Free Don't Look Back by Karin Fossum Page B

said she was too old for that now. So we didn't want to bother her. And my wife is at home all day, so we get by. I'm only gone in the morning. We have a Lada. The neighbors say it's not a proper car, but it's fine for us. Every day, without fail, it takes me to Poppels Gaten, where I have a spice shop.... You could get rid of that rash you have on your
forehead with spices. Not spices from the Rimi shop. Real spices, from Irmak's."

    "Really? Is that possible?"
    "They cleanse the system. Drive the sweat out faster."
    Sejer nodded. "So you've never had anything to do with Annie?"
    "Not really. A few times, when she ran past, I stopped her and shook my finger. I told her: You're running away from your own soul. That made her laugh. I told her: I will teach you to meditate instead. Running along the streets is a clumsy way to find peace. That made her laugh even more, and then she'd set off around the corner."
    "Has she ever been to your house?"
    "Yes. She came from Eddie on the day we moved in, with a flower in a pot. As a welcome from them. Nihmet cried," he said, and glanced at his wife. That's what she was doing now too. She pulled her shawl over her face and turned her back to them.
    When Sejer left, they thanked him for his visit and said he was welcome to come again. They stood in the little hall and watched him. The girl clung to her mother's dress; she reminded him of Matteus, with her dark eyes and black curls. On the street he paused for a moment and stared straight across at Skarre, who was just coming out of number 9. They nodded to each other and went on their separate ways.

    "Did you find many locked doors?" Skarre asked.
    "Only two. Johnas in number 4 and Rud in number 7."
    "I got notes from all of mine."
    "Any immediate thoughts?"
    "Nothing except that she knew everybody and had been in and out of their houses for years. And that she was well-liked by everyone."
    They rang the Hollands' bell. A girl opened the door. She was obviously Annie's sister; they were alike, and yet they were different. Her hair was just as blond as Annie's, but it was darker at the roots. Her eyes were outlined with mascara, and were trapped inside, very pale blue and uncertain. She wasn't big and tall like Annie, or sporty and muscular. She was wearing lavender stretch pants with stitched seams and a white blouse that was unbuttoned halfway down.

    "Sølvi?" Sejer said.
    She nodded and offered him a limp hand, then led the way inside and at once sought refuge next to her mother. Mrs. Holland was sitting in the same corner of the sofa as before. Her face had changed somewhat over the course of a few hours; her expression was no longer so painfully desperate, but she looked somber and strained and a good deal older. The father was not in evidence. Sejer tried to study Sølvi without staring. Her features and figure differed from her sister's; she didn't have Annie's wide cheekbones or firm chin or big gray eyes. Weaker and a little plump, he thought.
    After half an hour of conversation it became clear that the two sisters hadn't been especially close. Each had led her own life. Sølvi had a cleaning job at a beauty parlor, had never been interested in other people's children, and had never played sports. Sejer thought that in all likelihood she had been preoccupied with herself, and with her appearance. Even now, as she sat on the sofa with her mother, in the aftermath of her sister's death, she had arranged her body in an attractive pose, out of habit. One knee was drawn up, her head was tilted slightly, her hands were clasped around her leg. Several gaudy rings glittered on her fingers. Her nails were long and red. A soft body without edges, without definition, as if she lacked a skeleton or muscles and was merely skin stretched over a lump of modeling clay, pink. Sølvi was a good deal older than Annie, but her face had a naive look to it. Her mother had assumed a protec
tive posture and patted Sølvi's arm steadily, as if she had