'He's not our man,' Skarre said. 'We're not that lucky.'
'I understand what you're saying. Besides, there's Kolding. Although his astonishment was genuine when I confronted him with the statement from Torill at the petrol station. He insisted that he drove straight back to town. Didn't understand it. Said she had to be mistaken. But, if you look at what we've got on Goran, then think about it. He's lying about where he was that evening. He drives a car matching Linda's description.''
'We can't trust Linda.'
'But nevertheless. A car was mentioned. He drives one like it. He passed the scene at the crucial time. He was seen with scratches to his face.'
'From the dog.'
'So Goran says. He's wearing brand-new trainers. He was dressed in a white shirt and dark trousers, as Linda described the man in the meadow. But when he got home he was wearing something else. Why did he change? He works out a lot. He is strong. And for all we know he could be taking steroids. Which destabilises a man. Finally, according to his mother, when he got home he took a second shower. What did he need to wash off?'
Skarre went to the window. Stood there for a while, watching the river and the boats.
'If I'm wrong about Linda, I'll no doubt pay for it later,' he said glumly.
'How about talking to her mother?' Sejer said. 'If Linda really was attacked her mother will get to the truth of it somehow.'
Skarre nodded. 'She also has a friend. Karen. She'd probably tell her.'
'You deal with the ladies,' Sejer said. 'You're good at that.'
Skarre breathed through his nose. 'Kollberg,' he said. 'When is his ordeal?'
'Tomorrow evening,' Sejer said. 'Don't talk about it. I'll let you know in my own time.'
'Give him my best,' Skarre said.
Once upon a time Goran had been a child. A little, blond boy running around in the big yard. His mum would watch him from the window, Sejer thought, admiring the boy. She would tuck him in every night. The moments follow each other and make up a life. Perhaps they had been mostly good ones. Still, you could end up with this one thing, evil. Life is more than thoughts and dreams. Life is the body, muscles and a pulse. Goran had been working out for years. Pumped iron so his muscles bulged like thick ropes under the skin. What did he need them for – apart from lifting even heavier weights? Was it a question of vanity or perhaps an obsession? What was he afraid of? What was he trying to hide by wearing an armour of rock-hard muscles? A dog barked inside the house and he glimpsed a face in the window. A man appeared on the doorstep, his arms folded across his chest. Ran his eyes up and down Sejer disrespectfully. He was not as heavy-set or well-built as his son; his strength lay in the hard stare and the arrogant attitude.
'I see. It's you again. Goran's in his room.'
Torstein Seter led the way in and up the stairs to the first floor. Opened the door without knocking. Goran sat in a chair on the floor wearing a sleeveless blue vest. His feet were bare. In each hand he held a dumbbell. They were round and smooth, slim in the middle with a ball at each end. He lifted them alternately in a regular rhythm. A tendon in his neck twitched with each raise. He looked straight at Sejer, but carried on lifting. Sejer remained standing as if spellbound. He followed the dumbbell with his eyes, up and down, in steady movements. Goran put them on the floor.
'How much do they weigh?' Skarre asked him lightly. Goran looked down on the dumbbells.
'Ten kilos each. They're just the warm-up.'
'And when you've warmed up?'
'Then they weigh forty.'
'So you have several sets?'
'In all weights.'
He got up from the chair. His father was lingering in the doorway.
'You're a busy man these days,' Goran said, tossing his head. However, he was smiling. If he felt at all afraid, he was good at hiding it. By standing up he was showing off his body which instantly made him bubble with confidence.
Sejer looked at his father. 'You can stay if you want to, but it would be best if you sat down.'
Seter sat down demonstratively on the bed. Goran went over to the window.
'I have a question,' Sejer said, still looking at the dumbbells. 'On August 20th when you left Adonis you were wearing a white tennis shirt and black jeans. Are we agreed so far?'
'Yes,' Goran said.
'I want you to find these clothes.'
Silence. Goran lifted the dumbbells once more as if he felt safer holding them in his hands. He held them in front of him, his palms turned upwards as he flicked his wrists in short movements.
'I've no idea where those clothes are,' he said casually.
'Then you'll have to look,' Sejer said.
'My mum does my clothes,' Goran said. 'They could be in the washing machine or out on the line, or whatever.'
He shrugged. His face was impassive.
His father was watching them warily from the bed. The terrible impact of the question had just dawned on him.
'You can start by looking in the wardrobe,' Sejer said pointing to a wardrobe in the room, which was obviously Goran's.
'Tell me one thing,' Goran said. 'Can you really turn up like this and demand that people empty their wardrobes? No papers or anything?'
'No,' Sejer admitted and smiled. 'But I'm entitled to try.'
Goran smiled too. Then he put the dumbbells on the floor. They landed at the same time and you could tell from the sound how heavy they were. He opened the door to his wardrobe and started rummaging around half- heartedly.
'Can't see them,' he said petulantly. 'Must be in the wash.'
'Then we'll go and look in the washing basket,' Sejer suggested.
'Not much use,' Goran said. 'I have several white tennis shirts and several pairs of black jeans.'
'How many?'
He groaned. 'What I'm saying is,' Goran said wearily, 'that I won't know exactly which tennis shirt or which jeans I wore that night.'
'Then find me all of them,' Sejer said.
'But why all this fuss about my clothes? Why do you care about them?' Goran's face was flushed. He started pulling clothes out of the wardrobe. They landed in a heap on the floor, covering the dumbbells. Underpants, socks, and T-shirts. Two pairs of blue jeans. A jumper and a small box made from clear plastic. Inside was an atrociously garish bow tie.
'They're not here,' he said, standing with his back to him.
'What does that mean, Goran?' Sejer said calmly.
'No idea,' he grumbled.
'The washing basket,' Sejer said. 'Let's look in there. Or in the washing machine. And on the washing line.'
'Is this a joke?' he said, angry now.
His father sat watching them tensely.
'This isn't legal,' Goran said in a strained voice.
'No. You're right. But I'm only asking for a small thing. It should be in everyone's interest to resolve this.'
'And if I refuse?'
'Then there's nothing I can do. On the other hand, clearly I'll be wondering what this means: that you're making difficulties rather than co-operating.'
His father was restless, his suppressed fury was undisguisable.
Sejer rooted around the clothes and found one of the dumbbells.
Goran gave him a stiff look. 'What is your point?'
'I've come to clear you from the investigation,' he said. 'To eliminate you. That's what you want, isn't
