by Karin Fossum
"No," he said.
Ruth held his gaze. The gray eyes flickered away once more. He put the three-wheeler into gear and revved the engine. The accelerator was on the right handlebar. He liked revving the engine. Ruth indicated left and drove past him. But she kept looking at him in the mirror. "Hah!" she snorted. "Everyone says he can't talk. What nonsense!"
A heavy silence fell on the car. Helga thought, She'll be back now. Laila from the kiosk doesn't remember it, but Ida was there. She's lying on the sofa reading Wendy and chewing gum; her cheeks are bulging with gum. There are sweet wrappers everywhere. The pink gum makes her breath smell sweet.
But the living room was deserted. Helga broke down completely. Everything inside her crumpled.
"Oh my God," she sobbed. "It's really true now. Do you hear me, Ruth? Something terrible has happened!" Her sobs culminated in a scream.
Ruth went over to the telephone.
***
Ida Joner was reported missing at 8:35 P.M. The female caller introduced herself as Ruth Emilie Rix. She took great care to appear businesslike, afraid that the police would not take her call seriously otherwise. At the same time there was an undercurrent of desperation in her voice. Jacob Skarre made notes on a pad while the woman talked, and he experienced many contradictory feelings. Ida Joner, a nine-year-old girl from Glassverket, had been missing for two hours. Clearly something had happened. However, it did not necessarily follow that it was bad news. Most of the time, in fact, it was not bad news at all, but a minor upset. At first it would cause pain and fear, only to culminate in the most soothing comfort of all: a mother's embrace. The thought of it made him smile; he had seen it so many times. Yet the thought of what might have happened made him shudder.
It was 9:00 P.M. when the patrol car pulled up in front of Mrs. Joner's house. She lived at Glassblåserveien 8, eleven kilometers from town and sufficiently remote for it to be considered a rural area, with scattered farms and fields and a range of new housing developments. Glassverket had its own village center, with a school, a few shops and a gas station. Mrs. Joner's house was in a residential area. It was attractive and painted red. A hedge of white dogwood with thin bristling branches formed a spectacular, spiky border around the property. The lawn had yellow patches from the drought.
Helga was standing by the window. The sight of the white police car made her feel faint. She had gone too far, she had tempted fate. It was like admitting that something terrible had happened. They should not have called the police. If they had not called, Ida would have come back of her own accord. Helga could no longer keep on top of her own thoughts; she longed desperately for someone to take over, take control and make all the decisions. Two police officers were walking up the drive, and Helga stared at the older of them, a very tall gray-haired man in his fifties. He moved quietly and thoughtfully, as if nothing in the world could unsettle him. Helga thought, He's exactly what I need. He'll fix this, because that's his job; he's done this before. Shaking his hand felt unreal. This isn't really happening, she thought; please let me wake up from this terrible nightmare. But she did not wake up.
Helga was stout and thickset, with coarse dark hair brushed away from her face. Her skin was pale, her brows strong and thick. Inspector Sejer looked at her calmly.
"Are you on your own?" he asked.
"My sister will be here shortly. She was the one who called you. She just had to go tell her own family."
Her voice was panicky. She looked at the two men, at Jacob Skarre with his blond curls and Konrad Sejer with his steel-gray hair. She looked at them with the pleading expression of a beggar. Then she disappeared into the house. Stood by the window with her arms folded across her chest. Sitting down was out of the question; she had to remain standing, had to be able to see the road, the yellow bicycle when it finally turned up. Because it would turn up now, the very moment she had set this huge machine in motion. She started talking. Desperate to fill the void with words, to keep the images at bay, hideous images that kept appearing in her mind.
"I'm on my own with her. We had her late," she stuttered. "I'm nearly fifty. Her dad moved out eight years ago. He knows nothing. I'm reluctant to call him. I'm sure there's an explanation and I don't want to worry him for no reason."
"So you don't consider it possible that she might be with her father?" Sejer said.
"No," she said firmly. "Anders would have called. He's a good dad."
"So you get on well as far as Ida is concerned?" "Oh, absolutely!"
"Then I think you should call him," Sejer said.
