Black Seconds

by Karin Fossum

  She parked in the double garage and noticed that Tomme, her son, was still not back. She let herself in and ran up the stairs to the first floor. Her daughter, Marion, was asleep in her bed. She stood for a while, watching her daughter's chubby cheeks. They were warm and rosy. Later she sat by the living room window, waiting for her son. It dawned on her that her sister had sat in the same way for hours waiting for Ida. Tomme was later than usual. She felt a fraction of Helga's fear, but calmed herself down by remembering that he was an adult. Imagine sitting like this, she thought, and they never turn up. It was inconceivable. What if Marion vanished like that? What if the sound of tires from her son's Opel never materialized? She tried to imagine hours of waiting. Imagined that the familiar sound of tires never came. That sooner or later she would be waiting for another sound, the sound of the telephone. She called his cell, but it was switched off. When he finally turned up, it surprised her that he did not pop in to say hi, but went straight up to his room. He must have seen the light in the window and realized that she was awake. She sat there for a few minutes, deliberating. Dreaded what she had to tell him. Then she went upstairs. Positioned herself in the doorway to his room. He had turned on his computer. Sat facing away from her, his shoulders hunched. His entire body exuded frustration.

  "What is it?" she said quickly. "You're terribly late."

  He cleared his throat. Thumped the table with his fist. "I smashed the damn car," he said sullenly.

  Ruth pondered his answer. She thought of everything that had happened and watched his narrow, angry back. Suddenly she felt incensed. Her fear and her rage started to pour out of her and there was nothing she could do to stop them.

  "So," she said, "you've smashed the car, have you? Well, your dad and I aren't going to pay to have it fixed, so you'll just have to drive it as it is, or you can save up and pay for it yourself!" She was almost gasping for breath. Her son became wary, but he did not turn around.

  "I know that," he said in a monotone voice.

  A labyrinth appeared on the screen. A cat prowled around inside it. Her son followed it with his eyes and turned up the volume. A mouse was scuttling around in the heart of the labyrinth.

  "It's just so fucking annoying," he exploded.

  "I really can't be bothered to talk about that right now," Ruth yelled. "Something dreadful has happened. Ida's gone missing!"

  Her son was startled, but he continued to stare at the screen. A low sound emanated from the speakers.

  "Missing?" he said, shocked, and began to turn around slowly.

  "Your cousin Ida," she said. "She left home at six to get something from the kiosk. I've been with Helga the whole evening. They haven't found her or her bicycle."

  "They?"

  "The police!"

  "So where have they been looking?" he asked, looking at her wide-eyed.

  "Where have they been looking? Everywhere, of course. She never even got to the kiosk."

  Ruth had to lean against the wall. Yet again she realized just how serious the situation was. Her son was still fiddling with the keyboard, moving the prowling cat into a blind alley. The mouse stayed put, waiting for its next move.

  "So that dent of yours is not worth worrying about," she said in a fraught voice. "It's just some damage to an old car, which can be fixed. I hope you understand how unimportant it is."

  He nodded slowly. She could hear his breathing; it was labored.

  "So what happened, then?" she said with sudden sympathy. "Were you hurt?"

  He shook his head. Ruth felt sorry for him. A dented car represented a defeat. He was young and thought he knew it all, and the dent had undermined his pride in the worst possible way. She did understand, but was not prepared to offer him anything more than basic sympathy. She wanted him to grow up.

  "I hit a crash barrier," he said.

  "I see," she said. "Where?"

  "By the bridge. In the center of town."

  "Were you with Bjørn?"

  "No. Not then."

  "Do you want me to go out to the garage and have a look?" she asked.

  "There's no need," he said in a tired voice. "I've talked to Willy. He'll help me repair it. I haven't got any money, but he says he can wait."

  "Willy?" Ruth frowned. "Are you still friends with him? I thought you were going over to Bjørn's?"

  "I was," Tomme said. "But Willy knows about cars. That's why I drove over to his place. Willy has the tools and a garage. Bjørn doesn't have anything like that."

