Black Seconds (3 page)

‘You shouldn’t be on your own,’ he said. ‘Stay calm and wait for your sister. We’ll round up all the officers we have and start looking for her.’

‘Do you remember Mary Pickford?’ Sejer asked. They were back in the car. He watched Helga’s house disappear in the mirror. Her sister Ruth had come back. Jacob Skarre gave him a blank look. He was far too young to remember any of the silent movie stars.

‘Ida looks like her,’ Sejer said.

Skarre asked no more questions. He was desperate for a cigarette, but smoking was not allowed in the patrol car. Instead he rummaged round in his 18

pockets for some sweets and dug out a packet of fruit gums.

‘She wouldn’t get into a strange car,’ he said pensively.

‘All mothers say that,’ Sejer said. ‘It depends who does the asking. Adults are much smarter than kids, that’s the bottom line.’

His answer made Skarre uneasy. He wanted to believe that children were intuitive and sensed danger much sooner than adults. Like dogs. That they could smell it. Though, come to think of it, dogs were not very smart. His train of thought was starting to depress him. The fruit gum was softening in his mouth so he began chewing it. ‘But they’ll get into a car if it’s someone they know,’ he said out loud. ‘And it often is someone they know.’

‘You’re talking as if we’re already dealing with a crime,’ Sejer said. ‘Surely that’s a bit premature.’

‘I know,’ Skarre conceded. ‘I’m just trying to prepare myself.’

Sejer watched him covertly. Skarre was young and ambitious. Keen and eager. His talent was well hidden behind his large sky-blue eyes, and his curls added to his harmless appearance. No one ever felt intimidated by Skarre. People relaxed and chatted freely to him, which was precisely what he wanted them to do. Sejer drove the patrol car through the landscape at the permitted speed. All the time he was in contact with the search parties. They had nothing to report. The speedometer showed a steady sixty kilo metres per hour, and eighty when they reached the highway. 19

Their eyes scanned the fields auto matically, but they saw nothing. No little dark-haired girl, no yellow bicy cle. Sejer could visualise her face. The tiny mouth and the big curls. Then a far more terrifying image appeared in his mind’s eye. No, a voice inside him called out. It’s not like that. Not this time. This girl is coming home. They come home all the time, I have seen it before. And why on earth do I love this job so much?

Helga inhaled deeply and exhaled irregularly. Ruth grabbed her sister’s shoulders while talking to her in a loud and exaggerated voice. ‘You need to breathe, Helga. Breathe!’

Several frenzied inhalations followed, but nothing came out and the thickset body on the sofa struggled to regain control.

‘What if Ida were to come in now and see you like this!’ Ruth shouted in desperation; she could think of nothing else to say. ‘Do you hear me?’ She started shaking her sister. Finally Helga managed to breathe normally. Then she collapsed and became strangely lethargic.

‘Now you have to rest,’ Ruth pleaded. ‘I need to phone home. Then you must eat. Or at least drink something.’

Helga shook her head. She could hear her sister’s voice coming distantly from the other end of the room. A low murmur that made no sense to her. Shortly afterwards she came to.

‘I told Marion to go to bed and lock the door,’

Ruth said.

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The moment she said that, she felt an intense fear. Marion was alone in the house. Then she realised how inappropriate and needless her anxiety was, but now every word had suddenly become laden, every comment potentially explosive. She disap peared back into the kitchen. Helga heard the clinking of glass. A drawer was pulled out and she thought, Ruth is slicing bread. Having to eat now. I can’t manage that. She stared towards the window, her eyes aching. When the telephone rang she was so startled that she let out a sharp scream. Ruth rushed in.

‘Shall I get it?’

‘No!’

Helga snatched up the receiver and shouted her own name into the telephone. Then she crumbled.

‘No, she hasn’t turned up,’ she cried. ‘It’s almost eleven thirty and she left at six. I can’t take it any more!’

On the other end, Ida Joner’s father fell com pletely silent.

‘And the police?’ he said anxiously. ‘Where are they?’

‘They’ve all left, but they’re out looking. They have asked the Home Guard and some other

volunteers to join in the search, but they haven’t called me yet. They won’t find her, I know they won’t!’

