Don't Look Back (17 page)

Halvor scratched the corner of his mouth with a sharp fingernail and suddenly remembered Annie's enthusiasm for the book
Sophie's World.
And since her name was Annie Sofie, he typed in the title. He thought it would be a clever password, but she evidently hadn't felt the same way, because nothing happened. He kept on trying. His stomach growled, and a throbbing in his temples signaled a headache.

Sejer and Skarre locked up the office and walked down the hall. The boys had done well at Bjerkeli. Halvor developed an attachment to a Catholic priest who visited the home now and then. This was when he graduated from ninth grade. The younger brother was put into a foster home, and then Halvor was all alone. After a while he chose to move in with his grandmother. He was used to taking care of someone. When he wasn't doing that, he felt useless.

"Strange that they could turn out all right in spite of everything," said Skarre, shaking his head.

"Maybe we don't really know how Halvor has turned out," said Sejer bluntly. "It remains to be seen."

Skarre nodded with embarrassment, fiddling with his car keys.

Halvor's headache was getting worse. It was finally nighttime. His grandmother had been sitting alone for a long time, and his eyes were sore from staring at the flickering screen. He kept at it for a while longer, realizing he had no idea what chance he had of ever finding Annie's password, or what he might find if he did. Maybe she had a secret. He
had
to find it, and he had plenty of time, at any rate. Eventually he got up, almost reluctantly, to get something to eat. He left the monitor on and went out to the kitchen. His grandmother was watching a program about the American Civil War on TV. She was cheering for the ones in blue uniforms because she thought they were more handsome. And besides, she thought the ones wearing gray uniforms spoke with such a disgusting accent.

Skarre drove nice and slowly; he had learned that his boss had an aversion to high speeds, and the road was unbelievably bad—buckled by frost, narrow and meandering across the landscape. It was still chilly, as if someone had waylaid summer, detained it elsewhere with idle conversation. Birds huddled under shrubbery, regretting their return home. People had stopped planting seeds. The ground was completely bare, after all. A dry, hard crust on which no tracks were left.

Halvor poured cornflakes into a bowl and sprinkled them liberally with sugar. He carried the cereal into the dining room and rolled up a woven tablecloth so as not to spill on it. The spoon shook in his hand. His blood sugar was extremely low, and his ears were ringing.

"A black man has started working at the Co-op grocery," his grandmother said out of the blue. "Have you seen him, Halvor?"

"It's called the Kiwi now. The Co-op is gone. Yes, his name is Philip."

"He talks with a Bergen accent," she said. "I don't like it when a fellow looks like that and talks with a Bergen accent."

"But he
is
from Bergen," said Halvor, slurping milk and sugar from his spoon. "He was born and raised there. His parents are from Tanzania."

"It would have been much better if he spoke his own language."

"The Bergen dialect
is
his own language. Besides, you wouldn't understand a word if he spoke Swahili."

"But I get such a fright every time he opens his mouth."

"You'll get used to it."

That's the way they talked to each other. Usually they agreed about things. His grandmother would toss out her latest worry, and Halvor would pick it up, swiftly and easily, as if it were a faulty paper airplane that needed to be refolded.

The car approached the driveway. From a distance the house didn't look particularly inviting. An aerial view would have revealed just how isolated it was, as if it wanted to hide from the rest of the neighborhood, set back from the road, partially concealed by shrubs and trees. Little windows high up on the wall. Faded gray clapboard weatherproofing. The courtyard half-overgrown with weeds.

Through the dining-room window Halvor saw a faint light. He heard the car and some of his milk dribbled down his chin. The headlights flickered through the dim light of the room. Moments later, they were standing in the doorway, looking at him.

"We need to have a little talk," said Sejer. "You'll have to come with us, but you can finish eating first."

He wasn't hungry now, but then he hadn't thought he was going to get off easily. He went calmly out to the kitchen and carefully rinsed the bowl under the tap. He slipped into his
room and turned off the monitor, muttered something into his grandmother's ear, and followed them out. He had to sit by himself in the backseat of the car, and he didn't like that. It reminded him of something else.

