Sejer couldn’t stop himself, a reluctant smile spread across his face. “Well yes, we’re no different from other people. No better and no worse. I don’t want to hear any names.”
“Can they see me through the cell door?” she asked all at once.
“Yes, they can.”
She sniffled and looked at her hands. She began using one fingernail to scrape the polish off the others.
She had nothing more to say. She was waiting for him now, for him to do what he had to. Then she could rest and relax and just do what she was told. That was really the way she wanted it.
Markus Larsgård floundered beneath the blanket on the sofa. If it was someone he knew, it would ring for a long time. Someone who knew he was old and slow, that he kept the phone in his workroom, and would have to cross the full width of the living room on his swollen legs. If it was a stranger, he’d never get to it in time.
Not many strangers phoned Markus Larsgård now. The occasional telesales person, the odd wrong number. Apart from that it was Eva. Finally he got himself into a sitting position; it was still ringing, so it was someone he knew. With a grunt he heaved himself up using the tabletop and got hold of his stick. He stumped across the floor, thanking his lucky stars that someone could still be bothered to ring up and disturb him during his midday siesta. He limped along, struggled to get his stick to stand against the desk, but had to give up. It crashed to the floor. To his surprise he heard an unknown voice at the other end. A solicitor. Acting for Eva Marie, he said. Could he come to the station. She was in custody.
Larsgård fumbled with the chair, he had to sit down. Perhaps it was all nonsense, one of these practical jokers phoning to annoy him, he’d read about them in the paper. But he didn’t sound like one, he was educated, almost affable in his manner. He listened and strained, asked him to repeat, trying unsuccessfully to understand what the man meant. It was obviously a misunderstanding, and they’d soon realize it. But even so, it was an awful experience for poor Eva, a terrible thing. Custody? He’d have to go immediately. Phone for a taxi.
“No, we’ll send a car for you, Mr. Larsgård, just sit and relax until it arrives.”
Larsgård sat. He forgot to replace the phone. He ought to put on some clothes before the car arrived, but then he thought it didn’t really matter. Whether he was cold or not. They had got hold of Eva and locked her up. Maybe he ought to try to find something for her instead, perhaps it was cold in there. For a time he tried to get his bearings in the room, to recall where his things were. It was his home help who did the tidying. Perhaps he should take a bottle of red wine along? But maybe that wasn’t allowed. What about money? He had plenty of money in his jam jar, it seemed to be never-ending, as if it were breeding. He rejected that too, thought it unlikely there was a kiosk at the courthouse, he’d been there once, the autumn his moped had been stolen, and he couldn’t remember seeing one there. Besides, they said she was in custody, and that meant she wouldn’t be allowed out anywhere. He wanted to get up and go into the living room again, but his legs felt so feeble and strange. He had his good moments and his bad moments, he was used to that, but now he’d had a shock. He would have to sit for a while. Perhaps he ought to phone Jostein. He made another attempt, but fell back, suddenly feeling faint. He often felt faint, it was caused by the hardening of the arteries at the back of his neck, which prevented enough blood reaching his head, and this was because of his age, a perfectly normal situation, really, given the circumstances. But it was annoying, especially now because it wasn’t subsiding. The ceiling began to get lower. The walls, too, began to close in, from each side, it all felt so cramped, and gradually it got darker. Eva had been arrested for murder, and she’d confessed. He took a firm grip of himself and pushed hard with his legs. The last thing he felt was his sharp knees striking his brow with great force.
33
Sejer looked out of the window at the car park. At the flimsy gate through which the shadier street life constantly broke in, to vandalize or steal equipment, and the tufts of dry grass along the fence. Mrs. Brenningen had planted petunias there once, now the weeds had won the battle. No one had time to weed. The report told him that the remand prisoner Eva Magnus hadn’t slept at all, and that she’d refused all food and drink. It didn’t look good. In addition, she’d been very troubled by the way they could look in on her through the window in the door, and at the light being left on all night.
He had to get up and give her the news, but he felt a huge reluctance, and so it was a relief when there was a knock at the door. A tiny postponement. Karlsen stuck his head in.
“You’ve had rather a night, I hear!” He sat down heavily by the desk. “We’ve had a missing-person report.”
“Ah!” said Sejer. A new case was just what he needed, something that would remind him that, after all, it was only a job he was paid to do, and that he could lock it away in his drawer at four o’clock, at least if he made an effort. “I’ll take anything provided it’s not a child.”
Karlsen sighed. He, too, threw a glance at the police cars as if to make sure they were there. They were like a couple of old cowboys who’d found themselves a table in the saloon and were constantly on the lookout for horse thieves. “Have you told Eva Magnus yet?”
He shook his head. “I’m finding any excuse for postponing it.”
“Not much point, is there?”
“No, but I’m dreading it.”
“I could do it for you.”
“Thanks, but it’s my job. Either I do it, or I should retire.” He glanced at his colleague. “Well, who didn’t come home last night?”
Karlsen pulled a sheet of paper from his inner pocket and unfolded it. He read it to himself, tugged at his mustache a couple of times, and reluctantly cleared his throat: “Six-year-old girl, Ragnhild Album. Slept over with a friend in the area last night and was supposed to walk home this morning. Walk of only about ten or twelve minutes. She was pushing a pink doll’s pram with one of those crying dolls in it. Called Elise.”
“Elise?”
“One with a dummy in its mouth. When you pull it out it begins to cry. They’re all the rage now, every little girl has one. But you’ve got a grandson, so you won’t have seen them. But I have. They wail just like a real baby. Sounds like something out of a Hitchcock film. Anyway. She also had a nightie in the pram and a small bag with a toothbrush and comb. No sign of any of it.”
“Missing since...?”
“Eight o’clock.”
“Eight?” Sejer glanced at the clock. It was eleven.
“Ragnhild wanted to return home just after they woke up this morning. The mother of her friend didn’t ring Ragnhild’s mother to say she was coming. She was still in bed herself. But she heard the girls getting up, and Ragnhild leaving at about eight. She went on her own, it wasn’t far, and the mother knew no more about it till Ragnhild’s mother rang at ten and asked her to send the girl home. They were going shopping. Now she’s completely vanished.”
“She lives — where?”
“In Fagerlundsåsen, Lundeby. The new estate. They’ve just moved into the area.”
Sejer drummed on his map-of-the-world blotting pad. His hand covered the whole of the South American continent. “You and I’d better get off there.”
“We’ve already sent a patrol car.”
“I’ll talk to Magnus first. Then at least that’ll be over. Let the parents know we’re on our way, but don’t give them a time.”
“The mother. The father’s away, they can’t get hold of him.” Karlsen pushed back his chair and stood up.
“By the way, how did you get on with those tights for your wife?”