Don't Look Back
Page 2
He looked out the window and saw the black firs.
"Has anyone at all seen Ragnhild since she left?"
"Marthe's neighbour met her by his garage when he was leaving for work. I know because I rang his wife."
"Where does Marthe live?"
"In Krystallen, just a few minutes from here."
"She had her doll's pram with her?"
"Yes. A pink Brio."
"What's the neighbour's name?"
"Walther," she said, surprised. "Walther Isaksen."
"Where can I find him?"
"He works at Dyno Industries, in the personnel department."
Sejer stood up, went over to the telephone and called information, then punched in the number, and waited.
"I need to speak with one of your employees immediately. The name is Walther Isaksen."
Mrs Album gave him a worried look from the sofa. Karlsen was studying the view from the window, the blue ridges, the fields, and a white church steeple in the distance.
"Konrad Sejer of the police," Sejer said curtly. "I'm calling from 5 Granittveien, and you probably know why."
"Is Ragnhild still missing?"
"Yes. But I understood that you saw her when she left Marthe's house this morning."
"I was just shutting my garage door."
"Did you notice the time?"
"It was 8.06 a.m. I was running a little late."
"Are you quite sure of the time?"
"I have a digital watch."
Sejer was silent, trying to recall the way they had driven.
"So you left her at 8.06 a.m. by the garage and drove straight to work?"
"Yes."
"Down Gneisveien and out to the main highway?"
"That's correct."
"I would think," Sejer said, "that at that time of day most people are driving towards town and that there's probably little traffic going the other way."
"Yes, that's right. There are no main roads going through the village, and no jobs, either."
"Did you pass any cars on the way that were driving towards the village?"
The man was silent for a moment. Sejer waited. The room was as quiet as a tomb.
"Yes, actually, I did pass one, down by the flats, just before the roundabout. A van, I think, ugly and with peeling paint. Driving quite slowly."
"Who was driving it?"
"A man," he said hesitantly. "One man."
"My name is Raymond." He smiled.
Ragnhild looked up, saw the smiling face in the mirror, and Kollen Mountain bathed in the morning light.
"Would you like to go for a drive?"
"Mama's waiting for me."
She said it in a stuck-up sort of voice.
"Have you ever been to the top of Kollen?"
"One time, with Papa. We had a picnic."
"It's possible to drive up there," he explained. "From the back side, that is. Shall we drive up to the top?"
"I want to go home," she said, a bit uncertain now.
He shifted down and stopped.
"Just a short ride?" he asked.
His voice was thin. Ragnhild thought he sounded so sad. And she wasn't used to disappointing the wishes of grown-ups. She got up, walked forward to the front seat and leaned over.
"Just a short ride," she repeated. "Up to the top and then back home right away."
He backed into Feldspatveien and drove back downhill.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Ragnhild Elise."
He rocked a little from side to side and cleared his throat, as if to admonish her.
"Ragnhild Elise. You can't go out shopping so early in the morning. It's only 8.15 a.m. The shops are closed."
She didn't answer. Instead she lifted Elise out of the pram, put her on her lap and straightened her dress. Then she pulled the dummy out of the doll's mouth. Instantly the doll began to scream, a thin, metallic baby cry.
"What's that?"
He braked hard and looked in the mirror.
"That's just Elise. She cries when I take out her dummy."
"I don't like that noise! Put it back in!"
He was restless at the wheel now, and the van weaved back and forth.
"Papa is a better driver than you are," she said.
"I had to teach myself," he said sulkily. "Nobody wanted to teach me."
"Why not?"
He didn't reply, just tossed his head. The van was out on the main highway now; he drove in second gear down to the roundabout and passed through the intersection with a hoarse roar.
"Now we're coming to Horgen," she said, delighted.
He didn't reply. Ten minutes later he turned left, up into the wooded mountainside. On the way they passed a couple of farms with red barns and tractors parked here and there. They saw no one. The road grew narrower and peppered with holes. Ragnhild's arms were starting to grow tired from holding on to the pram, so she laid the doll on the floor and put her foot between the wheels as a brake.
"This is where I live," he said suddenly and stopped.