"I'm trying to put together a picture of Annie," Sejer said. "Who she was and how she lived. I want you to tell me everything about what kind of girl she was. What she did and said when the two of you were together, all the thoughts and fantasies you must have had about why she'd withdrawn from everyone she knew, and about what happened up there at Serpent Tarn. Everything, Halvor."

"I have no idea."

"You must have had some thoughts about it."

"I've thought about a lot of things, but nothing makes any sense."

Silence. Halvor studied Sejer's blotting pad, which was a map of the world, and found the approximate location of where he lived.

"You were an important part of Annie's landscape," Sejer said. "That's actually what I'm getting at. I'm trying to map out the area that was hers."

"So that's what you're doing?" said Halvor dryly. "You're drawing a map?"

"Perhaps you have a better idea?"

"No," he said.

"Your father is dead," Sejer said abruptly. He searched the young face in front of him, and Halvor felt Sejer's looming presence like a tension in the room. It sapped his strength, especially when they had eye contact. So he sat with his head bowed.

"He took his own life. But you said that your parents were separated. Is it hard for you to talk about that?"

"I suppose so."

"Is that why you concealed the truth from me?"

"It's not exactly something to boast about."

"I understand. Can you tell me what you wanted from Annie?" he said. "Since you were waiting for her at Horgen's Shop on the day she was murdered."

His surprise seemed genuine.

"I'm sorry, but you're really on the wrong track!"

"A motorcyclist was observed in the vicinity at a crucial moment. You were out riding around. It could have been you."

"You better check that man's eyesight as soon as possible."

"Is that all you have to say?"

"Yes."

"Then I will. Do you want something to drink?"

"No."

More silence. Halvor listened. Someone was laughing nearby; it all seemed so unreal. Annie was dead, and people were making noise and behaving as if nothing had happened.

"Did you get the impression that Annie wasn't well?"

"What?"

"Did you ever hear her complain of pain, for example?"

"Nobody was as healthy as Annie. Are you saying she was sick?"

"Unfortunately, I'm not allowed to divulge certain information to you, even though the two of you were close. She never mentioned anything of the kind?"

"No."

Sejer's voice was not unkind, but he spoke with deliberate slowness, enunciating carefully, and it lent the gray-haired figure a good deal of authority.

"Tell me about your job. What you do at the factory."

"We move around. One week we do the packing, one week we take care of the machines, and one week we do deliveries."

"Do you like it?"

"You don't have to think," he said.

"You don't have to think?"

"About the job. You can do it on automatic, and think about other things."

"Like what, for instance?"

"Anything at all," he said. His tone was defensive. Maybe he didn't realize it, maybe it was a habit from his childhood, years of reprimands and beatings having forced him to weigh every word.

"How are you spending your time these days? The time you normally would have spent with Annie?"

"Trying to find out what happened," he blurted out. "Do you have any leads for us?"

"I'm searching my memory."

"I'm not sure that you're telling me everything you know."

"I didn't do anything to Annie. You think I did it, don't you?"

"To be honest, I don't know. You're going to have to help me, Halvor. It sounds as if Annie had undergone some sort of change in personality. Do you agree?"

"Yes."

"The reason for such an occurrence is partially understood. Several factors can be responsible. For example, people might change drastically if they lose someone close to them; or if they experience serious trauma, or suffer a serious illness. Young people who are known as decent, hard-working, and diligent can become completely indifferent to the world even though they might recover from a physical trauma. Another thing that can lead to a change in personality is drug abuse. Or a brutal assault, such as rape."

"Was Annie raped?"

Sejer chose not to answer this question. "Does any of this sound familiar?"

"I think she had a secret," he said at last.

"You think she had a secret? Go on."

"Something that had upset her whole life. Something she couldn't ignore."

"Are you going to tell me that you don't know what it was?"

"Yes. I have no idea."