Ruth waited in the doorway. The gravity of the situation dawned on them both simultaneously. It was dark outside, almost midnight. Ida was out 21

there somewhere, unable to make her way home. Helga could not speak. Eating was out of the question. She did not want to move or go anywhere. Just wait, the two of them together, hugging each other while their fear sent a rush of blood to the head.

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‘What is it about kids and sweets?’ Sejer said. ‘Why do they crave them all the time? Do all children suffer from low blood sugar?’

Skarre perched on the edge of the desk. ‘Ida went to buy a magazine,’ he objected.

‘And sweets with the rest of her money,’ Sejer said. ‘Bugg. What on earth is that?’

‘Chewing gum,’ Skarre explained.

A couple of hours means nothing, Sejer thought, staring at his wristwatch. After all we are talking about a child who is nearly ten. She could speak up for herself and ask questions. However, it was 1 a.m. now. Outside, it was a black September night, and Ida had been missing from her home for seven hours. He became aware of a low murmur. For a while he sat still, listening to it. The sound increased. Rain, he thought. An early autumn rainstorm. It pelted the windows of the police station, washing dust and dirt from the panes in broad streams. He had wished for rain. Everything was so dry. But now it was bad timing. His body ached with a mixture of restlessness and tension. He 23

should not be sitting here shuffling paper; he should be outside in the darkness looking for Ida. Then he remembered her bicycle. Chrome yellow and brand new. That too was still missing.

‘She might have fallen off her bike,’ Skarre said.

‘Perhaps she’s lying unconscious in a ditch somewhere. It’s been known to happen. Or she might have met someone who talked her into going for a bike ride. Someone irresponsible, but essen tially harmless. Like Raymond. Do you remember Raymond?’

Sejer nodded. ‘He keeps rabbits. He could use them to entice a little girl.’

‘And Ida is animal mad,’ Skarre argued.

‘However, it’s also possible that she’s run away from home because of some row her mother doesn’t want to tell us about. Perhaps she’s asleep in a shed somewhere. Hell-bent on making her mother pay for something or other.’

‘They hadn’t been arguing,’ Sejer objected.

‘Perhaps her father was involved,’ Skarre went on. ‘They are, sometimes. A teacher or another adult she knows might have picked her up. For reasons we don’t understand yet. Perhaps they’ve given her a hot meal and a bed for the night. People do all sorts of things. We imagine the worst because we’ve been in this job for too long.’

Skarre undid the top button of his shirt. The semidarkness and silence in Sejer’s office were poignant.

‘We have a case,’ he concluded.

‘Granted.’ Sejer nodded. ‘Though there’s not 24

much we can do for the time being. We just have to sit here and wait. Until she turns up in some form or other.’

Skarre leapt down from the desk and went over to the window.

‘Has Sara gone?’ he asked with his back to Sejer. The tarmac on the car park outside the police station gleamed black and oily in the rain.

‘Yes. This morning. She’ll be gone four months,’

Sejer said.

Skarre nodded. ‘Research?’

‘She intends to find out why some people grow less than others,’ Sejer smiled.

‘In which case,’ Skarre chuckled, ‘you being two metres tall is no use to her.’

Sejer shook his head. ‘One theory is that some people refuse to grow,’ he said. ‘That they simply refuse to grow up.’

‘You’re kidding?’ Skarre turned from the window and looked at his boss open-mouthed.

‘No, no. I’m not. Often the explanation is much more straight

forward than we’d like to believe.

According to Sara, anyway.’

Skarre stared despondently out of the window. ‘I hate the rain,’ he said.

The shrill sound of the doorbell cut through the house without warning. Helga stared wildly at her sister; her eyes had a metallic sheen of terror. It was very late. An insane mixture of fear and hope surged through her body.

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‘I’ll get it!’ Ruth said, rushing out. She trembled as she pushed the door handle down. Outside, standing on the doorstep, was Ida’s father.

‘Anders,’ she said, and could barely hide her disappointment. She stared at him and took a step back.

‘Have they found her?’ he asked.

‘No. We’re still waiting.’

‘I’m staying here tonight,’ Anders Joner said firmly. ‘I can sleep on the sofa.’

He sounded very determined. Ruth moved to let him in. Helga heard his voice and braced herself. She felt so many things. Relief and anger at the same time. He walked across the floor. A thin, lean man whose head was practically bald. She recognised his old grey coat and a jumper she had knitted him a long time ago. It was hard to look at his face. She could not bear to see the desperation in his eyes; she could barely contain her own.