  He started moving the cat again. Why won't he look at me? Ruth wondered. An awful thought struck her.

  "Tomme," she said breathlessly, "you haven't been drinking, have you?"

  He spun around in his chair and gave her an irate look. "Are you out of your mind? Of course I don't drive when I've been drinking. Are you saying I drink and drive?"

  He was so genuinely outraged that she felt ashamed. His face was white as chalk. His longish hair was unkempt, and in the midst of everything that was going on, Ruth noticed that it could do with a wash.

  She lingered in the doorway for a while. She could not calm herself down, she did not feel tired; all the time she was listening for the telephone in case it should ring. She sensed how shocked she would be if it actually did ring. She imagined the moment when she would lift up the receiver and wait. Standing at the edge of the void. She would either fall into it or be pulled back from the edge and into the comforting reassurance of a happy ending. Because this had to have a happy ending. She could not imagine the alternative, not here, in this peaceful place, not for Ida.

  "I'm going over to Helga's early tomorrow morning," she said. "You've got to give Marion breakfast and help her get ready. I want you to walk her to the school bus. And don't just walk her there," she added. "I want you to wait until she's found her seat. Do you hear me? I need to be with Helga in case anything happens. Uncle Anders is there at the moment," she said quietly.

  She sighed forlornly and told her son to go to bed. Left him and went outside. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision. She opened the door to the double garage. She was surprised to see that her son had covered the Opel with a tarpaulin. He never did that. I suppose he can't bear to look at it, she thought. She turned on the garage light. Lifted up the tarpaulin. On the right-hand side she found what she was looking for. A dent, a broken front light, and some damage to the paintwork. It was scarred by long gray and white scratches. She shook her head and replaced the tarpaulin. Went back outside. Stood there pondering. Felt the rain on her neck, raw and cold. She glanced quickly up at the window of her son's bedroom, which overlooked the drive. There she saw his pale face, partly hidden by the curtain.

  CHAPTER 3

  Helga woke with a jolt. She sat up in bed. For a brief second everything was as usual. She was Helga waking up to a new day.

  Then she remembered. Reality hit her and forced her back down on the mattress. At the same time she heard the slamming of a car door and subdued, murmuring voices. Someone was coming to the house. She lay very still as if lying on a bed of needles, listening. They were moving very quietly, she could hear that. No hasty steps, no eager voices. She remained curled up in her bed. She was going to lie like this until Ida came home again. She would not move, eat, or drink. If she stayed there long enough, the miracle would happen. And if it never happened she would let the mattress swallow her up. Lose herself in its stuffing. People could sleep on top of her, they could come and go as they pleased; she would not notice them. She would never feel anything ever again.

  She heard Anders's voice. Feet dragging across the floor. The front door being closed ever so gently. If the worst had happened, Anders would be standing in the doorway looking at her. He would not have to say a single word, just stare at her with a silent cry. His eyes, his wide brown eyes, which Ida had inherited, would darken. And she would stand up and scream. Scream so the windows would shatter, so everyone would hear her and the world would cease rotating on its axis. People in the street would stop and li
sten. They would feel a tremor beneath their feet and know that the end was coming. But the seconds passed and he did not appear. The muted voices in the living room continued. So they haven't found her, dead or alive, Helga thought. Hope is such a fragile thing. She clawed at the duvet to get hold of it and clutch it.

  Anders Joner showed Sejer and Skarre into the living room.

  "Helga's asleep," he said. He fumbled in his shirt pocket for his glasses. His glasses were greasy. The state of his clothes indicated that he had slept on the sofa. If indeed he had slept at all.

  "What do we do now?" he asked nervously. "You haven't found her bicycle either?"

  "No," Sejer said.

  Jacob Skarre listened attentively, his blue eyes dark with concentration. While Sejer spoke, he studied Joner carefully. From time to time he made a quick note.

  "What does that mean?" Joner said.

  "We don't know," Sejer answered.