"Who, aside from you, knew Annie best?"

"Her father."

"But they didn't really communicate?"

"It's still possible to know someone well."

"I see. So if anyone might understand her silence, it would be Eddie?"

"It's a question of whether you can get him to say anything. It would be better if you got him to come here without Ada. Then he'll talk more."

Sejer nodded. "Did you ever meet Axel Bjørk?"

"Sølvi's father? Once. I went with the girls to visit him."

"What did you think of him?"

"He was OK. Said we should come back. Looked unhappy when we left. But Ada went totally berserk when she found out, and so Sølvi had to go there in secret. After a while she didn't feel like it any more, so I guess Ada had her way."

"What kind of a girl is Sølvi?"

"There's not much to say about her. You must have seen all there is to see; it doesn't take long."

Sejer hid his face by leaning his head on his hands. "Why don't we have a Coke? The air is so dry in here. Nothing but synthetic materials and fiberglass and misery."

Halvor nodded and relaxed a bit. But then he grew tense again. Maybe this was some kind of tactic, this first small glimpse of sympathy from the gray-haired inspector. He probably had some reason for being friendly. He must have taken courses, studied interrogation techniques and psychology. Knew how to find a crack and then drive in a wedge. The door closed behind him, and Halvor took the opportunity to stretch his legs. He went over to the window and looked out. On the
desk stood a PC, an American Compaq model. Maybe that's where they had discovered his background. Maybe they had passwords, just like Annie; information was a sensitive matter, after all. He wondered what kind of passwords they used, and who had thought them up.

Sejer came back and, seeing Halvor looking at the PC, said, "That thing is just a toy. I don't like it much."

"Why not?"

"It's not really on my side."

"Of course not. It can't choose sides at all; that's why you can depend on it."

"You have one, don't you?"

"I have a Mac. I play games on it. Annie and I used to play games together."

All of a sudden he opened up a tiny bit and smiled that half-smile of his. "What she liked best was the downhill run. It's set up so you can choose the kind of snow—coarse or finegrained, dry or wet—the temperature, the length and weight of your skis, the wind conditions, everything. Annie always won. She would choose the hardest course, either Deadquin's Peak or Stonies. She would make the run in the middle of the night in a huge storm on wet snow with the longest skis, and I never had a chance."

Sejer gave him a look of incomprehension and shook his head. He poured some Coke into two plastic cups and sat down again.

"Do you know Knut Jensvoll?"

"The coach? I know who he is. I went to team handball matches with Annie once in a while."

"Did you like him?"

Halvor shrugged.

"Not such a great guy?"

"I thought he chased after the girls too much."

"Annie too?"

"Don't be funny!"

"I rarely am. I was just asking."

"He didn't dare. She didn't let anyone get too close."

"So she was tough?"

"Yes."

"But I don't understand it, Halvor."

He shoved his plastic cup aside and leaned forward.

"Everyone speaks so well of Annie—about how strong and independent and sporty she was. Didn't care too much about her appearance, seemed almost standoffish. Didn't let anyone get too close, as you say. And yet she went with someone deep into the woods, to the lake. Apparently of her own free will. And then," he lowered his voice, "she let herself get killed."

Halvor gave him a frightened look, as if the absurdity of the situation had finally dawned on him, in all its horror.

"Someone must have had power over her."

"But was there anyone who had power over Annie?"

"Not as far as I know. I didn't; that's for sure."

Sejer drank his Coke. "A damn shame she didn't leave anything behind. A diary, for example."

Halvor bent his head over his cup and took a long gulp.

"But could it be true?" Sejer said. "That someone actually had some kind of hold over her? Someone she didn't dare defy? Could Annie have been mixed up in something dangerous that she needed to keep secret? Could someone have been blackmailing her?"

"Annie was very law-abiding. I don't think she would have done anything wrong."

"A person can do lots of wrong things and still be law-abiding," Sejer said. "One act doesn't describe a whole person."

Halvor noted those words, carefully storing them away.