Black Seconds by Karin Fossum Read Free Book Online Page A

throw the figure away. True, it did look a little worse for the wear, but it certainly did not smell.
    "Can I smoke out of the window?" Skarre asked.
    He waited patiently for a reply, holding a Prince cigarette in his hand. He got a brief affirmative nod from Sejer and sat down on the windowsill. He struggled with the heavy window for a few moments.
    "Like she's vanished into thin air," he stated, blowing smoke out into the September night. "They haven't found so much as a hair slide."
    "She had nothing to lose," Sejer said. "No wristwatch, no jewelry. But I'm pleased about one thing." "Really?" Skarre said glumly.
    "We haven't found any bloodstained clothing. Or a child's shoe abandoned on the road, or a bicycle dumped in a ditch. I like the fact that we haven't found anything."
    "Why?" Skarre said, surprised.
    "I don't know," Sejer admitted.
    "That only goes to show that he is thorough," Skarre said. "It doesn't make me feel better at all." He inhaled the cigarette smoke deeply. "Waiting like this is pure torture."
    "It certainly is for Anders and Helga Joner," Sejer said drily.
    Skarre fell silent. Was it a rebuke? He kept blowing smoke out of the open window, but some of it still drifted back into the darkened office. Finally he held the glowing cigarette butt under the tap in the sink.
    "Time to call it a day?"
    Sejer nodded and grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair.
    "What did you think about the press coverage?" Skarre asked him later. They were standing in the parking lot outside the police station. Both of them jingling their car keys.
    "Journalists are all right," Sejer said. "When you read what they've actually written. What I really object to is the way some editors lay everything out. They use photos and drawings to speculate and insinuate."
    Skarre remembered the pictures from the day's papers. The photos of Ida, the type of bicycle she had, a yellow Nakamura, the type of sweatsuit she had been wearing. And the wording: "This is where Ida was going." Dotted lines. A close-up of Laila's Kiosk.
    "They treat it like it's a soap opera," Sejer said. "I hope it's a short one."
    They nodded briefly to each other and went their separate ways. Once he got home, Sejer went into the kitchen and found a bag of dog food. His dog, Kollberg, who had been lying on the floor waiting for his master, stirred gingerly. However, the sound of the dry feed rattling in his metal bowl made him stand up. He trudged wearily into the kitchen. The dog, a Leonberger, was so old he defied all statistics. He looked up at Sejer with dark, impenetrable eyes. Sejer found it hard to look back at him. He knew the dog was suffering, that he ought to be spared further pain. Soon, he thought. But not today. I'll wait till Sara comes back home. He cut himself a slice of bread and put some salami on top. Then he found a tube of mayonnaise in the fridge. He stood for a while weighing up the pros and cons. He considered mayonnaise an extravagance. He unscrewed the cap and was struck by the absurdity of his situation. Here he was squeezing mayonnaise on his sandwich in the shape of an 8 before sitting down to eat it. While Helga Joner could barely breathe.
    ***
    Sejer woke up at 6:00 A.M. The dog was lying on the floor next to his bed. He registered his master's light movements on the mattress and raised his head. A second later the alarm gave off three short beeps. Sejer leaned over the edge of the bed and patted Kollberg on the head. The dog's skull was clearly outlined underneath his fur; he felt the bumps of it against his palm. Then he thought of Ida. She snapped into place in his mind. He stretched out his long body in the bed and tried to peer out from behind the curtains, searching for daylight. It was no good; he had to get up to have a look. He stared out at the damp morning mist, which lay like a lid across the town. For breakfast he ate two pieces of crispbread with cheese and red pepper. Coaxed Kollberg down the stairs and walked round