Dreamless by Jorgen Brekke

stepped to one side to allow the officers to come in. Singsaker entered first, followed by Mona Gran.
    The husband, Ivar Edvardsen, sat on a chair in the living room. He was a short, plump man who looked worn-out. Even though Singsaker realized that his haggard appearance must be due to the situation, he had the feeling that Mr. Edvardsen always looked that way.
    The two police detectives sat down on the sofa after shaking hands with him. He didn’t say a word, merely nodded a greeting.
    “Would you like something to drink?” asked Elise, who still hadn’t sat down. “Coffee?”
    Singsaker and Gran both declined the offer. Ivar was holding a cup in his hand, but Singsaker guessed that the man hadn’t even taken a sip, and that by now the coffee had grown cold.
    Elise sat down on the only unoccupied chair.
    “Maybe we’d better start at the beginning,” said Singsaker, getting out his notebook. Both parents looked at him as if they were having trouble comprehending his words.
    “When did you last see your daughter?”
    “Julie?” said Elise, sounding distracted.
    “Yes, Julie,” said Singsaker patiently.
    “But we already told the police everything,” said Ivar, speaking for the first time. His voice was surprisingly high-pitched for such a stout man.
    “We apologize,” said Gran, “but at the start of an investigation we often go over things more than once. It’s important for us to hear what happened in your own words, since we’ll be handling this case from now on.”
    Singsaker nodded agreement. It was Gran’s direct but sensitive manner that made him sure that she would become an outstanding detective.
    Mr. and Mrs. Edvardsen glanced at each other. Maybe they were able to communicate without words, as some couples did after many years together. Singsaker used to do the same with Anniken. His ex-wife had left him for a plumber. When she later regretted what she’d done, Singsaker had forgiven her. He forgave her and then moved on with his life. He didn’t miss her, but he did miss the feeling of knowing someone so well. He wondered how long it would take before he and Felicia reached that point. Would they ever get there?
    “I said good night to Julie a little before ten-thirty and then went to bed,” said Ivar Edvardsen. “My wife talked to her until she took the dog for a walk, and she went to bed before Julie came back home.”
    Singsaker glanced at Elise, then began looking around while he listened to the others talking, their voices becoming a humming sound in the background. He only vaguely registered that Gran had begun asking them the usual, routine questions.
    Hanging on the wall behind Ivar was a wedding photograph of the couple. They were young; she was dressed in white and he was in black. They looked contented, convinced of their future happiness. Singsaker thought about the red dress that Felicia had worn when they got married. The only other people present at the ceremony were Siri Holm and Thorvald Jensen. He recalled the numbing haste with which they’d fallen in love. He pictured the wedding scene, the second one in his life, as if an old 8mm film played in his mind, just slightly too fast. Had it happened too quickly? No, they couldn’t have done it any other way, not if it was going to amount to anything, not if they were going to be together. And they were right for each other. The doubts he had were not about the two of them. He and Felicia had all the time in the world. Things couldn’t have been better. It was the haste of the wedding. Had that been the right thing to do?
    “I think we have enough preliminary information, don’t you, Singsaker?” he heard Gran say as if from far away, bringing him abruptly back to reality.
    Problems with his ability to concentrate. That was what his doctor had told him, adding that he was just going to have to learn to deal with it.
    In Singsaker’s profession, he had to hide this weakness as best he could. An inability to