  Joner rubbed his scalp. It was almost bare. His eyes were wide like Ida's and his mouth tiny. He appeared to be somewhat younger than Helga, neat and slender, bordering on the feminine.

  "But what do you think?"

  Sejer took his time before he answered. "We don't think anything," he said simply. "We just keep looking."

  They continued to watch one another. Sejer's role was to confirm for Ida's father how grave the situation was. That was what he needed, that was why he kept pressing him in this way.

  "I'm concerned," Sejer said. "I can't deny it." His voice was steady as a rock. Sometimes he despaired at his own composure, but it was essential. He had to support Joner.

  Ida's father nodded. He had got what he wanted. "But what's going on right now?" he said, his voice taking on a sudden dull tone. "What are you doing to find her?"

  "We've mapped out the route that Ida was cycling," Sejer said. "And we're looking for anyone who was in the area at the same time. We're asking them to contact us, and people have started to call. We speak to anyone who might have seen anything of interest, and everything is recorded. That applies to cars, bicycles and pedestrians. We're looking for the one vital clue that will give us a breakthrough."

  "What kind of breakthrough?" Joner stammered. He lowered his voice so that Helga would not be able to hear him. "When a kid goes missing like that," he continued, "you obviously fear that someone has taken her. To use her. You know what for. And later got rid of her, so she can't tell. That's what I'm scared of!" he whispered. "And I just can't imagine what else it could be." He buried his face in his hands. "How many people have called? Has anyone called at all?"

  "Unfortunately we have had very few calls," Sejer admitted. "The roads were quiet when Ida went out. And we're talking about a stretch of several kilometers. However, these things take time. So far, we know that Ida was spotted at Solberg Farm. Another, less reliable sighting came from Madseberget."

  Suddenly Joner leapt up from his chair. "For God's sake. I can't take it anymore."

  Sejer tried to rein in Joner's panic by remaining calm himself. Joner slumped back into his chair.

  "Helga says that Ida would never ignore the rules she's been taught," Sejer said. "The rules all kids need to know about strangers and not getting into cars with them. What do you think?"

  Joner considered this. "Ida's very trusting," he said. "She is curious and sweet. And she thinks the best of everyone. If she met someone who was nice to her, if he promised her something, well, I couldn't say for certain." He was restless as he spoke. He kept taking off his glasses and putting them back on, unable to keep his hands still.

  For a while Sejer thought about the pedophiles he had met during his time on the force. They were often nice to children to begin with, kind, inviting, and friendly. They knew how to groom them, and they had the ability to spot the most trusting children quickly. A bizarre skill, Sejer thought.

  "So she could have gone with someone of her own accord?" he said out loud.

  "I suppose so," Joner said helplessly. "Anything's possible. I can't answer yes or no to a question like that."

  Sejer knew that Joner was right.

  Skarre spoke up. "Is she interested in boys?" he asked cautiously.

  Joner shook his head. "She's only nine. But then again, she could be starting to take an interest in them. Even though I personally think it's a bit early."

  "How about a diary? Does she keep one?"

  "You'll have to ask Helga later," he said. "I don't want to wake her now."

  "You and Helga," Sejer said delicately, "you get on well?"

  Joner nodded. "Yes, very much so!"

  "She called you last night, but didn't manage to get hold of you. Where did you spend the evening?"

  Joner blinked nervously. "At work. I often switch off my cell phone so I won't be disturbed."

  "You work shifts?" Sejer asked him.

  "No. But I no longer have a family. I mean, not like I used to. So I spend most of my time working. I'm at the office a lot. From time to time I even sleep there," he said.

  "What do you do?"

  "I'm in advertising. I work with text and layout. The agency is called Heartbreak," he added. "In case you need to know."

  Skarre noted down the name and address of the agency. Joner started talking about his work. It was a welcome distraction from this terrible situation and it seemed to cheer him up. His face took on a boyish expression. He radiated the instant appeal people acquire when they love their work and are given a chance to talk about it.

