Don't Look Back

by Karin Fossum

  "No. Just quiet. Disappointed, in a way."

  Disappointed.

  Sejer nodded. He looked at Sølvi. Her stretch pants were dazzling, the colour of lilacs from his childhood.

  "Do you know whether Annie and Halvor had a sexual relationship?"

  She turned bright red. "I'm not sure. You'll have to ask Halvor."

  "I will."

  "The sister," Sejer said, when they were back in the car, "is the kind of girl who often ends up a victim. Of a man with bad intentions, I mean. She's so preoccupied with herself and her appearance that she wouldn't notice the danger signals. Sølvi. Not Annie. Annie was reserved and sporty. Didn't care about making an impression on anyone. She didn't hitchhike and wasn't interested in meeting new people. If she got into someone's car, it would have been somebody she knew."

  Skarre looked at him. 'That's what we keep saying."

  "I know."

  "You have a daughter who's been through puberty," he said inquisitively. "So what was it like?"

  "Oh," Sejer said, looking out the window. "It was mostly Elise who handled that type of thing. But I do remember it. Puberty is a really rough time. She was a sunbeam until she turned 13, then she began to snarl. She snarled until she was 14, then she began to bark. And then it wore off."

  It wore off, and he remembered when she turned 15 and became a young woman, and he didn't know how to talk to her. It must have been like that for Holland too. When your child is no longer a child, and you have to find a new language. Difficult.

  "So it took a year or two? Before it was over?"

  "Yes," he said thoughtfully, "I suppose it did."

  "You seem to be focusing on this change in her."

  "Something must have happened. I have to find out what it was. Who she was, who killed her and why. It's time we paid a visit to Halvor Muntz. No doubt he's been waiting for us. How do you think he feels?"

  "No idea. Can I smoke in the car?"

  "No. By the way, your hair is looking a little shaggy, don't you think?"

  "I guess so, now that you mention it. Here, have a mint."

  They each stared out at the road. Skarre fiddled with a lock of hair at the back of his neck and stretched it out full-length. When he let go, it curled up as swiftly as a worm on a hotplate.

  CHAPTER 4

  She thought there was something familiar about him. That's why she'd scooted her chair closer and stuck her wrinkled face all the way up to the television. The light of the screen fell on her so that he could see the whiskers on her chin which were still growing. They should have been shaved off, he thought, but he wasn't sure how to mention it to her.

  "It's Johann Olav Koss!" she shrieked. "He's drinking milk."

  "Hmm."

  "Good heavens, how handsome that boy is. I wonder if he knows it? He's just like a sculpture, he really is. A living sculpture!"

  Koss wiped off his milk moustache and smiled with white teeth.

  "Oh, just look at the teeth that boy has! Teeth as white as chalk! It's because he drinks milk. You should too, you should drink more milk. But he probably had a school dentist. We didn't."

  She tucked the tartan blanket around her lap. "We couldn't afford to have our teeth fixed, just had to get them pulled out as they rotted away, one by one, but today all of you have school dentists and milk and vitamins and healthy diets and toothpaste and fluoride, and all manner of things."

  She sighed heavily. "Let me tell you, I sat and cried in class, yes I did. Not because I didn't know my lessons, but because I was so hungry. Of course you're handsome, all of you young people today. I envy you! Do you hear what I'm saying, Halvor? I envy you!"

  "Yes, Grandmother."

  His hands shook as he pulled photos out of a yellow Kodak envelope. A slender young man with narrow shoulders, he didn't look much like the skater in the TV commercial. He had a small mouth, like a girl, and one corner was stretched taut – when he smiled, which happened rarely, it refused to turn upwards. Close up, it was possible to see the scar from the stitches; it extended from the right side of his mouth to his temple. His hair was brown, cut soft and short, and his sideburns were sparse. From a distance he was often taken for a 15-year-old, and for a long time he'd had to show his ID at the cinema. He never made a fuss about it though, he was no troublemaker.

