the center of town."
"Is there a crash barrier there?" "Yeah. Down toward the river."
Skarre pondered this, trying to recall this precise roundabout. Then he nodded. "Yes, you're right. Were you on your way out of town or were you heading west?"
"I was going toward Oslo."
"So we're talking about the section of the crash barrier that follows the bend toward the bridge?"
"Yes."
"Was there much traffic on the roundabout at that time?"
"A little."
"Any witnesses?"
"Witnesses?" Tomme hesitated. "Well, there were other cars there. But I'm not sure if they saw anything. It was dark," he explained.
"And the fender? Much damage?"
Tomme nodded. "A fair bit. A light was smashed. But the dent is the worst part."
"What was the make of the car that forced you off the road?"
"I didn't have time to see. It was large and dark. It looked new."
"And you say it happened in the evening?" "Yes," Tomme said.
"What did you do after the accident? Your mother said you came home very late. Close to one o'clock apparently?"
"I went back to Willy's," Tomme said.
Skarre paused for a while, trying to digest the information he had just received. The notepad helped him. On the sheet in front of him it read
Bjørn Myhre.
"Back to Willy's?" he said. "Didn't you tell me a minute ago you were going to see Bjørn?"
"Yes, of course," Tomme said. For a moment he was confused. "I'm just getting a little mixed up."
"We're talking about Willy who's helping you fix the car?"
They talk to one another, Tomme thought; they take notes and exchange information. They know everything.
"And what about the driver who caused you to crash your Opel?" Skarre said. "Do you want to report him?"
"I told you, he did a runner," Tomme muttered irritably.
"Really? Why were you going to Oslo?" Skarre continued patiently.
Tomme hesitated. "I wasn't," he admitted. "I just like driving. On the highway. Where I can put my foot down."
"Of course." Skarre nodded in agreement. "Let's talk about something else," he said. "The bicycle Ida was riding when she left home. Do you know what type it is?"
"Not a clue."
"I guess you don't spend a lot of time hanging out with your nine-year-old cousin. That's understandable. But she often visits your family. What about the color? Do you recall that?"
"It's yellow, I think."
"Correct."
"But I actually got that from the papers," Tomme said. "They keep going on about the yellow bicycle."
"And you didn't see her on the first of September?" "I would have told you," Tomme said quickly. "Yes, you would, wouldn't you?"
"Of course!" Tomme was getting angry. The car was a confined space; he felt trapped.
"How long have you known Willy Oterhals?" Skarre asked.
"Quite a while," Tomme answered. "Why do you keep on questioning me?"
"Do you find it uncomfortable?" Skarre said, looking at him.
"Well, Willy doesn't have anything to do with this," Tomme said evasively.
"This?" Skarre said innocently. "You mean Ida's disappearance?"
"Yes. Not that we're close, either. He's just helping me with the car."
Skarre flicked his cigarette butt out of the window. Then he nodded in the direction of the college. "Do you like it here?"
Tomme snorted. "It's all right. I'll be finishing this spring."
"What do you plan to do afterward?"
"You're worse than my mom," Tomme snapped. "I don't have any plans. Might try to get a job," he said. "In a music store. Or maybe in a video rental place."
"The search for Ida goes on," Skarre said. "Do you think you'll be taking part?"
Tomme turned and stared out of the car window. "If my mom makes me," he said. "But I don't really want to."
"Many people would find such a search exciting," Skarre said.
"Well, I don't," Tomme said.
CHAPTER 10
Konrad Sejer swung his car into the parking lot at Glassverket school. He was met by Ida's class teacher, a tall, blond, eager woman in her forties. She introduced herself as Grethe Mørk.
"They're expecting you," she said, "and of course I've prepared them. I don't need
"Is there a crash barrier there?" "Yeah. Down toward the river."
Skarre pondered this, trying to recall this precise roundabout. Then he nodded. "Yes, you're right. Were you on your way out of town or were you heading west?"
"I was going toward Oslo."
"So we're talking about the section of the crash barrier that follows the bend toward the bridge?"
"Yes."
"Was there much traffic on the roundabout at that time?"
"A little."
"Any witnesses?"
"Witnesses?" Tomme hesitated. "Well, there were other cars there. But I'm not sure if they saw anything. It was dark," he explained.
"And the fender? Much damage?"
Tomme nodded. "A fair bit. A light was smashed. But the dent is the worst part."
"What was the make of the car that forced you off the road?"
"I didn't have time to see. It was large and dark. It looked new."
"And you say it happened in the evening?" "Yes," Tomme said.
"What did you do after the accident? Your mother said you came home very late. Close to one o'clock apparently?"
"I went back to Willy's," Tomme said.
Skarre paused for a while, trying to digest the information he had just received. The notepad helped him. On the sheet in front of him it read
Bjørn Myhre.
"Back to Willy's?" he said. "Didn't you tell me a minute ago you were going to see Bjørn?"
"Yes, of course," Tomme said. For a moment he was confused. "I'm just getting a little mixed up."
"We're talking about Willy who's helping you fix the car?"
They talk to one another, Tomme thought; they take notes and exchange information. They know everything.
"And what about the driver who caused you to crash your Opel?" Skarre said. "Do you want to report him?"
"I told you, he did a runner," Tomme muttered irritably.
"Really? Why were you going to Oslo?" Skarre continued patiently.
Tomme hesitated. "I wasn't," he admitted. "I just like driving. On the highway. Where I can put my foot down."
"Of course." Skarre nodded in agreement. "Let's talk about something else," he said. "The bicycle Ida was riding when she left home. Do you know what type it is?"
"Not a clue."
"I guess you don't spend a lot of time hanging out with your nine-year-old cousin. That's understandable. But she often visits your family. What about the color? Do you recall that?"
"It's yellow, I think."
"Correct."
"But I actually got that from the papers," Tomme said. "They keep going on about the yellow bicycle."
"And you didn't see her on the first of September?" "I would have told you," Tomme said quickly. "Yes, you would, wouldn't you?"
"Of course!" Tomme was getting angry. The car was a confined space; he felt trapped.
"How long have you known Willy Oterhals?" Skarre asked.
"Quite a while," Tomme answered. "Why do you keep on questioning me?"
"Do you find it uncomfortable?" Skarre said, looking at him.
"Well, Willy doesn't have anything to do with this," Tomme said evasively.
"This?" Skarre said innocently. "You mean Ida's disappearance?"
"Yes. Not that we're close, either. He's just helping me with the car."
Skarre flicked his cigarette butt out of the window. Then he nodded in the direction of the college. "Do you like it here?"
Tomme snorted. "It's all right. I'll be finishing this spring."
"What do you plan to do afterward?"
"You're worse than my mom," Tomme snapped. "I don't have any plans. Might try to get a job," he said. "In a music store. Or maybe in a video rental place."
"The search for Ida goes on," Skarre said. "Do you think you'll be taking part?"
Tomme turned and stared out of the car window. "If my mom makes me," he said. "But I don't really want to."
"Many people would find such a search exciting," Skarre said.
"Well, I don't," Tomme said.
CHAPTER 10
Konrad Sejer swung his car into the parking lot at Glassverket school. He was met by Ida's class teacher, a tall, blond, eager woman in her forties. She introduced herself as Grethe Mørk.
"They're expecting you," she said, "and of course I've prepared them. I don't need
Similar Books