"With your wife?"
"No, with my father. But he's in bed."
"Hasn't he got up?"
"He's always in bed."
She peered curiously out of the window and saw a peculiar house. It had been a hut once, and someone had added on to it, first once, then again. The separate parts were all different colours. Next to it stood a garage of corrugated iron. The courtyard was overgrown. A rusty old trowel was being slowly strangled by stinging nettles and dandelions. But Ragnhild wasn't interested in the house; she had her eye on something else.
"Bunnies!" she said faintly.
"Yes," he said, pleased. "Do you want to look at them?"
He hopped out, opened the back, and lifted her down. He had a peculiar way of walking; his legs were almost unnaturally short and he was severely bowlegged. His feet were small. His wide nose nearly touched his lower lip, which stuck out a bit. Under his nose hung a big, clear drop. Ragnhild thought he wasn't that old, although when he walked he swayed like an old man. But it was funny too. A boy's face on an old body. He wobbled over to the rabbit hutches and opened them. Ragnhild stood spellbound.
"Can I hold one?"
"Yes. Take your pick."
"The little brown one," she said, entranced.
"That's Påsan. He's the nicest."
He opened the hutch and lifted out the rabbit. A chubby, lop-eared rabbit, the colour of coffee with a lot of cream. It kicked its legs vigorously but calmed down as soon as Ragnhild took it in her arms. For a moment she was utterly still. She could feel its heart pounding against her hand, as she stroked one of its ears cautiously. It was like a piece of velvet between her fingers. Its nose shone black and moist like a liquorice drop. Raymond stood next to her and watched. He had a little girl all to himself, and no one had seen them.
"The picture," Sejer said, "along with the description, will be sent to the newspapers. Unless they hear otherwise, they'll print it tonight."
Irene Album fell across the table sobbing. The others stared wordlessly at their hands, and at her shaking back. The woman officer sat ready with a handkerchief. Karlsen scraped his chair a bit and glanced at his watch.
"Is Ragnhild afraid of dogs?" Sejer said.
"Why do you ask?" she said with surprise.
"Sometimes when we're searching for children with the dog patrol, they hide when they hear our German shepherds."
"No, she's not afraid of dogs."
The words reverberated in his head. She's not afraid of dogs.
"Have you had any luck getting hold of your husband?"
"He's in Narvik on manoeuvres," she whispered. "On the plateau somewhere."
"Don't they use mobile phones?"
"They're out of range."
"The people who are looking for her now, who are they?"
"Boys from the neighbourhood who are home in the daytime. One of them has a phone with him."
"How long have they been gone?"
Her voice was no longer quavering. Now she sounded doped, almost lethargic, as if she were half asleep. Sejer leaned forward again and spoke to her as softly and clearly as he could.
"What you fear the most has probably not happened. Do you realise that? Usually, children disappear for all sorts of trivial reasons. And it's a fact that children get lost all the time, just because they're children. They have no sense of time or responsibility, and they're so maddeningly curious that they follow any impulse that comes into their head. That's what it's like to be a child, and that's why they get lost. But as a rule they turn up just as suddenly as they disappeared. Often they don't have a good explanation for where they've been or what they were doing. But generally" – he took a breath – "they're quite all right."
"I know!" she said, staring at him. "But she's never gone off like this before!"
"She's growing up and getting bigger," he said persuasively. "She's becoming more adventurous."
God help me, he thought, I've got an answer for everything. He got up and dialled another number, repressing an urge to look at his watch again – it would be a reminder that time was passing, and they didn't need that. He reached the Duty Officer, gave him a brief summary of the situation and asked him to contact a volunteer rescue group. He gave him the address in Granittveien and gave a quick description of the girl: dressed in red, almost white hair, pink doll's pram. Asked whether any messages had come in, and was told none had been received. He sat down again.
"Has Ragnhild mentioned or named anyone lately whom you didn't know yourself?"
"No."
"Did she have any money? Could she have been looking for a shop?"
"She had no money."
"This is a small village," he went on. "Has she ever been out walking and been given a ride by one of the neighbours?"
