around her neck and some stray, straggly hairs protruded from her chin. She's no longer feminine, he thought, she's no longer attractive. She's alone at life's outpost and she's waiting. He wondered what it was like to go to bed at night when you were eighty-six, the feeling as the darkness crept out from every corner, perhaps it was the final darkness.
'The lads, you know,' she said nodding in the direction of the storehouse. 'The lads,' she said again, 'they've got nothing to do in the evenings, they miss their wives and their children. I rack my brains trying to think of something for them to do.'
She was referring to the Poles. She paused. She bent down to look at him as he sat there waiting, impatiently, with his hands on the wheel. It cost him a great deal to look her in the eye, she was so firm and staunch and decent that she glowed.
'They don't want to spend any money either, they never go out, they just sit there, bored. They play cards,' she explained: 'poker, I think. But they never play for money, they're so thrifty. We could learn something from them, we live to excess. Well, you might be an exception, I didn't mean it like that. What I was saying was, we're quite spoilt, you can't deny that.'
He waited for her to tell him what she wanted. He was desperate to get away.
'No, what I wanted to ask you was this,' she continued: 'if you might have an old travel radio. The sort with an aerial and batteries, you know. There's no power in the storehouse. That would be a fine thing,' she added, 'if there was power in the storehouse. As if we haven't got enough expenses here on the farm as it is.' She laughed a creaking laughter. He failed to see what was so funny.
'I haven't had one of those for years,' he said, turning on the engine. 'I used to own an old Kurer, but I threw it away. Or perhaps I gave it to a charity,' he added.
He revved the engine. She moved, shaking her head. The knot of the headscarf at the back of her head reminded him of a bird with blue wings, it bobbed up and down when she moved.
'It would have been nice for them to have a bit of music,' she said. 'The evenings are so long. They're here from May to November, that's six months away from their families. Away from all the little things.' She fell silent once more, supporting herself on the car with a pale hand.
The whole country is out looking for me, he thought, and she's asking me if I have an old radio. He gripped the steering wheel tightly as a feeling of panic began to surge in him, a sense of violent, internal pressure because he was about to mix with other people and it terrified him.
'Never mind. I shan't keep you any longer,' she said. 'They'll probably manage without one. I'm just an old woman and I worry about these things. I don't have much else to do. And nobody cares about the things that I know and could tell them about, they want to find out everything for themselves. That's the way life goes, you're just told to shut up and go away, but I'm here now and I'm not going anywhere.'
She smiled and displayed a set of worn, yellow teeth before hobbling off again. He saw her hunched figure disappear towards the greenhouse. It had been years since it had last been in use, most of the windows were broken and weeds covered the frame vigorously like lianas in the jungle. And he thought that he was like the old greenhouse. The facade was worn and battered and inside forbidden urges ran riot.
Finally he was free to drive off. He stopped by his letter box and picked up a pile of junk mail, throwing everything on the floor of the car before turning out on to the main road. He started looking out for white cars. To his infinite delight he spotted them regularly, a Subaru, a Toyota Hiace, an Opel. While he drove, he remembered his mother and her many mood swings. I was a nervous child, he thought. My mother made sure of that. She was always ready with a threat, a telling-off, a cutting remark. I grew up in an ocean of reproaches.
His thoughts depressed him, and he felt his mood darken.
CHAPTER 19
'This reminds me of something,' Sejer said. 'Something from my childhood.'
'What is it?' Skarre asked.
He was sitting with Sejer's dog on his lap and playing with its velvety ears.
'I had a bicycle with a dynamo,' Sejer said, 'which would light up if I pedalled hard enough. At this point in the investigation, it's a question of keeping the speed going and then I will be able to understand what led to the death of Jonas August.'
'Is it necessary for you to understand?' Skarre asked. 'Isn't it enough to discover the truth?'
'No, it's not. The man who took Jonas's life needs to explain to me every single detail in the series of events which led to Jonas's death. He must give me a second by second account of why it had to end in tragedy.'
'Is that what we're dealing with here?' Skarre asked. 'A tragedy?'
'We might be.'
'So you equate solving a crime with reconciliation? And feel better about it?'
Sejer considered this. 'No, no, it's not about that. Only Elfrid has the right to forgive.'
'So why are you talking like this?' Skarre asked.
'Because I need reassurance,' he said, 'that pure evil is a rare event.'
'Is it?'
'I want it to be.' He looked at Skarre and nodded. 'Yes,' he said, 'it's rare.'
'Well,' Skarre said, 'this is really nothing like the light on your bicycle. And you can't complain about the speed. Everyone is working overtime, every single day, or in other words, we're pedalling as if our lives depended on it.'
Sejer switched off his desk lamp. They had both been working for fourteen hours, it was time to go home, but they were reluctant. Leaving felt like letting Jonas August down.
'Why don't we go for a beer?' Skarre suggested.
Sejer weighed up the pros and cons. He was not the type to drink alcohol whenever the opportunity presented itself, he was not an impulsive man, but he agreed. They went out into the busy street, the dog half running alongside them to keep up. For a while they walked in silence, the older man and the younger, and as they approached a level crossing, they noticed two girls coming towards them. The girls walked closely together on the pavement and they walked arm in arm like girls do, their heels clicking against the tarmac like castanets.
'Take a look at those two,' Skarre said.
Sejer looked at the girls. They were smooth and firm like tulips right before they bloom. A low, intimate chatter flew through the September air.
'How old would you say they were?' Skarre asked.
Sejer studied the girls.
'Sixteen, perhaps?'
Skarre rolled his eyes. 'Honestly, you're miles off, they're thirteen or fourteen. Remember there's a lot of icing on those cakes.'
'Icing?'
'Make-up.'
They passed the girls. Skarre sent them one of his most dazzling smiles.
'Not a day over fourteen,' Skarre whispered.
'Where are you going with this?'
'I'm flying a kite; we work with morality and it gives rise to plenty of food for thought. Imagine a young man out looking for a girlfriend. My point is: the girls look like this and yet they're still off limits. And I'm thinking about the age of consent, it's sixteen in Norway.'
'Correct,' Sejer said. 'Do you have any objections?'
'Perhaps it should be lower,' Skarre. 'What kind of signals were they sending out, the two girls we just passed? Here we are, arm in arm, we're attractive and we're up for anything.'
Sejer turned to get a second look.
'If one of them meets a boy,' Skarre said, 'and they end up in bed and she later regrets it, he could be put away for two to three years. And labelled a sex offender.'
'We need to have some rules,' Sejer stated. 'We must protect children and we do that by setting a limit.'
