“One hundred and ninety-eight kroner,” Bonnie said. “We’ve got just enough.”
They paid for the animals, and Simon carried them out in a shopping bag. As they approached the car, Bonnie suddenly stopped. On the windshield, under the wipers, was a piece of yellow paper. For some reason, she’d been given a parking ticket. With slow steps, she went up to the car and snatched the piece of paper; it was like plastic, weather-resistant. She had parked in a handicapped parking spot. The low sign showing the handicapped symbol was buried by the snow, so she hadn’t seen it. Seven hundred kroner, she sobbed. Simon could see that his mother was upset. And even though he was happy to have his animals, this alarmed him. Bonnie put the yellow piece of paper in her bag and made light of it. She didn’t want to ruin the day.
Once they were home, Simon asked for some scissors. He cut open the bag and let all the wild animals fall onto the floor. With great respect, he placed them in a big circle with the lion in the middle; only the buffalo was walking away.
“Scar?” Bonnie asked.
“Mufasa,” Simon replied. “We should get a jungle.”
Bonnie looked around the living room. She had potted plants on two windowsills, so she lifted them down, one by one. She made a lush green ring with them around the animals.
“Which one do you like best?” she asked.
“All of them,” Simon said without hesitation. He knelt on the worn wooden floor and admired the wild animals, lifting them up one by one and smelling them. Bonnie went into the kitchen, where she opened her handbag. She found the yellow slip and dried a tear.
7
July 2005
Frank was lying with his head on Sejer’s feet. Sejer liked the feeling of being close to something warm and alive, even if that generally meant his socks got wet because the dog slobbered. He was holding a glass of whiskey in his hand, with no ice. On the table beside him was a pouch of tobacco that he rarely opened, being a man of moderation.
He thought about Bonnie Hayden. The long knife had pierced her body four times. In a fury or more methodically? He was certain that the murder had been planned, that there was a motive behind the evil act. A motive that he could not yet see. He had studied the photographs of the naked bodies for some time, Bonnie slim, Simon thin as a beanstalk. Both of them washed clean of blood, leaving the sharp wounds gaping, strangely narrow and precise. Bonnie had a tattoo on her shoulder. And over her breast, three moles in a gentle arc, which reminded him of Orion’s Belt. He could just picture a man, perhaps Simon’s father, stroking a finger over them, counting them solemnly. He could not imagine the fear and terror that must have filled the old trailer. But sometimes his imagination ran wild and then he struggled to breathe. When the glass was empty, he got up and switched off the lamp. On his way to the bathroom, he passed a photograph of his late wife, Elise.
“I’ll never get over it,” he said to the picture. “Time passes, but this is not what I’d hoped for. Just so you know.”
8
Robert Randen saw the car through the kitchen window. He had been expecting the police, so he immediately went out to meet them and ushered them back into the kitchen.
“We can talk in here.”
There was a long sanded wooden table with eight chairs, each with a simple pattern carved on the back. Randen himself stood by the countertop.
“I can’t sleep,” he said. “I keep remembering the smell. It smelled like a slaughterhouse.”
Sejer thought to himself that it would be impossible to live with the scene that Randen had discovered. He would remember it even when he was sitting in an old people’s home. It would haunt him until the end of his days.
“How many people live here on the farm?” Skarre asked.
“My wife Solveig, myself, and our four girls in the main house. My mother lives in the cottage on the other side of the yard. And there are four Poles in the outbuilding. So that’s eleven in total.”
“Could the killer have walked through the farm?”
“Well, of course. I mean, we’re not always standing at the window. But I’m pretty sure he didn’t, as there’s practically always someone outside here. Certainly in summer. No, I reckon he crossed the fields. From the woods. If he had a car, he might have parked it in Geirastadir. Lots of walkers do that: there’s plenty of room for cars there. In the autumn, people come to pick berries to sell at the market, but they usually come on mopeds. And most of them are from Lithuania.”
“Can you tell me about your four Polish farmhands?” Sejer asked. “Do they come back every year?”
Randen had decided that he wanted to sit down after all, and he pulled out a chair. Like most farmers, he was strong, lean, and weathered. His thick hair was the color of sand, and he would never lose it.
“This is the eighth year that they’ve come, so I know them well. They all have families back in Poland and they all have children. They’ve also got jobs to go back to in the autumn, and all four of them work hard and well, without complaining. We’ve never had any problems with them and they’re never ill. They get up before us and go to bed late. I understand why you have to ask, but I would vouch for all four of them. Why on earth would they have anything to do with this? It’s out of the question.”
Skarre shook his head. “We don’t think they’re involved either, but we still have to question them. Could they manage in English?”
“Woiciech speaks Norwegian. He’s pretty good.”
“Tell me about Bonnie Hayden and her son,” Sejer said. “In as much detail as possible.”
“Well, they just appeared here on the steps. They were holding hands. The mother had picked a bunch of wildflowers, and she seemed a bit embarrassed, as if she was reluctant to ask. It was obvious that she was doing it for the boy; he was practically hopping on the spot. She asked if I owned the old trailer at the bottom of the field, and when I said yes, the boy could hardly contain himself. She told me that they’d walked past it and the boy wondered if they could spend the night there. That’s all she said, and she squeezed the boy’s hand while they waited for an answer. I said of course they could.
“To be honest, I was touched by the pair of them, but I did tell them that the trailer was in a terrible state — it’s practically uninhabitable. But then they said that they’d already been inside and that it was good enough for them for just one night. They would go home to get some food and bring their bedding back with them. I said that was fine, and the boy really did jump for joy. ‘How much would you like for the night?’ she asked. I almost laughed. ‘My dear,’ I said, ‘I don’t want anything for it. The trailer hasn’t been used for years and should really be taken to the junkyard.’ They looked around at all the farm buildings. She asked if they could park here, and I showed them a place behind the outbuilding, where the car wouldn’t be in the way. And then they set off toward Geirastadir, to drive home and get all they needed. They waved to me before they disappeared. ‘We’ll be back this evening, then,’ the mother called to me. She seemed happy enough. And then they were gone.”
Randen folded his hands on the solid table. “When the men came back that evening, I told them that the pair of them were coming, so that they’d know. The Opel drove into the farm around seven o’clock. It was barely holding together, in a worse state than the trailer. I went out to greet them and to see if they needed any help carrying things down. The mother had a couple of comforters over her arm and the boy was holding a pillow and an old teddy bear. No, they’d manage themselves, they said. I watched them walk down across the fields; there was something quite sad about them.”