was bright red, its sails were white. An image of his own apartment and its lack of any unorthodox furnishings flitted through his mind.
Fritzner didn't know Annie well, but occasionally he had offered her a lift into town. If the weather was bad she accepted, but if it was fine, she would wave him on. He liked Annie. A damn good handball goalie, he said.
Sejer moved on down the street, coming to a Turkish family at number 6. The Irmak family were just about to eat when he rang the bell. They were sitting at the table, and steam was rising from a large pot in the middle of it. The man of the house, a stately figure wearing an embroidered shirt, stretched out a brown hand. Sejer told them that Annie Holland was dead, and that it seemed that someone had murdered her.
'No!' they said, horrified. 'It can't be true. Not that pretty girl in number 20, not Eddie's daughter!' The Hollands were the only family that had welcomed them warmly when they moved in. They had lived other places, and they hadn't been equally welcome everywhere. It couldn't be true! The man grabbed Sejer's arm and pulled him towards the sofa.
Sejer sat down. Irmak did not have the meek, submissive air that he had so often seen in immigrants; instead, he was bursting with dignity and self-confidence. It was refreshing.
His wife had seen Annie leave. She thought it must have been around 12.30 p.m. She was walking calmly past the houses with a backpack on. They hadn't known Annie when she was younger, they had lived there only four months.
'Nice girl,' she said, straightening the shawl draped over her head. 'Big! Lots of muscles.' She lowered her eyes.
'Did she ever baby-sit for your daughter?'
Sejer nodded towards the table where a young girl was waiting patiently. A silent, unusually pretty girl with thick lashes. Her gaze was as deep and penetrating as a mine-shaft.
'We were going to ask her,' the husband said swiftly, 'but the neighbours said she was too old for that now. So we didn't want to bother her. And my wife is at home all day, so we get by. I'm only gone in the morning. We have a Lada. The neighbours say it's not a proper car, but it's fine for us. Every day, without fail, it takes me to Poppels Gaten, where I have a spice shop. You could get rid of that rash you have on your forehead with spices. Not spices from the Rimi shop. Real spices, from Irmak's.'
'Really? Is that possible?'
'They cleanse the system. Drive the sweat out faster.'
Sejer nodded. 'So you've never had anything to do with Annie?'
'Not really. A few times, when she ran past, I stopped her and shook my finger. I told her: You're running away from your own soul. That made her laugh. I told her: I will teach you to meditate instead. Running along the streets is a clumsy way to find peace. That made her laugh even more, and then she'd set off round the corner.'
'Has she ever been to your house?'
'Yes. She came from Eddie on the day we moved in, with a flower in a pot. As a welcome from them. Nihmet cried,' he said, and glanced at his wife. That's what she was doing now too. She pulled her shawl over her face and turned her back to them.
