see the resemblance to his daughter. A wide face with a high forehead. He wasn't particularly tall, but strong and sturdy. Skarre clutched his pen in his hand, his eyes fixed rigidly on his notebook.
"Let's start again," Sejer said. "I'm sorry I have to distress you, but time is of the essence for us. What time exactly did she leave home?"
The mother answered, staring at her lap, "At 12.30 p.m."
"Where was she going?"
"To Anette's house. A schoolfriend. Three of them were doing a project. They'd been given time off from school to work on it together."
"And she never got there?"
"We rang them at 11 p.m. last night, since it was getting awfully late. Anette was in bed. Only the other girl had turned up. I couldn't believe it..."
She hid her face in her hands. The whole day had passed and they hadn't known.
"Why didn't the girls ring you to talk to Annie?"
"They assumed she didn't feel like coming over," she said, stifling her sobs. "Thought she'd just changed her mind. They don't know Annie very well if that's what they thought. She never neglected her homework. Never neglected anything."
"Was she going to walk over there?"
"Yes. It's four kilometres and she usually rides her bike, but it needs repairing. There isn't a bus connection."
"Where does Anette live?"
"Near Horgen. They have a farm and a general store."
Sejer nodded, hearing Skarre's pen scratching across the page.
"She had a boyfriend?"
"Halvor Muntz."
"Had it been going on for long?"
"About two years. He's older. It's been on again, off again, but it's been going fine lately, as far as I know."
Ada Holland didn't seem to know what to do with her hands; they fumbled over each other, opening and clenching. She was almost as tall as her husband, rather stout and angular, with a ruddy complexion.
"Do you know whether it was a sexual relationship?" he asked lightly.
The mother stared at him, outraged. "She's 15 years old!"
"You have to remember that I didn't know her," he said.
"There was nothing like that," she said.
"I don't think that's something we would know," the husband ventured at last. "Halvor is 18. Not a child any more."
"Of course I would know," she interrupted him.
"I don't think she tells you everything."
"I would have known!"
"But you're not much good at talking about things like that!"
The mood was tense. Sejer made his own assumption and saw from Skarre's notebook that he had too.
"If she was going to work on a school project, she must have taken a bag along."
"A brown leather bag. Where is it?"
"We haven't found it."
So we'll have to send out the divers, he thought.
"Was she taking any kind of medication?"
"Nothing. She was never ill."
"What kind of girl was she? Open? Talkative?"
"Used to be," the husband said.
"What do you mean?"
"It was just her age," the mother said. "She was at a difficult age."
"Do you mean she had changed?" Sejer turned again to the father in order to cut the mother off. It didn't work.
"All girls change at that age. They're about to grow up. S酶lvi was the same way. S酶lvi is her sister," she added.
The husband didn't reply; he still looked numb.
"So she was not an open and talkative girl?"
"She was quiet and modest," the mother said. "Meticulous and fair-minded. Had her life under control."
"But she used to be more lively?"
"They make more of a fuss when they're young."
"What I need to know," Sejer said, "is approximately when she changed?"
"At the normal time. When she was about 14. Puberty," she said, as if to explain.
He nodded, staring again at the father.
"There was no other reason for the change?"
"What would that be?" the mother said quickly.
"I don't know." He sighed a little and leaned back. "But I'm trying to find out why she died."
The mother began shaking so violently that they almost couldn't understand what she said. "Why she died? But it must be some ..."
She didn't dare say the word.
"We don't know."
"But was she ..." Another pause.
"We don't know, Mrs Holland. Not yet. These things take time. But the people who are tending to Annie know what they're doing."
He looked around the room, which was neat and clean, blue and white like Annie's clothing had been. Wreaths of dried flowers above the doors, lace curtains. Photographs. Crocheted doilies. Harmonious, tidy and proper. He stood up and went over to a large photograph on the wall.
"That was taken last winter."
The mother came over to him. He lifted the picture down carefully and stared at it. He was amazed every time he saw a face