Black Seconds

by Karin Fossum

  "Well, I don't," Tomme said.

  CHAPTER 10

  Konrad Sejer swung his car into the parking lot at Glassverket school. He was met by Ida's class teacher, a tall, blond, eager woman in her forties. She introduced herself as Grethe Mørk.

  "They're expecting you," she said, "and of course I've prepared them. I don't need to remind you that they're very young, so you know how easily they scare, and there is a limit to what they can cope with hearing. However, you've probably done this before, I imagine, so you'll know what to say."

  She opened the door for him and walked briskly on very high heels. She was smartly dressed in a skirt and sweater. She wore several chains round her neck and her wrists were covered with bangles.

  "I've told them they can ask questions," she continued as she hurried down the corridor, and Sejer recognized the familiar smell of school, which had not changed since he was a boy. Linoleum. Green soap. Sweaty children. And the smell of damp coats on pegs outside every classroom.

  "And I'm sure you'll know how to answer them. They're very keen," she said. "Several of their parents have called. Some of them wanted to know if they could be here, but I said no. After all, that's not what we agreed."

  Sejer followed her bustling body and noticed how her skirt swished around her legs. She was nervous.

  "When they come home from school today, they'll be pumped for information," she smiled, "and I hope they'll be able to rein in their imaginations. Kids tend to embellish. I know all about that."

  Sejer smiled politely, but stayed silent. Then she seemed to become aware of her own flow of words, because she stopped talking abruptly. At last she opened the door to the classroom.

  Fourteen children looked at him with curiosity. There should have been fifteen, he thought. Near the window was an empty desk. There was a lighted candle on it. He looked at the desk, at the candle, and at the earnest faces of the children. Some stared at him openly. Others looked shyly down at their desks.

  "Why don't you take my desk," Grethe Mørk said, "and I'll sit here." She went to the back of the classroom.

  Sejer looked at the teacher's desk. He did not feel like standing there. Instead he found an empty chair, placed it between the rows of desks and sat down in the middle of the group.

  "Why aren't you wearing a uniform?" an excited boy asked. Then he remembered that he had forgotten to ask for permission. He quickly put up his hand and let it drop, and some of the children giggled.

  Sejer looked at the boy. "I've been in the police force for such a long time that I don't have to anymore," he explained.

  They clearly did not understand his answer. Why would anyone choose not to wear a police uniform if they were allowed to?

  Sejer realized that further explanation was required. "The uniform is very warm," he said. "And the shirt itches."

  More giggling.

  "My name's Konrad Sejer," he said. "And I have never met Ida. Her mom says she's a lovely girl, very chatty and friendly."

  "I'm her best friend," said a small girl in a red sweater. "My name's Kjersti."

  This information caused a debate among the children and a couple of other girls gave Kjersti outraged looks of protest.

  "Konrad?" said a chubby boy, waving his hand eagerly.

  "Yes," Sejer said.

  "Are you looking for Ida in the river?" "We're going to," he said. "But it's difficult. The river is very wide and deep and the current is strong." "So Ida might float far, far away?"

  Sejer pondered this. "We don't know if she has fallen into the river," he said.

  "My dad says so," the boy stated.

  "Really?" Sejer smiled. "Is he absolutely sure of that?"

  This silenced the boy briefly. "He says there's nowhere else she can be. When you haven't found her on land."

  "I'm hoping we'll find her," Sejer said. "In fact I'm quite sure we will."

  "How can you be so sure?" a girl wanted to know. "Because we nearly always do."

  Ida's teacher was following this from the rear of the classroom. Everyone had something to tell, everyone had a contribution or a story about Ida. They all wanted to be the one who knew her best. They kept looking at the empty desk. They don't really comprehend it, Sejer thought. Only a few days have passed. They don't realize that the desk will remain empty for the rest of the school year. And when it becomes occupied again, it will only be because a new school year has started.

  He talked with them for a whole hour. He told them to stay together when going to and from school. They said they took the school bus or their parents drove them. He said that was fine. He asked if Ida had been talking about anything special in the days before she went missing. If she had behaved differently. They thought about this very carefully before they replied. He said that it was good that they thought carefully. A girl wanted to know if Ida would still have a headstone in the churchyard even if she was never found.

