feathers, making him look like a pale Indian. He avoided looking at Ragnhild's mother, staring hard at Sejer instead, licking his lips constantly.
'What you have discovered is important,' Sejer said. 'Please write down her address. Do you remember the name?'
'Helga Moen, in number 1. A grey house with a kennel outside.' He almost spoke in a whisper as he printed the words in big letters on the pad that Sejer gave him.
'You boys have been over most of the area?' Sejer asked.
'We were up on Kollen first, then we went down to Serpent Tarn and went over the paths there. We went to the high tarn, Horgen's Store, and Prestegards Strand. And the church. Last, we looked at a couple of farms, at Bjerkerud and at the Equestrian Sports Centre. Ragnhild was, uh, I mean
The slip of the tongue made him blush. Sejer patted him lightly on the shoulder.
'Sit down, Thorbjorn.'
He nodded to the sofa where there was room next to Mrs Album. She had graduated to another phase, and was now contemplating the dizzying possibility that Ragnhild might never come home again, and that she might have to live the rest of her life without her little girl and her big blue eyes. This realisation came in small stabs of pain. Her whole body was rigid, as if she had a steel rod running up her spine. The woman officer, who had hardly said a word the whole time they had been there, stood up slowly. For the first time she ventured to make a suggestion.
'Mrs Album,' she asked quietly, 'why don't we make everyone some coffee?'
The woman nodded weakly, got up and followed the officer out to the kitchen. A tap was turned on and there was the sound of cups clattering. Sejer motioned Karlsen over towards the hallway. They stood there muttering to one another. Thorbjorn could just see Sejer's head and the tip of Karlsen's shoe, which was shiny and black. In the dim light, they could check their watches without being observed. They did so and then nodded in agreement. Ragnhild's disappearance had become a serious matter, and all the department's resources would have to be utilised. Sejer scratched his elbow through his shirt.
'I can't face the thought of finding her in a ditch.'
He opened the door to get some fresh air. And there she stood. In her red jogging suit, on the bottom step with a tiny white hand on the railing.
'Ragnhild?' he said in astonishment.
A happy half-hour later, as their car sped down Skiferbakken, Sejer ran his fingers through his hair with satisfaction. Karlsen thought his hair looked like a steel brush now that it was cut shorter than ever. The kind of brush used to clean off old paint. Sejer's lined face looked peaceful, not closed and serious as it usually did. Halfway down the hill they passed the grey house. They saw the kennel and a face at the window. If Helga Moen was hoping for a visit from the police, she would be disappointed. Ragnhild was sitting safely on her mother's lap with two thick slices of bread in her hand.
The moment when the little girl stepped into the living room was etched into the minds of both officers. The mother, hearing her thin little voice, rushed in from the kitchen and threw herself at Ragnhild, lightning fast, like a beast of prey grasping its victim and never ever wanting to let it go. Ragnhild's thin limbs and the white sprout of hair stuck out through her mother's powerful arms. And there they stood. Not a sound was heard, not a single cry from either of them. Thorbjorn was practically crushing the phone in his hand, the woman officer was making a clatter with the cups, and Karlsen kept twisting his moustache with a blissful grin on his face. The room brightened up as though the sun had suddenly shot a beam through the window. And then, finally, with a sobbing laugh:
'YOU TERRIBLE CHILD!'
'I've been thinking,' Sejer cleared his throat, 'about taking a week's holiday. I have some time off due to me.'
Karlsen crossed a speed bump.
'What will you do with it? Go skydiving in Florida?'
'I thought I'd air out my cabin.'
'Near Brevik, isn't that where it is?'
'Sand Island.'
They turned on to the main road and picked up speed.
'I have to go to Legoland this year,' Karlsen muttered. 'Can't avoid it any longer. My daughter is pestering me.'
'You make it sound like a punishment,' Sejer said. 'Legoland is beautiful. When you leave I guarantee you'll be weighed down with boxes of Lego and you'll be bitten by the bug. Do go, you won't regret it.'
'So, you've been there, have you?'
'I went there with Matteus. Do you know that they've built a statue of Sitting Bull out of nothing but pieces of Lego? One point four million pieces with special colouring. It's unbelievable.'
He fell silent as he caught sight of the church off to the left, a little white wooden church a bit off the road between green and yellow fields, surrounded by lush trees. A beautiful little church, he thought; he should have buried his wife in a spot like that, even though it would have been a long way to come. Of course, it was too late now. She had been dead more than eight years and her grave was in the cemetery in the middle of town, right by the busy high street surrounded by exhaust fumes and traffic noise.
'Do you think the girl was all right?'
'She seemed to be. I've asked the mother to ring us when things calm down a bit. She'll probably want to talk about it eventually. Six hours,' he said thoughtfully, 'that's quite a while. Must have been a charming lone wolf.'
'He evidently had a driver's licence, at least. So he isn't a total hermit.'
'We don't know that, do we? That he has a driver's licence?'
'No, damn it, you're right,' Karlsen said. He braked abruptly and turned into the petrol station in what they called 'downtown', with a post office, bank, hairdresser and the Fina station. A poster bearing the words 'Sale on Medicine' was displayed in the window of the low-price Kiwi grocery, and the hairdresser had a tempting advertisement for a new tanning bed.
'I need something to eat. Are you coming?'
They went in and Sejer bought a newspaper and some chocolate. He peered out the window and down to the fjord.
'Excuse me,' said the girl behind the counter, staring nervously at Karlsen's uniform. 'Nothing has happened to Ragnhild, has it?'
'Do you know her?' Sejer put some coins on the counter.
'No, I don't know her, but I know who they are. Her mother was here this morning looking for her.'
'Ragnhild is all right. She's back at home.'
She smiled with relief and gave him his change.
'Are you from around here?' Sejer asked. 'Do you know most people?'
'I certainly do. There aren't many of us.'
'If I ask you whether you know a man, maybe a little odd, who drives a van, an old, ugly van with its paint peeling off, does that ring a bell?'
'That sounds like Raymond,' she said, nodding. 'Raymond Lake.'
'What do you know about him?'
'He works at the Employment Centre. Lives in a cabin on the far side of Kollen with his father. Raymond has Down's syndrome. About 30, and very nice. His father used to run this station, by the way, before he retired.'
'Does Raymond have a driver's licence?'
'No, but he drives anyway. It's his father's van. He's an invalid, so he probably doesn't have much control over what Raymond does. The sheriff knows about it and pulls him over now and then, but it doesn't do much good. He never drives above second gear. Did he pick up Ragnhild?'
'Yes.'
'Then she couldn't have been safer,' she smiled. 'Raymond would stop to let a ladybird cross the road.'
They both grinned and went back outside. Karlsen bit into his chocolate and looked around.
'Nice town,' he said, chewing.
