have one best friend. She’s friends with all of them,” explained Elise.
“We’ll need a list.” Singsaker sat down again, while Ivar went out to the kitchen. He came back after a minute with a sheet of paper.
“Here’s a list of her classmates. I’ve underlined the names of the girls she spends the most time with,” he said, handing the paper to Singsaker.
Then both officers stood up.
“We’ll be talking to some of your neighbors, as well as checking with her friends. At the moment we’re assuming that she’s staying with someone she knows. It would be a big help if you could make a list of everyone you can think of whose house she might have gone to. Relatives, friends who aren’t classmates, and the like. Let’s hope that we find her very soon.”
“So you don’t think that she’s…” Elise began hesitantly. “You don’t think this has anything to do with that case?”
“If you’re thinking about the murder near Ludvig Daaes Gate, it’s too early to say anything about that,” replied Singsaker. “There’s nothing to indicate that there’s a connection. The victim in that case was a stranger in town, and a good deal older than Julie. You should know that with most cases like this, the missing person shows up relatively quickly.”
“I heard that a music box was found near the victim. How horrible. I hope you’ll do everything to rule out the possibility that … that such a monster has taken our Julie.”
“Of course,” said Singsaker, hiding his annoyance that the detail of the music box had already been leaked to the public. “Don’t worry. There’s very little chance of any sort of connection,” he added.
Something prevented Singsaker from feeling as optimistic as he tried to sound. He had no idea whether he had reassured the parents or not.
“We need a photograph of her. With a neutral expression, where she’s not smiling,” he told them now.
Ivar Edvardsen found one in a kitchen drawer.
The photo was of Julie standing in the yard outside. There was no snow on the ground, and yellow leaves covered the trees behind her. At her feet sat a Saint Bernard. Her expression was serious but self-confident, and she looked older than sixteen. She had shoulder-length dark blond hair and brown eyes. Her skin was tan after a nice summer. Singsaker put the picture in his coat pocket.
Then he and Gran thanked the Edvardsens for their time and stepped out into the swirling snow.
* * *
“And this was supposed to be my day off,” said Singsaker as they walked along Markvegen.
“Yep,” said Gran. “And I had a doctor’s appointment.”
“Doctor? Nothing serious, I hope,” said Singsaker, immediately regretting saying that. He usually didn’t broach personal topics with the younger officers. But somehow it was little different with Mona Gran.
“Nothing serious, healthwise,” she told him. “But my partner and I are trying to have a baby. And it seems like nature may need a little help.”
Singsaker felt himself blushing. He wondered if this was what separated young people from those of his generation—this willingness to talk about intimate matters.
“It was no problem changing my appointment. And I know why they called us in today. Don’t you?”
Singsaker nodded.
“There’s something going on here. I can see a sixteen-year-old running away from a mother like that. But what I can’t figure out is the dog. Why take the dog along if you’re going to run away?”
Gran stopped and looked at him. They had almost reached the intersection of Ludvig Daaes Gate, and they could see the crime scene from where they were standing.
“I think we should talk to the boyfriend and the girls she hangs out with ASAP. Do you think we could get them out of class?” she asked.
“If we’re discreet about it,” said Singsaker, glancing in the direction of Rosenborg School. “No need to make a big deal. But we do have to have a little chat with all of them. What if
“We’ll need a list.” Singsaker sat down again, while Ivar went out to the kitchen. He came back after a minute with a sheet of paper.
“Here’s a list of her classmates. I’ve underlined the names of the girls she spends the most time with,” he said, handing the paper to Singsaker.
Then both officers stood up.
“We’ll be talking to some of your neighbors, as well as checking with her friends. At the moment we’re assuming that she’s staying with someone she knows. It would be a big help if you could make a list of everyone you can think of whose house she might have gone to. Relatives, friends who aren’t classmates, and the like. Let’s hope that we find her very soon.”
“So you don’t think that she’s…” Elise began hesitantly. “You don’t think this has anything to do with that case?”
“If you’re thinking about the murder near Ludvig Daaes Gate, it’s too early to say anything about that,” replied Singsaker. “There’s nothing to indicate that there’s a connection. The victim in that case was a stranger in town, and a good deal older than Julie. You should know that with most cases like this, the missing person shows up relatively quickly.”
“I heard that a music box was found near the victim. How horrible. I hope you’ll do everything to rule out the possibility that … that such a monster has taken our Julie.”
“Of course,” said Singsaker, hiding his annoyance that the detail of the music box had already been leaked to the public. “Don’t worry. There’s very little chance of any sort of connection,” he added.
Something prevented Singsaker from feeling as optimistic as he tried to sound. He had no idea whether he had reassured the parents or not.
“We need a photograph of her. With a neutral expression, where she’s not smiling,” he told them now.
Ivar Edvardsen found one in a kitchen drawer.
The photo was of Julie standing in the yard outside. There was no snow on the ground, and yellow leaves covered the trees behind her. At her feet sat a Saint Bernard. Her expression was serious but self-confident, and she looked older than sixteen. She had shoulder-length dark blond hair and brown eyes. Her skin was tan after a nice summer. Singsaker put the picture in his coat pocket.
Then he and Gran thanked the Edvardsens for their time and stepped out into the swirling snow.
* * *
“And this was supposed to be my day off,” said Singsaker as they walked along Markvegen.
“Yep,” said Gran. “And I had a doctor’s appointment.”
“Doctor? Nothing serious, I hope,” said Singsaker, immediately regretting saying that. He usually didn’t broach personal topics with the younger officers. But somehow it was little different with Mona Gran.
“Nothing serious, healthwise,” she told him. “But my partner and I are trying to have a baby. And it seems like nature may need a little help.”
Singsaker felt himself blushing. He wondered if this was what separated young people from those of his generation—this willingness to talk about intimate matters.
“It was no problem changing my appointment. And I know why they called us in today. Don’t you?”
Singsaker nodded.
“There’s something going on here. I can see a sixteen-year-old running away from a mother like that. But what I can’t figure out is the dog. Why take the dog along if you’re going to run away?”
Gran stopped and looked at him. They had almost reached the intersection of Ludvig Daaes Gate, and they could see the crime scene from where they were standing.
“I think we should talk to the boyfriend and the girls she hangs out with ASAP. Do you think we could get them out of class?” she asked.
“If we’re discreet about it,” said Singsaker, glancing in the direction of Rosenborg School. “No need to make a big deal. But we do have to have a little chat with all of them. What if
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