Don't Look Back

'When do we bring him in?'

'Tonight.'

'Why wait?'

'It's quieter at night. You know, I talked to Ragnhild's mother while the girl was scribbling her crystal-clear evidence on the paper. Solvi isn't Holland's daughter. And the biological father lost his visitation rights, apparently because of drunkenness and violence.'

'Solvi is 21, isn't she?'

'She is now. But evidently there have been years of painful conflicts.'

'What are you getting at?'

'In a sense he lost his child. Now his ex-wife, with whom he has a strained relationship, is going through the same thing. Maybe he wanted revenge. It's just a thought.'

Skarre gave a low whistle. 'Who is he?'

'That's what you're going to find out as soon as you're done with your ice cream. Then come over to my office. We'll leave the moment you locate him.'

He left. Skarre punched in the Hollands' phone number and licked his ice cream as he waited.

'I don't want to talk about Axel,' Mrs Holland said. 'He just about destroyed us, and after all these years we're finally rid of him. If I hadn't taken him to court, he would have destroyed Solvi.'

'I'm only asking you for his name and address. This is just routine, Mrs Holland, there are thousands of things we have to check up on.'

'He's never had anything to do with Annie. Thank God!'

'Please give me his name, Mrs Holland.'

Finally she gave in. 'Axel Bjork.'

'Do you have any other information?'

'I have it all. I have his social security number and his address. Provided he hasn't moved. I wish he would move. He lives too close, only an hour away by car.'

She was getting more and more agitated.

Skarre took notes, and thanked her. Then he switched on his computer and did a search for 'Bjork, Axel', thinking how paper-thin personal privacy had become, nothing but a transparent cloth that it was impossible to hide behind. He found the man with no trouble and began reading.

'God damn it all!' he exclaimed with a swift, apologetic glance up at the ceiling. He clicked on 'Please Print' and leaned back in his chair. He picked up the page, read it again, and crossed the corridor to Sejer's office. The chief inspector was standing in front of the mirror with one of his shirt sleeves rolled up. He scratched his elbow and grimaced.

'I've run out of ointment,' he said.

'I've got him. He's got a record, of course.'

Skarre sat down and put the sheet of paper on the blotting pad.

'Well, let's have look. Bjork, Axel, born 1948-'

'Police officer,' said Skarre quietly.

Sejer didn't react. He read slowly through the report.

'Former officer. All right, but perhaps you'd rather stay here?'

'Of course not. But it is a little sensitive.'

'We're no better than anyone else, now are we, Skarre? We'll have to hear the man's side of the story. You can count on it being different from Mrs Holland's version. So, we're going to have to take a trip to Oslo. He obviously does shift work, so there's a chance that we'll find him at home.'

'Number 4 Sognsveien, that's in the Adamstuen district. The big red apartment building near the trolley stop.'

'Do you know Oslo well?' Sejer asked, surprised.

'I drove a taxi there for two years.'

'Is there anything you haven't done?'

'I've never done any skydiving.'

CHAPTER 6

Skarre demonstrated his knowledge from his cab-driving days by directing Sejer to the shortest route, along Skoyen, left on Halvdan Svartes Gaten, past Vigeland Park, up Kirkeveien, and down Ullevalsveien. They parked illegally outside a beauty salon and found the name Bjork on the third floor of a block of flats. They rang the bell and waited. No answer. A woman came out of a door further down the hall, clattering a rubbish bin and a long-handled broom.

'He went to the shop,' she said. 'Or at least he left with some empty bottles in a shopping bag. He shops at Rundingen, right next door.'

They thanked her and went back outside. Got into their car and settled down to wait. Rundingen was a little grocery shop with pink-and-yellow sale signs in the windows, making it hard to see inside. People came and went, mostly women. Not until Skarre had smoked a cigarette with the window open and his arm hanging out did a man come out alone, wearing a thick checked lumberjack shirt and trainers. Through the open window they could hear a clinking sound from his bag. He was very tall and muscular, but he lost a good deal of his height by walking with his head bent, his fierce gaze fixed on the pavement. He didn't notice their car.

'Definitely looks like he could be a former colleague. Wait until he goes around the corner, then get out and see if he goes into the building.'

Skarre waited, opened the door, and dashed around the corner. Then they waited two or three minutes before going back upstairs.

Bjork's face in the half-open doorway was a study of muscles, nerves and ticks that made his dark face shift from one expression to another in seconds. First the open, neutral face that wasn't expecting anyone, sparked with curiosity. Then sizing up Skarre's uniform, a swift sweep through his memory to explain this uniformed person at his own door. The recollection of the newspaper story about the body at the tarn – and then the connection and what they must be thinking. The last expression, which stuck, was a bitter smile.

'Well,' he said, opening the door wide. 'If you hadn't turned up, I wouldn't have a particularly high opinion of modern detective work. Come on in. Is this the master and his apprentice?'

They ignored his remark and followed him down the short corridor. The smell of alcohol was unmistakable.

Bjork's apartment was a tidy little place with a spacious living room and sleeping alcove and a small kitchen facing the street. The furniture didn't match, as if it had been collected from several different places. On the wall above an old desk hung a picture of a little girl, about eight years old. Her hair was darker, but her features hadn't changed much over the years. It was Solvi. Attached to one corner of the frame was a red bow.

They caught sight of a German shepherd, lying perfectly still in a corner, staring at them with watchful eyes. It hadn't moved or barked when they came into the room.

'What have you done with that dog?' Sejer said. 'Something I obviously haven't managed to do with mine. He charges at people as soon as they set a foot in the door and carries on so they can hear him all the way down on the ground floor. And I live on the 13th.'

'If that's the case, you're too attached to him,' he said curtly. 'You shouldn't treat a dog as if it's the only thing you have in the world. But maybe it is?'

He studied Sejer with narrowed eyes, aware that the rest of the conversation wasn't going to proceed in as friendly a tone. His hair was cut short, but unwashed and greasy, and he hadn't shaved in a while. A dark shadow covered the lower part of his face.

'So,' he said after a moment, 'you want to know whether I knew Annie, right?' He wriggled the words out of his mouth like a fishbone.

'She's been here several times, with Solvi. No reason to hide that. Then Ada found out and put a halt to any kind of visiting. Solvi actually liked coming here. I don't know what Ada has done to her, but it looks a lot like