He said this because he was a father himself and he did not want Ida's father kept in the dark. Helga walked reluctantly toward the telephone. The living room grew quiet as she punched in the number.
"There's no reply," she reported and hung up.
"Leave a message," Sejer said, "if he has an answering machine."
She nodded and rang back. Her voice acquired an embarrassed quality because she had an audience.
"Anders," they heard, "it's Helga. I've been waiting for Ida; she should have been home ages ago. I was just wondering if she was with you."
She paused and then stuttered: "Call me, please! The police are here." She turned to Sejer. "He travels a lot. He could be anywhere."
"We need a good description of her," Sejer said. "And a photo, which I'm sure you have."
Helga sensed how strong he was. It was strange to think that he must have sat like this before. In other living rooms with other mothers. Most of all she wanted to fall into his arms and cling to him, but she did not dare. So she gritted her teeth.
Sejer called the station and ordered two patrol cars to drive down the highway toward Glassverket. A nine-year-old girl riding a yellow bicycle, Helga heard him say. And she thought how nice it was to hear him talk about her daughter in this way; he made it sound as if they were just looking for a missing vehicle. Later, a cacophony of voices and car engines followed, nightmarish images flickering in front of her eyes. Ringing telephones, snappy orders, and strange faces. They wanted to see Ida's room. Helga didn't like that, because it reminded her of something. Something she had seen on TV, in crime dramas. Young girls' rooms, howling with emptiness. Quietly she walked upstairs and opened the door. Sejer and Skarre stayed in the doorway, taken aback by the large room and the chaos inside it. Animals, in all shapes and sizes. In all sorts of materials. Glass and stone, clay and wood, plastic and fabric. Horses and dogs. Birds and mice, fish and snakes. They hung suspended from the ceiling on fine wires, they took up the whole of the pale wooden bed, they were piled on top of bookshelves and lined up on the windowsill. Sejer noticed that every book on the bookshelves was about animals. There were animal pictures and posters on the walls. The curtains were green and had sea horses printed on them.
"Now you see what she's into," Helga said. She stood in the open doorway, shuddering. It was as if she were seeing this for the very first time, the excess of it all. How many animals were in there? Hundreds?
Sejer nodded. Skarre was at a loss for words. The room was extraordinarily messy and contained too many things. They went back downstairs. Helga Joner took down a photo from the living room wall. Sejer held it up. The moment he stared into her brown eyes, Ida imprinted herself on his brain. Most kids are cute, he thought, but this girl is adorable. She was sweet and enchanting. Like a child in a fairy tale. She made him think of Little Red Riding Hood, Snow White, and Cinderella. Large dark eyes. Rosy red cheeks. Slender as a reed. He looked at Helga Joner.
"You went out looking for her? You and your sister?"
"We drove around for nearly an hour," Helga said. "There was only a little traffic, not many people to ask. I've called most of her friends, I've called Laila's Kiosk. She hasn't been there and I don't understand that. What do I do now?" She looked at him with red eyes.
"You shouldn't be on your own," he said. "Stay calm and wait for your sister. We'll round up all the officers we have and start looking for her."
***
"Do you remember Mary Pickford?" Sejer asked.
They were back in the car. He watched Helga's house disappear in the mirror. Her sister Ruth had come back. Jacob Skarre gave him a blank look. He was far too young to remember any of the silent-movie stars.
"Ida looks like her," Sejer said.
Skarre asked no more questions. He was desperate for a cigarette, but smoking was not allowed in the patrol car. Instead he rummaged around in his pockets for some candy and dug out a packet of fruit gums.
"She wouldn't get into a strange car," he said pensively.
"All mothers say that," Sejer said. "It depends who does the asking. Adults are much smarter than kids, that's the bottom line."
His answer made Skarre uneasy. He wanted to believe that children were intuitive and sensed danger much sooner than adults. Like dogs. That they could smell it. Though, come to think of it, dogs were not very smart. His train of thought was starting to depress him. The fruit gum was softening in his mouth so he began chewing it. "But they'll get into a car if it's someone they know," he said out loud. "And it often is someone they know."
