Free Don't Look Back by Karin Fossum

acquaintances?"
    "Oh, no. She had Halvor, you know."
    "I see. Well, please call if you think of anything. We'd be happy to come over again."
    They thanked the two and went out, while shopkeeper Horgen disappeared into the back room. Sejer caught a glimpse of the stooped figure in the window next to the entrance.
    "When he's sitting in his office, he can see the road."
    A motorcycle that stops and then takes off again, between 12:30 and 1:00 P.M. That's something we need to make note of, he thought. All right.
    He slammed the door of the car. "Thorbjørn thought they went past Serpent Tarn about 12:45 P.M. when they were searching for Ragnhild. At that time, the body wasn't there. Raymond and Ragnhild saw the body at approximately 1:30 P.M. That gives us a window of forty-five minutes. That almost never happens. A car drove past them at high speed just before they left. An ordinary car, sort of in between. A dirty color, not light, not dark, not old, not new."
    He slammed his hand against the dashboard.
    "Not everybody is a car expert," Skarre said with a smile.
    "We'll ask him to come forward. Whoever it was that drove past Raymond's house between 1:00 and 1:30 P.M. yesterday, at high speed. Possibly with a ski-box on the roof. We'll also put out an APB on the motorcycle. If no one comes forward, I'm going to have to put pressure on those kids about that car."
    "How are you going to do that?"

    "Don't know yet. Maybe they can draw. Kids are always drawing things."

    Later they ate in the cafeteria at the courthouse.
    "This omelette is dry," Skarre said. "It was in the frying pan too long."
    "That right?"
    "The point is for the egg to solidify after it's on your plate. You have to take it out of the pan while it's still soft."
    Sejer wasn't going to dispute this; he couldn't cook at all.
    "And besides, they put milk in it. Which ruins the color."
    "Did you go to cooking school?"
    "Just one course."
    "Jesus, the things we don't know."
    He mopped up the last scraps on his plate with a piece of bread, then carefully wiped his mouth with his napkin.
    "We'll start with Krystallen. We'll take one side each, ten houses apiece. But we'll wait until after five, when people are home from work."
    "What should I be looking for?" Skarre said, checking his watch. Smoking was permitted after 2:00 P.M.
    "Irregularities. Anything at all out of the ordinary. Ask about Annie in the past too, about whether they think she had changed. Turn on the charm, whatever you've got of it, and make them open up. In short: Get them to talk."
    "We'd better talk to Eddie Holland by himself."
    "I thought of that. I'll ask him to come here after a few days. But you should remember that the mother is in shock. She'll calm down after a while."
    "They made very different observations about Annie, don't you think?"
    "That's how it goes. You don't have kids, Skarre?"
    "No."
    He lit a cigarette and blew the smoke away from his boss.

    "Her sister must be home by now, from Trondheim. We need to talk to her too."
    When they had finished, they went over to the forensics institute, but no one could tell them anything significant about the blue anorak that had covered the body.
    "Imported, from China. Sold by all the discount chains. The importer said they'd brought in two thousand jackets. A packet of butterscotch in the right pocket, a reflector and a few light-colored hairs, possibly dog hairs. And don't ask me what breed. Otherwise nothing."
    "The size?"
    "Extra large. But the sleeves must have been too long; the cuffs were folded back."
    "In the old days people had name tags sewn into their jackets," Skarre said.
    "Oh, sure. That must have been back in the Middle Ages."
    "What about the pill?"
    "Not very exciting, I'm afraid. It's nothing more than a menthol lozenge, the kind that are popular right now. Very tiny and incredibly strong."
    Sejer was disappointed. A menthol lozenge told them nothing. Everyone had that sort of thing in their pockets; even he always carried