  "Helga's on disability," he said. "Because of her migraines. So I support both her and Ida." His face darkened because his daughter was once more foremost in his mind. "Ida is very forward," he said suddenly.

  "Forward?" Sejer said. "In what way?"

  "Pushy. Eager. She's not afraid of anything. She has a great deal of self-confidence," he said, "and she thinks very highly of herself. It would never occur to her that she might meet someone who would want to hurt her. She has no experience of that." Joner placed his glasses on the table. Finally he managed to leave them alone. "Isn't there anything I can do?"

  "We'll round up all the volunteers we can find and organize a search party," Sejer said. "It's no problem finding people for something like that. Everyone in the area knows that Ida's gone missing. It will be led by professionals and the volunteers will be told precisely how and where to look."

  "What about the river?" Joner said apprehensively. He did not like to say it out loud.

  "Of course we need to think about dragging it," Sejer said. "However, in the first instance we need to carry out a search of the immediate area, and our people will visit every single house along the road to Laila's Kiosk as well."

  "I want to join in the search," Joner said.

  "We'll let you know later about a meeting place," Sejer said. "We'll probably use the school playground. Please take care of Helga until then."

  Joner saw them out. He stayed standing on the steps watching them. Gripped the railings and leant forward. His eyes sought the horizon; Ida was out there. "She's been gone seventeen hours," he groaned. "It's too late and you know it!"

  He buried his head in his hands and stood there shaking. Sejer went back up to him. He grabbed Joner's arm and squeezed it hard. There was nothing else he could do. Then he returned to the car. It felt like he was turning his back on a drowning man.

  ***

  A large group of volunteers had gathered in the playground of Glassverket school. A whole night had passed and the seriousness of the situation was clear to see in every face. It was still raining, but more softly now. The search party was made up of volunteers from the Red Cross, the Home Guard, teachers and pupils from the school, people from the sports club and a range of other organizations. Plus a few people who happened to have heard the police request for volunteers. They had simply left their homes and gone out in the rain in order to help. There were many young people; however, the significant majority were men and older boys. Some smaller kids had turned up but were sent home again. Emil Johan
nes had noticed the large gathering of people, and he parked his green three-wheeler behind the bicycle shed, where he could observe them from a safe distance. No one thought of asking if he wanted to join in. Not that he wanted to anyway. He watched the dogs on leashes that a few people had brought along. If one of the dogs were to tear itself loose, he would start his three-wheeler as quickly as possible and drive off. He did not like dogs.

  The search party examined maps and listened to instructions from the police about how to move around the terrain. How closely together they needed to walk, how to use their eyes. The importance of concentrating one hundred percent at all times. Not too much talking. One group was sent up toward the waterfall, another group ordered down to search along the banks of the river. Some were sent out across the fields, others into the woods, and still others up to the ridge behind Glassverket.

  Jacob Skarre gave them their final instructions. "Remember, Ida's tiny," he said. "She doesn't take up much room."

  They nodded earnestly. Skarre looked at them pensively. He knew a fair bit about what they were thinking. Volunteers had multiple and often contradictory motives. Some had turned up out of desperation, because they were fathers themselves and could not bear to sit idly in front of the television. Some had come looking for excitement, each one hoping that he would be the one to find Ida. They fantasized about finding her dead, about being the center of attention; they fantasized about being the one who would find her safe and well, who would call out the good news and have everyone looking at them. Perhaps lift her up and carry her in their arms. They were also scared, as very few of them had ever seen a dead body and the vast majority were secretly convinced that Ida was dead. These lurid private thoughts troubled them, so they stood there kicking the pavement. A few carried backpacks containing flasks. Each and every one of them was eagle-eyed, or they thought so at any rate. Nevertheless, Skarre reminded them of countless searches in the past where people had walked right past the missing person several times. Anders Joner was there. As he had not lived in Glassverket for the last eight years, few people knew him, and he was grateful for the anonymity it gave him. His brothers, Tore and Kristian, were there, too, as was Helga's nephew, Tomme.