"You're talking as if we're already dealing with a crime," Sejer said. "Surely that's a bit premature."
"I know," Skarre conceded. "I'm just trying to prepare myself."
Sejer watched him covertly. Skarre was young and ambitious. Keen and eager. His talent was well hidden behind his large sky-blue eyes, and his curls added to his harmless appearance. No one ever felt intimidated by Skarre. People relaxed and chatted freely to him, which was precisely what he wanted them to do. Sejer drove the patrol car through the landscape at the permitted speed. All the time, he was in contact with the search parties. They had nothing to report.
The speedometer showed a steady sixty kilometers per hour, and eighty when they reached the highway. Their eyes scanned the fields automatically, but they saw nothing. No little dark-haired girl, no yellow bicycle. Sejer could visualize her face. The tiny mouth and the big curls. Then a far more terrifying image appeared in his mind's eye. No, a voice inside him called out. It's not like that. Not this time. This girl is coming home. They come home all the time, I have seen it before. And why on earth do I love this job so much?
***
Helga inhaled deeply and exhaled irregularly. Ruth grabbed her sister's shoulders while talking to her in a loud and exaggerated voice. "You need to breathe, Helga. Breathe!"
Several frenzied inhalations followed, but nothing came out and the thickset body on the sofa struggled to regain control.
"What if Ida were to come in now and see you like this!" Ruth shouted in desperation; she could think of nothing else to say. "Do you hear me?" She started shaking her sister. Finally Helga managed to breathe normally. Then she collapsed and became strangely lethargic.
"Now you have to rest," Ruth pleaded. "I need to phone home. Then you must eat. Or at least drink something."
Helga shook her head. She could hear her sister's voice coming distantly from the other end of the room. A low murmur that made no sense to her. Shortly afterward she came to.
"I told Marion to go to bed and lock the door," Ruth said.
The moment she said that, she felt an intense fear. Marion was alone in the house. Then she realized how inappropriate and needless her anxiety was, but now every word had suddenly become laden, every comment potentially explosive. She disappeared back into the kitchen. Helga heard the clinking of glass. A drawer was pulled out and she thought, Ruth is slicing bread. Having to eat now. I can't manage that. She stared toward the window, her eyes aching. When the telephone rang she was so startled that she let out a sharp scream. Ruth rushed in.
"Shall I get it?"
"No!"
Helga snatched up the receiver and shouted her own name into the telephone. Then she crumbled. "No, she hasn't turned up," she cried. "It's almost eleven-thirty and she left at six. I can't take it anymore!"
On the other end, Ida Joner's father fell completely silent.
"And the police?" he said anxiously. "Where are they?"
"They've all left, but they're out looking. They have asked the Home Guard and some other volunteers to join in the search, but they haven't called me yet. They won't find her, I know they won't!"
Ruth waited in the doorway. The gravity of the situation dawned on them both simultaneously. It was dark outside, almost midnight. Ida was out there somewhere, unable to make her way home. Helga could not speak. Eating was out of the question. She did not want to move or go anywhere. Just wait, the two of them together, hugging each other while their fear sent a rush of blood to the head.
CHAPTER 2
"What is it about kids and sweets?" Sejer said. "Why do they crave them all the time? Do all children suffer from low blood sugar?"
Skarre perched on the edge of the desk. "Ida went to buy a magazine," he objected.
"And sweets with the rest of her money," Sejer said. "Bugg. What on earth is that?"
"Chewing gum," Skarre explained.
A couple of hours means nothing, Sejer thought, staring at his wristwatch. After all, we are talking about a child who is nearly ten. She could speak up for herself and ask questions. However, it was 1:00 A.M. now. Outside, it was a black September night, and Ida had been missing from her home for seven hours. He became aware of a low murmur. For a while he sat still, listening to it. The sound increased. Rain, he thought. An early autumn rainstorm. It pelted the windows of the police station, washing dust and dirt from the panes in broad streams. He had wished for rain. Everything was so dry. But now it was bad timing. His body ached with a mixture of restlessness and tension. He should not be sitting here shuffling paper; he should be outside in the darkness looking for Ida. Then he remembered her bicycle. Chrome yellow and brand-new. That, too, was still missing.