  "I really hope so," Sejer said. "But we haven't found her yet, so there's still hope. People do go missing all the time and many of them come back."

  "Children, too?" asked a small boy.

  Sejer was quiet. No, he thought, not children.

  "Miss Mørk has dressed up today," another little boy proclaimed. Grethe Mørk turned scarlet.

  "It's nice that you've lit a candle," Sejer said.

  ***

  Holthemann, his head of department, looked at him across his desk.

  "Riverbeds are tricky, especially that last stretch out toward the fjord. The divers aren't holding out much hope. They say it's like looking for a contact lens in a swimming pool," he said darkly.

  He got up and went over to the map on the wall. The town was shown on the map in a way that made it resemble an infected wound. The river cut through the landscape like a gash, and residential areas in yellow were marked along the banks.

  "Ida's bicycle journey was four kilometers. Where should we begin?"

  "Where the road turns right down toward the bank," Sejer said. "Where you can access the river by car. There," he pointed, "by the old foundry. And there's a cart road leading down to a fishing spot here. That's a start. Along this stretch there's a great deal of vegetation on the bank. She could have got caught up in that."

  "Have the search parties covered these two roads?" "Several times," Sejer said. "Every single building and shed has been turned upside down. As have the ruins of the old foundry. They've moved every stone."

  He was lost in his own thoughts. In his mind he saw a stretch of road. "How long would it take a man, if he's in a car, to pull up in front of Ida on her bicycle, make her stop, possibly render her unconscious, bundle her into his car, which has to be some sort of van, then throw in her bicycle as well before driving off?"

  Holthemann looked at the second hand on his watch. Then he closed his eyes. "It might be possible to do it in under a minute," he said, having considered it. "Perhaps the car was already parked by the roadside. Perhaps he saw her in his rearview mirror. He would have had time to rehearse, so that when he finally came to do it, he would know how."

  Sejer nodded. "Or he stopped her and got her talking. While waiting for a gap in the traffic."

  "In that case someone would have seen them. Though that part of the road is quiet at six in the evening." Holthemann pointed to the map. "That's Holthe Common. There's not a single house on that stretch. The common is nine hundred meters long and curves here, by Glassverket church. There are some houses here. I have a feeling about that common," he declared. "I imagine that's where she was picked up."

  "But you can be seen from all directions," Sejer objected.

  "It's to the killer's advantage," said his head of department. "Suddenly he's alone on the road. There's not a house or a car as far as the eye can see. Then he spots Ida on her bicycle."

  "He would also need time to see who was riding the bicycle," Sejer reminded him. "In order to be sure that it was a girl. She would have to be quite close before he decided to strike. Perhaps he drove past her at
first and then turned around to come back."

  "Have all her relatives been questioned?" Holthemann asked.

  "Not formally," Sejer said. "But we're working on it. Ida's uncles have both taken part in the search. Skarre has spoken to her cousin. So far we've discovered nothing about the family that seems worth following up. No alarm bells. We covered the majority of households along the route. Everyone's been very helpful, but nobody has seen anything." "And there are no rumors?"

  "Not to my knowledge. However, it may be days before we find her, so I'm sure they'll start soon."

  ***

  Helga had an idea. She would do something completely normal. Several agonizing days had passed. If she went about her business, everything would go back to the way it was. If she left the house to get some milk and a loaf of bread, Ida would turn up while she was out. The telephone would ring. All the things that had not happened precisely because she was waiting for them. This was why she had written a shopping list and put on her coat, as she would normally do. She left the front door unlocked. All Ida needed to do was walk right in and sit down on the sofa. She could read a comic while she waited. The comics were still in a pile on the coffee table. Now everything would get better. Now Ida would be waiting for her.