  Slowly he shuffled through the pictures, which he had looked at countless times before. But now they had acquired a new dimension. Now he was searching them for signs of what was to happen later on, things that he hadn't known when he'd taken them. Annie with a wooden mallet, pounding in a tent peg with great force. Annie on the end of the diving board, erect as a pillar in her black bathing suit. Annie asleep in the green sleeping bag. Annie on her bike, her face hidden by her blonde hair. A picture of him as he struggled with the Primus stove. One of both of them, taken by the people in the next tent. He had to nag her to get her to agree. She couldn't stand being photographed.

  "Halvor!" cried his grandmother from the window. "There's a police car outside!"

  "Yes," he said in a low voice.

  "Why are they coming here?" She looked at him, suddenly anxious. "What do they want?"

  "It's because of Annie."

  "What's wrong with Annie?"

  "She's dead."

  "What did you say?"

  Frightened, she stumbled back to her chair and leaned on the armrest.

  "She's dead. They're coming here to interrogate me. I knew they would come. I've been waiting for them."

  "Why are you saying that Annie's dead?"

  "Because she is dead!" he shouted. "She died yesterday! Her father called me."

  "Yes, but why?"

  "How should I know! I don't know why, all I know is that she's dead!"

  He hid his face in his hands. His grandmother collapsed like a sack of flour into her chair, looking even paler than usual. Things had been so peaceful for such a long time. But it couldn't last, of course it couldn't.

  Someone knocked loudly on the door. Halvor gave a start, shoved the photos under the tablecloth, and went to open the door. There were two of them. They stood on the porch for a moment and looked at him. It wasn't hard to guess what they were thinking.

  "Are you Halvor Muntz?"

  "Yes."

  "We've come to ask you some questions. Do you know why?"

  "Her father called last night." Halvor nodded over and over. Sejer caught sight of the old woman in the chair and said hello to her.

  "Is she a relative of yours?"

  "Yes."

  "Is there somewhere we can talk in private?"

  "My room's the only place."

  "Well, if it's all right with you ..."

  Halvor led the way out of the living room, through a cramped little kitchen, and into his bedroom. This must be an old house, Sejer thought, they don't make houses with this floor plan any more. The two men cleared a place to sit on a sagging sofa, Muntz sat down on his bed. An old-fashioned room with green-painted panelling and wide windowsills.

  "Is she your grandmother? The woman in the living room?"

  "Yes, my father's mother."

  "And your parents?"

  "They're divorced."

  "Is that why you live here?"

  "I was allowed to choose where I wanted to live."

  The words sounded terse and clacking, like pebbles falling.

  Sejer looked around, searching for pictures of Annie, and found a small one in a gold frame on the bedside table. Next to it stood an alarm clock and a statue of the Madonna and child, perhaps a souvenir from the Mediterranean. A single poster hung on the wall, presumably a rock singer, with the words "Meat Loaf printed across the picture. A stereo and CD player. A wardrobe, a pair of trainers, not as fancy as Annie's. A motorcycle helmet hung from the doorknob of the wardrobe. The bed had not been made. Beside the window stood a narrow desk with a good computer. Next to it was a box containing diskettes. Sejer could see the one on top: Chess for Beginners. From the window he looked out on t
he courtyard, and he could see their Volvo parked in front of the shed, an empty doghouse, and a motorcycle covered with plastic.

  "You ride a motorcycle?" he began.

  "When it's running. It doesn't always start. I have to get it fixed, but I don't have the money right now."

  He fidgeted with the collar of his shirt.

  "Do you have a job?"

  "At the ice cream factory. Been there two years."

  The ice cream factory, Sejer thought. For two years. So he must have left at the end of middle school and gone to work. Might not be such a bad idea after all; he was getting work experience. It was clear that he wasn't athletic – a little too thin, a little too pale. Annie was much fitter in comparison, training diligently and working hard at school, while this young man packed ice cream and lived with his grandmother. Sejer didn't think it added up. But this was an arrogant thought, and he pushed it aside.

  "I'm going to have to ask you about various things. Is that all right with you?"

  "Yes."

  "Let's start with this: When did you last see Annie?"

  "On Friday. We went to the movies, the 7 p.m. show."