"She might have fallen off her bike," Skarre said. "Perhaps she's lying unconscious in a ditch somewhere. It's been known to happen. Or she might have met someone who talked her into going for a bike ride. Someone irresponsible, but essentially harmless. Like Raymond. Do you remember Raymond?"
Sejer nodded. "He keeps rabbits. He could use them to entice a little girl."
"And Ida is crazy about animals," Skarre argued. "However, it's also possible that she's run away from home because of some argument her mother doesn't want to tell us about. Perhaps she's asleep in a shed somewhere. Hell-bent on making her mother pay for something or other."
"They hadn't been arguing," Sejer objected.
"Perhaps her father was involved," Skarre went on. "They are, sometimes. A teacher or another adult she knows might have picked her up. For reasons we don't understand yet. Perhaps they've given her a hot meal and a bed for the night. People do all sorts of things. We imagine the worst because we've been in this job for too long."
Skarre undid the top button of his shirt. The semidarkness and silence in Sejer's office were poignant.
"We have a case," he concluded.
"Granted." Sejer nodded. "Though there's not much we can do for the time being. We just have to sit here and wait. Until she turns up in some form or other."
Skarre leapt down from the desk and went over to the window.
"Has Sara gone?" he asked with his back to Sejer. The asphalt on the parking lot outside the police station gleamed black and oily in the rain.
"Yes. This morning. She'll be gone four months," Sejer said.
Skarre nodded. "Research?"
"She intends to find out why some people grow less than others," Sejer smiled.
"In which case," Skarre chuckled, "you being two meters tall is no use to her."
Sejer shook his head. "One theory is that some people refuse to grow," he said. "That they simply refuse to grow up."
"You're kidding?" Skarre turned from the window and looked at his boss open-mouthed.
"No, no. I'm not. Often the explanation is much more straightforward than we'd like to believe. According to Sara, anyway."
Skarre stared despondently ou
t of the window. "I hate the rain," he said.
***
The shrill sound of the doorbell cut through the house without warning. Helga stared wildly at her sister; her eyes had a metallic sheen of terror. It was very late. An insane mixture of fear and hope surged through her body.
"I'll get it!" Ruth said, rushing out. She trembled as she pushed the door handle down. Outside, standing on the doorstep, was Ida's father.
"Anders," she said, and could barely hide her disappointment. She stared at him and took a step back.
"Have they found her?" he asked.
"No. We're still waiting."
"I'm staying here tonight," Anders Joner said firmly. "I can sleep on the sofa."
He sounded very determined. Ruth moved to let him in. Helga heard his voice and braced herself. She felt so many things. Relief and anger at the same time. He walked across the floor. A thin, lean man whose head was practically bald. She recognized his old gray coat and a sweater she had knitted him a long time ago. It was hard to look at his face. She could not bear to see the desperation in his eyes; she could barely contain her own.
"You go to bed, Helga," he said. "I'll wait by the phone. Have you managed to eat something?"
He took off his coat and placed it over the back of a chair. He made himself at home. But then again, for several years this house had been his home.
Ruth was standing in a corner. She felt that leaving them was like running away. "Well, I'll be off then," she said, averting her eyes. "But promise me you'll call if anything happens, Anders."
She suddenly became very busy. Patted Helga on the back, tore her coat off the peg in the hall and rushed outside. Drove back to her house in Madseberget as fast as she could. Thoughts raced through her mind.
The rain was fierce; the wipers swept angrily across the windshield. Her own cowardice made her feel wretched. When Anders had appeared on the doorstep and she felt she could go home, her sense of relief had been overwhelming. The whole evening she had been consumed by a terrifying, overpowering horror. But she had not allowed herself to give in to it. She had to be stronger than Helga. Now that Anders was keeping her sister company, her feelings surfaced once more and they took her breath away. She would escape it now, that awful moment. Escape the inevitable telephone call, the dreaded words: "We've found her." Now it would be Anders who would have to deal with it. I'm a coward, she thought, wiping away her tears.