  She parked in front of the Joker. Stayed in the car for a while looking through the windshield. Then she opened the car door and put her foot down on the asphalt. She looked down at her thick ankle and her brown shoe. Raised her eyes. Gazed at the entrance to the shop. At that moment she froze. She was looking right at a yellow bike. Helga started shaking. Her whole body trembled. She staggered out of the car and starting walking toward the bicycle rack. A sudden heat surged through her body. She vaguely noticed that the doors had opened and someone was coming out of the shop. They reached the bicycle at the same time. In disbelief Helga stared at the red-haired girl with the sullen face who grabbed the handlebars with both hands and pulled the bicycle out of the rack. A Nakamura. She pushed the bicycle onto the asphalt and mounted it. Just the way Ida would have done. Brisk and confident.

  "No!" Helga screamed. She began to run. Tried to get hold of the pannier rack, but she did not succeed. The girl gave her a mystified look and started pedaling away from the shop as fast as she could. Helga raced after her. She was not used to running, she was heavy and clumsy.

  "No! Wait!"

  The girl cycled faster. Her skinny body pushed down the pedals as if her life depended on it. Helga started to lag behind. She stopped abruptly and then rushed back to the car and jumped in. Turned the key, revved the engine violently and reversed. A loud crash sounded and she turned round. A shopping trolley had rolled behind her car and she had reversed right into it. She panicked. She got out again to scan the road for the bicycle. Any second now it would disappear around the bend. She shoved the trolley out of the way and let it roll across the asphalt. Got into the car without checking the damage that had been done to it. Turned into the road. Spotted the bicycle just as it swung into a residential area. She knew this neighborhood well. She had lost sight of the bicycle. She stopped and reversed. Checked her rearview mirror. Where was the girl? Surely that was Ida's bicycle. A brand-new Nakamura, all shiny and yellow! She kept the engine running and got out of the car. Stood for a while, listening. But she heard nothing except the wind and footsteps on the road behind her. Heels clicking sharply against the asphalt. A woman with shopping bags came walking. Helga ran toward her.

  "Excuse me!" she panted. "Do you know if a girl with red hair lives around here? Ten, twelve years old?"

  The woman looked at Helga and hesitated. "Eh, red hair? I might know her."

  "I need to talk to her!"

  The woman seemed uncertain. Helga looked like a maniac; her eyes were shining. "Talk to her?" "I have to. It's important!"

  Helga could not control herself; she gripped the woman's coat and tugged it. The woman twisted to free herself from Helga's grip. "There's a girl on Røyskattlia," she said. "It's the last house. Her hair's very red."

  She tore herself loose and disappeared with brisk steps. Helga got back into her car. Rolled slowly down the road in first gear. Stopped at the junction. She saw the sign saying Røyskattlia and she noticed the last house. It was wooden, painted in an almost black color. She stayed in the car for a while with only one thought in her head. The bicycle had to come home. It had to be parked on the drive as it always was. Then she turned the car around, left the area and returned to her house as quickly as she could. There was no Ida reading on the sofa. She sat down in an armchair and waited for the twilight.

  ***

  At 10:00 P.M. it was dark. Once more Helga drove down to the Joker. The shop was closed and the parking lot empty. She decided to walk the last stretch. She was wearing a dark jacket, and with her dark hair she was hardly noticeable from the windows. There was little street lighting. She found the house again and stood a few meters away, watching the dark drive. The kitchen window was lit up brightly. She tiptoed down a narrow strip of lawn and sneaked around the corner of the house. Two bicycles were leaning against the wall, not visible from the road. A big, black man's bicycle and Ida's little yellow one. She went over to it and stroked the saddle. She watched the house with curiosity. Who lived inside it? Would they hear her if she rolled the bicycle across the gravel? Carefully she pulled on the handlebars. They had got caught up with the other bicycle's. She yanked them, and they hit the wall with a thud. Helga held her breath. Had they heard her? Nervously she moved away with the bicycle. She decided to go through the garden. The tires rolled noiselessly across the grass.

  It was light outside the Joker. Helga studied the bicycle in more detail now. It was definitely Ida's. She opened the trunk of her car and tried lifting the bicycle up into it. It was heavy and half of it stuck out, even though she pushed and shoved as hard as she could. The trunk could only be half shut. Growing increasingly distraught, she started searching for a bungee, but couldn't find one. However, she did find a green nylon towrope. She unwound the coil with trembling hands. The bicycle had to come now, it belonged to Ida! The blood roared inside her head as she suddenly heard steps. Startled, she stood up. She felt like a thief. It was an elderly man and he was heading for her car.