‘You go to bed, Helga,’ he said. ‘I’ll wait by the phone. Have you managed to eat something?’

He took off his coat and placed it over the back of a chair. He made himself at home. But then again, for several years this house had been his home. Ruth was standing in a corner. She felt that leaving them was like running away. ‘Well, I’ll be off then,’ she said, averting her eyes. ‘But promise me you’ll call if anything happens, Anders.’

She suddenly became very busy. Patted Helga on the back, tore her coat off the peg in the hall and rushed outside. Drove back to her house in 26

Madseberget as fast as she could. Thoughts racing through her mind.

The rain was fierce, the wipers swept angrily across the wind screen. Her own cowardice made her feel wretched. When Anders had appeared on the doorstep and she felt she could go home, her sense of relief had been overwhelming. The whole evening she had been consumed by a terrifying, overpowering horror. But she had not allowed herself to give in to it. She had to be stronger than Helga. Now that Anders was keeping her sister company, her feelings surfaced once more and they took her breath away. She would escape it now, that awful moment. Escape the inevitable telephone call, the dreaded words: ‘We’ve found her.’ Now it would be Anders who would have to deal with it. I’m a coward, she thought, wiping away her tears. She parked in the double garage and noticed that Tomme, her son, was still not back. She let herself in and ran up the stairs to the first floor. Her daughter, Marion, was asleep in her bed. She stood for a while, watching her daughter’s chubby cheeks. They were warm and rosy. Later she sat by the living room window, waiting for her son. It dawned on her that her sister had sat in the same way for hours waiting for Ida. Tomme was later than usual. She felt a fraction of Helga’s fear, but calmed herself down by remembering that he was an adult. Imagine sitting like this, she thought, and they never turn up. It was inconceivable. What if Marion vanished like that? What if the sound of tyres from 27

her son’s Opel never materialised? She tried to imagine hours of waiting. Imagined that the familiar sound of tyres never came. That sooner or later she would be waiting for another sound, the sound of the telephone. She rang his mobile, but it was switched off. When he finally turned up, it surprised her that he did not pop in to say hi, but went straight up to his room. He must have seen the light in the window and realised that she was awake. She sat there for a few minutes, deliberating. Dreaded what she had to tell him. Then she went upstairs. Positioned herself in the doorway to his room. He had turned on his computer. Sat facing away from her, his shoulders hunched. His entire body exuded frustration.

‘What is it?’ she said quickly. ‘You’re terribly late.’

He cleared his throat. Thumped the table with his fist. ‘I bashed the bloody car,’ he said sullenly. Ruth pondered his answer. She thought of

everything that had happened and watched his narrow, angry back. Suddenly she felt incensed. Her fear and her rage started to pour out of her and there was nothing she could do to stop them.

‘So,’ she said, ‘you’ve bashed the car, have you?

Well, your dad and I aren’t going to pay to have it fixed, so you’ll just have to drive it as it is, or you can save up and pay for it yourself!’ She was almost gasping for breath. Her son became wary, but he did not turn around.

‘I know that,’ he said in a monotone voice. 28

A labyrinth appeared on the screen. A cat prowled around inside it. Her son followed it with his eyes and turned up the volume. A mouse was scuttling around in the heart of the labyrinth.

‘It’s just so fucking annoying,’ he exploded.

‘I really can’t be bothered to talk about that right now,’ Ruth yelled. ‘Something dreadful has happened. Ida’s gone missing!’

Her son was startled, but he continued to stare at the screen. A low sound emanated from the speakers.

‘Missing?’ he said, shocked, and began to turn around slowly.

‘Your cousin Ida,’ she said. ‘She left home at six to get something from the kiosk. I’ve been with Helga the whole evening. They haven’t found her or her bicycle.’

‘They?’

‘The police!’

‘So where have they been looking?’ he asked, looking at her wide-eyed.

‘Where have they been looking? Everywhere, of course. She never even got to the kiosk.’

Ruth had to lean against the wall. Yet again she realised just how serious the situation was. Her son was still fiddling with the keyboard, moving the prowling cat into a blind alley. The mouse stayed put, waiting for its next move.

‘So that dent of yours is not worth worrying about,’ she said in a fraught voice. ‘It’s just some damage to an old car, which can be fixed. I hope you understand how unimportant it is.’