"Yes, that happens sometimes. There are about a hundred houses on this ridge, and she knows almost everyone, and she knows their cars. Sometimes she and Marthe have walked down to the church with their prams, and they've been given a ride home with one of the neighbours."
"Is there any special reason why they go to the church?"
"There's a little boy they knew buried there. They pick flowers for his grave, and then they come back up here. I think it seems exciting to them."
"You've searched at the church?"
"I rang for Ragnhild at ten o'clock. When they told me she had left at eight, I jumped in the car. I left the front door unlocked in case she came back while I was out searching. I drove to the church and down to the Fina petrol station, I looked in the auto workshop and behind the dairy, and then I drove over to the school to look in the schoolyard, because they have jungle gyms and things there. And then I checked the kindergarten. She was so keen on starting school, she ..."
Another bout of sobbing took hold. As she wept, the others sat still and waited. Her eyes were puffy now, and she was crumpling her skirt in her fingers in despair. After a while her sobs died away and the lethargy returned – a shield to keep the terrible possibilities at bay.
The phone rang. A sudden ominous jangle. She gave a start and got up to answer it, but caught sight of Sejer's hand held up to stop her. He lifted the receiver.
"Hello? Is Irene there?"
It sounded like a boy. "Who's calling?"
"Thorbjørn Haugen. We're looking for Ragnhild."
"You're speaking with the police. Do you have any news?"
"We've been to all the houses on the whole ridge. Every single one. A lot of people weren't home, though we did meet a lady in Feltspatveien. A lorry had backed into her farmyard and turned around, she lives in number 1. A kind of van, she thought. And inside the van she saw a girl with a green jacket and white hair pulled into a topknot on her head. Ragnhild often wears her hair in a topknot."
"Go on."
"It turned halfway up the hill and drove back down. Disappeared around the curve."
"Do you know what time it was?"
"It was 8.15 a.m."
"Can you come over to Granittveien?"
"We'll be right there, we're at the roundabout now."
He hung up. Irene Album was still standing.
"What was it?" she whispered. "What did they say?"
"Someone saw her," he said slowly. "She got into a van."
Irene Album's scream finally came. It was as if the sound penetrated through the tight forest and created a faint movement in Ragnhild's mind.
"I'm hungry," she said suddenly. "I have to go home."
Raymond looked up. Påsan was shuffling about on the kitchen table and licking up the seeds they had scattered over it. They had forgotten both time and place. They had fed all the rabbits, Raymond had shown her his pictures, cut out of magazines and carefully pasted into a big album. Ragnhild kept roaring with laughter at his funny face. Now she realised that it was getting late.
"You can have a slice of bread."
"I have to go home. We're going shopping."
"We'll go up to Kollen first, then I'll drive you home afterwards."
"Now!" she said firmly. "I want to go home now."
Raymond thought desperately for a way to stall her.
"All right. But first I have to go out and buy some milk for Papa, down at Horgen's Shop. You can wait here, then it won't take as long."
He stood up and looked at her. At her bright face with the little, heart-shaped mouth that made him think of heart-shaped cinnamon sweets. Her eyes were clear and blue and her eyebrows were dark, surprising beneath her white fringe. He sighed heavily, walked over to the back door and opened it.
Ragnhild really wanted to leave, but she didn't know the way home so she would have to wait. She padded into the little living room with the rabbit in her arms and curled up in a corner of the sofa. They hadn't slept much last night, she and Marthe, and with the warm animal in the hollow of her throat she quickly grew sleepy. Soon her eyes closed.
It was a while before he came back. For a long time he sat and looked at her, amazed at how quietly she slept. Not a movement, not a single little sigh. He thought she had expanded a bit, become larger and warmer, like a loaf in the oven. After a while he grew uneasy and didn't know what to do with his hands, so he put them in his pockets and rocked a little in his chair. Started kneading the fabric of his trousers between his hands as he rocked and rocked, faster and faster. He looked anxiously out the windows and down the hall to his father's bedroom. His hands worked and worked. The whole time he stared at her hair, which was shiny as silk, almost like rabbit fur. Then he gave a low moan and stopped himself. Stood up and poked her lightly on the shoulder.