leaning slightly back as though afraid of being sucked in by the downward air currents.
I followed at a discreet distance, conscious of the constable’s eyes on the back of my neck. He said nothing but would certainly let us know if we made any attempt to step over the red-and-white tape cordoning off the police’s preserve around the scene of the crime.
From the concrete kerb we looked down a steep slope towards an area of newly planted conifers. Under the road a concrete channel had been built to carry one of the streams running down from the mountain behind us. Around the mouth of the tunnel two plain-clothed individuals were carrying out a meticulous examination of what I reckoned must be the actual place where the body had been found, partly beneath the road itself.
I saw it straight away. There was something that didn’t add up.
I turned and looked across at the far side of the road. There, the mountainside sloped gradually up towards the top of Fanafjell, the trees like tall dark sentries reaching right down to the edge of the road.
Slowly I redirected my attention to Sidsel Skagestøl. Tall, erect and silent, she stood there, apathetic almost, staring down the slope not unlike someone contemplating suicide on a bridge, wondering whether to jump or not. Beneath the surface, her feelings were no doubt in turmoil, wave upon wave dashing against the rocks so hard that the spray was visible in her eyes. But she did not jump: just stood there, alone and dignified as though already at the cemetery saying her last farewell before the body was interred.
She glanced quickly sideways, as if to reassure herself that it was me standing there. ‘I just can’t imagine it.’
‘I’m sure it’s best like that,’ I said gently.
‘This isn’t where she died …’
‘Probably not.’
‘It’s just a – place where … her body was kept. She’s never actually been here herself. Not what was Torild.’
‘You’re quite right about that. Now you’ve seen it, I think you should sort of erase the image of this place – not from your memory, because I don’t think you could do that, not for a long time anyway, but from your consciousness, from the place where you are – and where, in a way, your daughter will also always be.’
She turned to face me. For the first time today she looked me straight in the eye, and the trace of a smile flickered over her mouth. ‘Was that the sociologist in you speaking?’
I smiled back. ‘Probably. But he’s the one who’s usually right. Inside me, I mean.’
During the drive back one thought kept coming back to me: Surely the police must also have seen it? The thing that didn’t add up?
I drove her right back to the door. ‘Shall I come in with you?’
‘I don’t think that’s really necessary.’ She glanced at the door, where Holger Skagestøl was already coming out to meet us.
‘How are you feeling, Sidsel?’ he asked. ‘Did you manage all right?’
An involuntary twitch ran across her face. She became a paper cut-out someone had suddenly crumpled up. ‘Why shouldn’t I have managed? It was just a place, wasn’t it? Why don’t you go up there yourself? You won’t find Torild – not there either!’
He made an awkward gesture of the hand and looked dejectedly at me before turning to her again. ‘The children are taking it – well. Alva is with them just now. I called her and asked her to –’
‘Oh! I have to put up with that too, do I?!’
‘The children can spend the night at their place, Sidsel. Then you can get a proper rest.’
‘Who is Alva?’ I asked.
‘My sister,’ said Skagestøl curtly.
‘It might be best for Sidsel to be with the children.’
‘And what business is that of yours, Veum?’
‘None, strictly speaking, but she’s been a hundred per cent calm now, during our drive.’
He grew red in the face. ‘A hundred per cent calm now ! What are you implying?’ He rushed up to me as though about to hit me.
I
I followed at a discreet distance, conscious of the constable’s eyes on the back of my neck. He said nothing but would certainly let us know if we made any attempt to step over the red-and-white tape cordoning off the police’s preserve around the scene of the crime.
From the concrete kerb we looked down a steep slope towards an area of newly planted conifers. Under the road a concrete channel had been built to carry one of the streams running down from the mountain behind us. Around the mouth of the tunnel two plain-clothed individuals were carrying out a meticulous examination of what I reckoned must be the actual place where the body had been found, partly beneath the road itself.
I saw it straight away. There was something that didn’t add up.
I turned and looked across at the far side of the road. There, the mountainside sloped gradually up towards the top of Fanafjell, the trees like tall dark sentries reaching right down to the edge of the road.
Slowly I redirected my attention to Sidsel Skagestøl. Tall, erect and silent, she stood there, apathetic almost, staring down the slope not unlike someone contemplating suicide on a bridge, wondering whether to jump or not. Beneath the surface, her feelings were no doubt in turmoil, wave upon wave dashing against the rocks so hard that the spray was visible in her eyes. But she did not jump: just stood there, alone and dignified as though already at the cemetery saying her last farewell before the body was interred.
She glanced quickly sideways, as if to reassure herself that it was me standing there. ‘I just can’t imagine it.’
‘I’m sure it’s best like that,’ I said gently.
‘This isn’t where she died …’
‘Probably not.’
‘It’s just a – place where … her body was kept. She’s never actually been here herself. Not what was Torild.’
‘You’re quite right about that. Now you’ve seen it, I think you should sort of erase the image of this place – not from your memory, because I don’t think you could do that, not for a long time anyway, but from your consciousness, from the place where you are – and where, in a way, your daughter will also always be.’
She turned to face me. For the first time today she looked me straight in the eye, and the trace of a smile flickered over her mouth. ‘Was that the sociologist in you speaking?’
I smiled back. ‘Probably. But he’s the one who’s usually right. Inside me, I mean.’
During the drive back one thought kept coming back to me: Surely the police must also have seen it? The thing that didn’t add up?
I drove her right back to the door. ‘Shall I come in with you?’
‘I don’t think that’s really necessary.’ She glanced at the door, where Holger Skagestøl was already coming out to meet us.
‘How are you feeling, Sidsel?’ he asked. ‘Did you manage all right?’
An involuntary twitch ran across her face. She became a paper cut-out someone had suddenly crumpled up. ‘Why shouldn’t I have managed? It was just a place, wasn’t it? Why don’t you go up there yourself? You won’t find Torild – not there either!’
He made an awkward gesture of the hand and looked dejectedly at me before turning to her again. ‘The children are taking it – well. Alva is with them just now. I called her and asked her to –’
‘Oh! I have to put up with that too, do I?!’
‘The children can spend the night at their place, Sidsel. Then you can get a proper rest.’
‘Who is Alva?’ I asked.
‘My sister,’ said Skagestøl curtly.
‘It might be best for Sidsel to be with the children.’
‘And what business is that of yours, Veum?’
‘None, strictly speaking, but she’s been a hundred per cent calm now, during our drive.’
He grew red in the face. ‘A hundred per cent calm now ! What are you implying?’ He rushed up to me as though about to hit me.
I
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