Calling Out For You aka The Indian Bride

bicycle, was that someone from the village? Furiously they scribbled. Sejer put a Fisherman's Friend in his mouth. His eyes watered.

'When will the post-mortem report be ready?'

'Not yet. When it is, it will be comprehensive.'

'Would it be possible to take pictures of her?'

'Absolutely not.'

Silence, as everyone's imagination worked overtime.

'Are we to understand, then, that you consider this a particularly brutal crime? In the context of the history of Norwegian crime in general?'

Sejer looked over the crowded room. 'I do not think it would be constructive to compare unrelated cases, in terms simply of brutality. Not least for the sake of the deceased. Nevertheless, I am willing to say that, yes, there is in this killing evidence of a degree of savagery which I have not had to witness at any time hitherto in my career as a policeman.'

He could already see the headlines. Simultaneously, he thought of all the things he could have achieved during the hour the press conference lasted.

'As to the killer,' someone piped up, 'are you working on the assumption that the man or men are local?'

'We're keeping an open mind.'

'How much do you know that you're not telling us?' a woman said.

Sejer could not help smiling. 'A few minor details.'

At this point he spotted Skarre at the back of the room. His hair was standing straight up. He was trying to keep calm while the last questions were being answered. Holthemann too, sitting beside him, had noticed Skarre. He leaned towards Sejer and whispered, 'Skarre's got something. He's gone bright red.'

Finally it was over. Sejer whisked Skarre with him down a corridor.

'Tell me,' he said, out of breath.

'I think I got something. From a minicab office. On August 20th at 6.40 p.m. one of their cabs drove from Gardermoen airport to Elvestad. The manager gave me the name of the driver. His wife answered and says he'll be home soon. She'll get him to call straightaway.'

'If that driver had half a brain he'd have got in touch with us long ago. What's his name?'

'Anders Kolding.'

'A taxi from Gardermoen to Elvestad? That would cost a fortune, wouldn't it?'

'Between 1,000 and 1,500 kroner,' Skarre said. 'But don't forget that Jomann had given her money: Norwegian as well as German.'

They waited, but no-one telephoned. Sejer gave him thirty minutes, before dialling the number. A man answered.

'Kolding.'

'This is the police. We gave your wife a number and we have been waiting for you to call.'

'I know, I know.'

A young voice. Turmoil in the background. The cries of a squalling child could be heard.

'We want you to come down to the station.'

'Now? Right now?'

'Right this minute, if possible. Tell me about this ride from Gardermoen.'

'I drove a foreign lady to Elvestad. Now, where was it? Blindveien. But there was no-one at home. So she got back into the cab and asked me to drop her in the middle of Elvestad. By the cafe.'

'Yes?'

'That's where she got out.'

'She got out by the cafe?'

'She went into the cafe, to be precise. It's called Einar's Cafe,' he said.

'Did you see her after that?'

'Hell, no. I drove back.'

'Did she have any luggage?'

'One heavy brown suitcase. She only just managed to drag it up the steps.'

Sejer pondered this. 'You didn't help her?'

The angry cries rose and fell in the background.

'What's that?'

'So you didn't help her with her suitcase up the steps?'

'No, I didn't. I was in a hurry to get back to town. That's a long way without a fare.'

'And that was the last time you saw her?'

'That was the last time.'

'I'll be expecting you, Kolding. There's a chair waiting here for you.'

'But I've got nothing more to tell you. The wife needs to go out and my kid's hysterical. It's a really bad time.'

'You've just become a father?'

'Three months ago. A boy.'

He didn't sound overjoyed at this development.

'Bring him with you,' Sejer said. 'Simple as that.'

'Bring the kid?'

'I expect you'll have a baby carrier.'

He hung up and turned to Skarre.

'I'll deal with Anders Kolding,' he said. 'You go to Einar's Cafe.'

*

Gunder dragged himself to the telephone. He dialled the office's number and Bjornsson answered.

'It turns out,' he stammered, 'that I need a few days at home. I'm not a hundred per cent. And my sister is still in a coma. I'll have to get a sick note.'

Bjornsson was surprised. 'Perhaps you caught something in India.'

'It was very hot there. Perhaps I did.'

Bjornsson told him to get well soon, spotting an opportunity to poach some of his customers.

Gunder called the hospital and the friendly nurse answered.

'There's no change, I'm afraid,' she said. 'Her husband's just left. He had things to do at home.'

'I'm coming over right away.'

'Only if you can manage it,' she said. 'We'll call if there's any change.'

'I know,' he said forlornly. 'But I'm coming anyway.'

He needed to be close to his sister, even though she could not now be a help to him. He had no-one else. Karsten and he had never been close. Marie would have told him about his marriage to Poona, but Gunder did not want to talk about his fears, it seemed inappropriate. What could he say? It was best to keep it under wraps until they knew for certain. After all, nothing was certain. Gunder was worried that Kalle Moe would phone back. Perhaps he felt badly for having telephoned the police? He forced himself to go into the bathroom. Did not have the strength to shower, just shaved and brushed his teeth. He had not eaten for ages, his head felt fuzzy. Then he reversed the car out of the garage, and drove into town.

Marie was as before. It was as if time had stopped. He clasped her hand on the sheet. He realised at once how good it felt to sit like this, completely still, holding his sister's hand. They had asked him to talk to her, but he had nothing to say. If Poona had been at home in their house, pottering about in the kitchen, or outside in the garden, he could have told Marie about that. Poona is tending to the roses. They're at their most beautiful now. Or, Poona is cooking chicken for me today. Spicy red chicken. But there was nothing to say. Gunder sat by the bed very still. At regular intervals a nurse came in and it was a new one this time, a small, chubby one with a plait.

'You mustn't give up hope,' she said. 'It can take time.'

The extra bed was still there. Possibly Karsten had slept there during the night. Gunder felt that everything was different now; he too would lie down and rest whenever he felt tired. A couple of hours later he went into the