  "What did you see?"

  "Philadelphia. Annie cried."

  "Why?"

  "It's a sad movie."

  "I see, of course. And then?"

  "We ate at the Kino Pub and took the bus back to her house. Sat in her room and listened to music. I took the bus home at 11 p.m. She walked me to the bus stop on Meieriet."

  "And you didn't see her again?"

  He shook his head. The tight pull of his mouth gave him a sullen look. Actually that's unfair, thought Sejer, because otherwise he had quite a nice face, with green eyes and regular features. The compressed lips made it look as if he wanted to hide bad teeth or something. Later Sejer would discover that they were more than perfect. Four up and two down were made of porcelain.

  "And you didn't talk to her on the phone or anything?"

  "Oh yes," he said at once. "She called me the next evening."

  "What did she want?"

  "Nothing."

  "She was a very quiet girl, wasn't she?"

  "Yes, but she liked to talk on the phone."

  "So she didn't want anything, but she called you all the same. What did you talk about?"

  "If you really must know, well ... we talked about all sorts of things."

  Sejer smiled. Halvor stared out of the window the whole time, as if he wanted to avoid eye contact. Perhaps he felt guilty, or maybe he was just shy. They felt a sad empathy for him. His girlfriend was dead, and probably he had no one to talk to except his grandmother who was waiting in the living room. And maybe, Sejer thought, he's our killer.

  "And yesterday you were at your job, as usual? At the ice cream factory?"

  He hesitated for a moment. "No, I was at home."

  "You were home? Why?"

  "I wasn't feeling too good."

  "Do you often call in sick?"

  "No, I don't often call in sick."

  His voice was raised. For the first time they caught a glimpse of anger.

  "Your grandmother can confirm all this, of course?"

  "Yes."

  "And you didn't go out at all during the day?"

  "Just for a short while."

  "Even though you were sick?"

  "We have to eat! It's not easy for Grandmother to get to the shops. She can only manage to walk on her good days, and there aren't many of those. She has arthritis," he said.

  "OK, I understand. Can you tell us a little about what was wrong with you?"

  "Only if I have to."

  "You don't have to right now, but you may have to later on."

  "Well, OK. There are some nights when I can't sleep."

  "Is that right? So then you stay home?"

  "I can't tend to the machines if my mind's not sharp."

  "That sounds reasonable. Why do you have these sleepless nights?"

  "Oh, it's just some stuff from my childhood. Isn't that what people say?" He gave them a bitter smile; and suddenly there was something strangely adult about his young face.

  "Approximately when did you go out?"

  "Around 11 a.m., I guess."

  "On foot?"

  "On my motorcycle."

  "Which store did you go to?"

  "The Kiwi shop in town."

  "So your bike started OK yesterday?"

  "Actually, it always starts if I keep at it long enough."

  "How long were you out?"

  "Don't know. How could I know that someone would be demanding an explanation?"

  Sejer nodded. Skarre was moving his pen like crazy to keep up.

  "But approximately?

  "Maybe an hour."

  "And your grandmother can confirm that?"

  "Probably not. She doesn't pay much attention."

  "Do you have a licence to drive a car?"

  "No."

  "How long were you together, you and Annie?"

  "A long time. A couple of years." He wiped his nose and kept on staring out at the courtyard.

  "Do you think it was a good relationship?"

  "We split up a few times."

  "Was she the one who wanted to break up?"

  "Yes."

  "Did she say why?"

  "Not really. But she wasn't always enthusiastic. Wanted to keep things on a friendship basis."

  "And you didn't?"

  He blushed and looked down at his hands.

  "Was it a sexual relationship?"

  He coloured even more and shifted his glance back to the courtyard.

  "Not really."

  "Not really?"

  "Like I said. She wasn't very enthusiastic."

  "But the two of you gave it a try? Is that right?"

  "Yes, sort of. A couple of times."

  "So it wasn't especially successful?"

  Sejer sounded extremely kind as he asked the question.

  "I don't know what you'd call successful."

  His face was now so strained that it had lost all expression.