Don't Look Back by Karin Fossum Read Free Book Online Page A

he said, exhaling. "By the marked path that we took, or the road on the far side, which was the way that Ragnhild and Raymond went. If anyone lives along that road, don't you think we should pay them a visit tomorrow?"

    "It's called Kolleveien. I don't think there are many houses, I checked on the map at home. Just a few farms. But of course if she was taken to the lake by car, they must have come that way."
    "I feel sorry for her boyfriend."
    "I guess we'll find out what kind of guy he is."
    "If a man takes a girl's life," Skarre said, "by holding her head underwater until she's dead, but then he pulls her out and proceeds to lay out her body, this suggests something along these lines: T didn't really mean to kill you, it was something I was forced to do.' It makes me think it was a way of asking for forgiveness, don't you agree?"
    Sejer downed the water and crushed the paper cup flat. "I'll talk to Holthemann in the morning. I want you on this case."
    "He's assigned me to the Savings Bank case," he stammered, surprised. "Along with Gøran."
    "But you're interested?"
    "Interested in a murder case? It's like a Christmas present. I mean, it's a big challenge. Of course I'm interested."
    He blushed and took the phone, which was ringing furiously, listened, nodded, and put down the receiver.
    "That was Siven. They've identified her. Annie Sofie Holland, born March 3, 1980. But she says they can't be interviewed until tomorrow."
    "Is Ringstad on duty?"
    "Just came in."
    "Then you should be getting home. It's going to be a rough day tomorrow. I'll take the photos with me," he added.
    "Are you going to study her in bed?"
    "I was thinking of it." He smiled sadly. "I prefer pictures I can put away in a drawer afterward."
    ***
    Like Granittveien, Krystallen was a cul-de-sac. It ended in a dense, overgrown thicket where a few citizens had furtively dumped their trash under cover of night. The houses stood close together, twenty-one in total. From a distance, they looked like attached houses, but as Sejer and Skarre walked down the street, they discovered narrow passageways between each building, just space enough for a man to pass through. The houses were three stories high, with pitched roofs, and identical. This reminds me of the wharf area in Bergen, Sejer thought. The colors complemented each other: deep red, dark green, brown, gray. One stood out; it was the color of an orange.

    No doubt many of the residents had seen the police car near the garage, and Skarre, who was in uniform. Before long the bomb was going to explode. The silence was palpable.
    Ada and Eddie Holland lived in number 20. Sejer could almost feel the neighbors' eyes on the back of his neck as he stood at the front door. Something has happened at number 20, they were thinking now; at the Hollands' house, with the two girls. He tried to calm his breathing, which was faster than normal because of the threshold he was about to cross. This sort of thing was such an ordeal for him that many years ago he had fashioned a series of set phrases, which now, after much practice, he could utter with confidence.
    Annie's parents obviously hadn't done a thing since coming home the night before—not even slept. The shock at the morgue had been like a shrill cymbal that was still reverberating in their heads. The mother was sitting in a corner of the sofa, the father was perched on the armrest. He looked numb. The woman hadn't yet taken in the catastrophe; she gave Sejer an uncomprehending look, as if she couldn't understand what two police officers were doing in her living room. This was a nightmare, and soon she would wake up. Sejer had to take her hand from her lap.
    "I can't bring Annie back," he said in a low voice. "But I hope that I can find out why she died."

    "We're not thinking about why!" shrieked the mother. "We're thinking about who did it! You have to find out who it was, and lock him up! He's sick."
    Her husband patted her arm awkwardly.
    "We don't yet know,"