much time thinking about his own affairs. However, deep inside this formal character was a huge appetite for people. Who they were, why they behaved as they did. Whenever he caught a guilty person and obtained a genuine confession he could close the case and file it. This time he was not so sure. Not only had the woman been killed, she had been beaten to a pulp. To kill was in itself extreme. To destroy a body afterwards was bestial. He held many and frequently contradicting views about the concept of crime; primarily he was concerned with all the things they had yet to discover.
There was a woman in his life. Sara Struel, a psychiatrist. She had her own key to his house and came and went as she pleased. There was always a slight excitement in his body when he climbed the thirteen floors to his flat and reached the top. He could see from the narrow, dark crack between the door and the doorstep whether she was there or not. He also had a dog, Kollberg. It was his one personal extravagance. Sometimes at night the heavy animal sneaked up on to his bed. Then he would pretend to be asleep and not notice. But Kollberg weighed 70 kilos and the mattress sagged mightily when he settled at the foot of the bed.
He came into the duty office and nodded briefly to Skarre and Soot, who were manning the hotline.
'Do we know who she is?'
'No.'
He looked at his watch. 'Who are the calls coming from?'
'Attention-seekers, mostly.'
'That's inevitable. Anything interesting at all?'
'Car observations. Two callers have reported seeing a red car drive towards Hvitemoen. One has seen a black taxi going at a hell of a speed towards town. There's hardly any traffic along that stretch, apart from between 4 p.m. and 6 p.m. Plus a number of complaints about journalists. Any other news?'
'The reports from the door-to-door interviews are being typed up now. All forensic samples have been sent off,' Sejer said. 'They promised to make it top priority. We've got forty people working on this case. He won't get away.'
He studied the list of incoming telephone numbers. The numbers were preceded by the same four digits, which identified them as mostly people from Elvestad or the vicinity who were calling. As he was standing there, the phone went again. Skarre pressed the speaker button. A voice could be heard in the room.
'Hello, I'm calling from Elvestad. My name is Kalle Moe. Is this the police?'
'It is.'
'It's about the business at Hvitemoen.'
'I'm listening.'
'It's actually about a friend of mine. Or rather, an acquaintance. He's a really decent bloke, so I'm a bit worried that I might be causing problems for him.'
'But you're calling all the same. Can you help us?'
Sejer took note of the man's voice: middle-aged and very nervous.
'Perhaps. You see, it so happens that this acquaintance of mine, he lives alone and has done for years. A little while back he went on holiday. To India.'
The mention of India made Sejer pay attention.
'Yes?'
'And then he came back.'
Skarre waited. A silence followed. Soot shook his head dismissively.
'Well, then, on the afternoon of August 20th, he called because he needed help.'
'He needed help?' Skarre said to nudge the long-winded story to a useful point.
'His sister had fetched up in hospital following a car crash. Seriously injured.'
Another silence. Skarre rolled his eyes. Sejer put a finger to his mouth.
'He had to go to the hospital immediately, of course, to be with her. It's a terrible business. But he called me because he was in fact supposed to have been at Gardermoen.'
'Gardermoen airport?' Skarre said.
'He was expecting a visitor from abroad. And – would you believe it? – he told me that during his fortnight in India he had managed to get himself married!'
Skarre smiled. The man's reaction to something so bizarre was expressed in an excited crescendo.
'So this woman I was asked to collect, she was, in other words, his wife. His Indian wife.'
Sejer and Skarre exchanged glances.
'Ah!' Skarre smiled, affected by the man's excitement.
'But as it turned out, I never found her.'
The caller struggled with his complicated story. The three men listened intently. They recognised that this was important, the very first step on the way to a result.
'She was supposed to land at six o'clock,' the narrative continued. 'But she never turned up.'
'Why hasn't he called himself?' Skarre said.
'That's what's worrying me. I did call him later to know if she had arrived. Perhaps taken another taxi. You see, I'm a taxi driver in Elvestad. In fact, the only one,' he said. 'Or she might have gone to a hotel, something like that. But his reply was so vague. I don't think he dares to think about it. He's not quite himself and it's all become too much for him, with his sister and everything. That's why I'm calling.'
'What is his name?' Skarre said, fumbling for a pen.
'Gunder Jomann. He lives a little out of the middle of Elvestad, Blindveien 2. It's a dead end. I don't know if he's at home now; he may be at the hospital. Anyway, as I said, I'm really worried. Perhaps she tried to find her own way when Jomann wasn't there to meet her as she had expected. And then something happened to her on the way.'
'I understand,' Skarre said. 'Do you have her name?'
'Yes,' he said. 'I put it somewhere on a piece of paper, but I'm wearing a different shirt today. I put it in my breast pocket.'
'Can you find it for me?' Skarre said.
'That shirt could be in the washing machine. Damnation!' he said. 'You're not going straight to his house now, are you?' he said. 'I could be quite wrong.'
'By no means,' Skarre said firmly. 'We're grateful for your help. We'll look into it.'
He hung up. They looked at one another.
'We're going straight there,' Sejer said.
The powerful headlights from a car swept across his yard. Gunder was startled. Could it be Karsten? He ran his hands over his balding head and hurried into the hall. Reluctantly he opened the door. When he saw the police car he took a step back. Sejer came up the steps with his hand held out.
'Jomann?'
'Yes.'
His handshake was firm.
'I'm Inspector Sejer, this is my colleague Skarre. Could we come inside for a moment?'
Gunder led the way and stopped in the living room. He looked at the two men. One was around two metres tall and close to him in age. The other was a good deal younger and had big blond curls.
'Perhaps you know why we're here?' Sejer said.
Gunder stuttered. 'I suppose it has something to do with the accident?'
'Your sister's, you mean?'
'Yes.'
'I'm sorry to hear about your sister,' Sejer said. 'How is she doing?'
'Her husband has come back from Hamburg. He's with her now. He has promised to call. She's still in a coma.'
Sejer nodded. 'This is about something else.'
Gunder's heart sank. 'Then please sit down,' he said softly. He gestured vaguely. He seemed tense. It looked as if he wanted to run from the house. Sejer and Skarre sat on the sofa and looked about the tidy, orderly room. Sejer watched Jomann fiddling with something on the wall, a little further away.
'I'm sorry,' Gunder said as he joined them. 'There was just something important I had to write down. There's a lot happening these days, a lot happening, normally I'm on top of things, but as you know, suddenly everything