  "You look as if you could do with a hand," he said gruffly.

  Helga gripped the rope tightly in her hands. "I have to get this bicycle home!" she said.

  The man looked into the trunk. "Not enough room," he stated. "You drive a Peugeot 306."

  "I'm aware of that," she said, stressed. "Some of it'll just have to stick out. But I have a rope."

  He took the rope in order to help her. "You going far with that bicycle?"

  "I'm going home!" she repeated.

  "And where's home?"

  He was brusque and efficient. He was someone who was used to stepping in and taking care of things as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Helga felt relieved. She let her arms flop and allowed him to take over and deal with it all.

  "Glassblåserveien. I'll drive carefully."

  "You'll have to. I'm afraid you might scratch the paint if you're not careful. But I see you've already done that," he said, pointing to the damage done by the trolley.

  "I don't give a damn about the paint job," Helga said, watching him nervously while he tied the rope. She did not know if he knew her, if he knew what had happened. What he made of the yellow bicycle. But he knew what he was doing. He had done this before and he sorted it out. She looked at the knots and thought, I'll never manage to undo those. But then I'll just use a knife.

  The man was finally satisfied. He tugged the handlebars gently; the bicycle hardly moved. She thanked him. Then she drove home quickly and recklessly. Once she got home she cut the rope with a pair of pruning shears she found in the garage. She struggled to get the bicycle up the steps. She wanted to bring it all the way into the hallway. Finally she stood there looking at it. It felt good to have the bicycle back home again. All that was missing now was Ida. S
he went over to the telephone and rang Sejer's number.

  "I've found Ida's bicycle," she said.

  ***

  Shortly afterward he was standing in her hallway. He studied the yellow bicycle and tried to be tactful. "How can you be so sure?" he asked.

  She was standing in front of him, trembling but strong. Her face was determined. "Because I bought it," she said. "From Sportshuset. This is Ida's bicycle. I can tell from the height of the saddle, which is on the lowest setting, and from the handlebars, which were adjusted so that she wouldn't be leaning too far forward. I can tell because it's new and unscratched. Ida wasn't allowed to put any stickers on it."

  "If only you'd let her," Sejer said. "A single sticker would have convinced me. Did anyone in the house hear you take it?"

  "I don't think so."

  He looked at her gravely. "If this really is Ida's bicycle, and the people who live on Røyskattlia have something to hide, they could deny that it was ever at their property. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

  She pressed her lips together and stared at the floor in defiance. "I was entitled to take it. It belongs to Ida."

  "I'll go talk to them," he said, more kindly this time. "But I ask you to be prepared that you might have made a mistake nonetheless. If they can produce a receipt for the bicycle, it means that they bought it for their own daughter. This brand's very popular. And many choose yellow."

  "She had a guilty conscience!" Helga said. "It was so obvious!"

  Sejer had no difficulty imagining the terror the girl would have felt when the desperate Helga Joner had started screaming and chasing after her.

  "How about the registration number?" he said calmly. "Every bicycle's got one. When you bought the bike, I'm sure you got a registration card. Do you remember?"

  She frowned. "Yes," she said. "But I'll have to look for it."

  She disappeared into the kitchen. Sejer found the frame number and wrote it down on his notepad. U 9810447. Then he followed her. Helga was rummaging through a drawer.

  "It's red," she said feverishly, "I remember that the card was red. The receipt was stapled to the inside. It cost 3,990 kroner. They must think we're idiots," she stuttered as bits of paper and other debris flew around her. "I remember that they had to take five centimeters off the seat post. Go out in the hallway and see for yourself. It was because Ida needed to have the saddle really low. Go and check!" she called out while she carried on looking. Sejer went out to check the post. He ran his finger over the edge. It had been cut. He returned. Helga had found the registration card. She smoothed it out and handed it to him. Sejer stared at the card and then at his notepad.