The father got up and went over to the shelf under the TV. "We have a video," he said. "From last summer. We were at a cabin in Krageré…¶."
"They don't need a video," the mother said. "Just a picture of her."
"I'd be glad to have it." Sejer took it from the father and thanked them.
"She ran 20 miles a week?" he said. "Did she go alone?"
"No one could keep up with her," the father said.
"So she made time to run 20 miles a week in spite of her school work. Maybe it wasn't her homework that made her give up handball after all?"
"She could run whenever she liked," said the mother. "Sometimes she'd go out before breakfast. But if there was a game, she had to show up, and she couldn't make her own plans. I don't think she liked being tied down. She was very independent, our Annie."
"Where did she go running?"
"Everywhere. In all kinds of weather. Along the highway, in the woods."
"And to Serpent Tarn?"
"Yes."
"Was she restless?"
"She was quiet and calm," the mother said softly.
Sejer went back over to the window and caught sight of a woman hurrying across the street, a toddler with a dummy clutched in the crook of her arm. "Any other interests? Aside from running?"
"Film and music and books and things like that. And little children," the father said. "Especially when she was younger."
Sejer asked them to make a list of everyone who knew Annie. Friends, neighbours, teachers, family members. Boyfriends, if there were others. When they were done, the list had 42 names with addresses that were at least partially complete.
"Are you going to talk to everyone on the list?" the mother asked.
"Yes, we are. And this is just the beginning. We'll keep you informed of our progress," he said.
"We have to see Thorbjé…¶rn Haugen. He was searching for Ragnhild yesterday. He can give us a time frame."
The car moved past the garages. Skarre was reading through his notes.
"I asked the father about the handball business," he said. "While the two of you were in the girl's room."
"And?"
"He said that Annie was very promising. The team had a terrific season, they were in Finland and made it to the finals. He couldn't understand why she gave it up. It made him wonder if something had happened."
"We should find the coach, whoever he or she is. Maybe that would give us a lead."
"It's a man," Skarre said. "He'd been calling for weeks, trying to persuade her to come back. The team had big problems after she left. No one could replace Annie."
"We'll call from Headquarters and get his name."
"His name is Knut Jensvoll, and he lives at 8 Gneisveien, down the hill from here."
"Thanks," Sejer said, raising an eyebrow. "I'm sitting here thinking about something," he continued. "The fact that Annie might have been killed at exactly the time when we were on Granittveien, a few minutes away, worrying about Ragnhild. Call Pilestredet, and ask for Snorrason. See if he can hurry things along. We need the forensic report as soon as possible."
Skarre reached for his mobile phone, dialled the number, asked for Snorrason, waited again, then started mumbling.
"What did he say?"
"That the morgue cold storage is full. That every death is tragic, regardless of the cause, and that a whole list of people are waiting to bury their loved ones, but he understands the urgency, and you can come over in three days to get a preliminary verbal report if you like. You'll have to wait longer for the written one."
"Oh well," Sejer said. "That's not bad for Snorrason."
CHAPTER 3
Raymond spread butter on a piece of thin flatbread. He was concentrating hard so that it wouldn't break, with his big tongue sticking out of his mouth. He had four pieces of flatbread stacked on top of each other with butter and sugar in between; his record was six.
The kitchen was small and cosy, but now it was messy after his efforts with the food. He had a slice of bread prepared for his father too, white bread with the crust cut off, spread with bacon fat from the frying pan. After they had eaten he would wash the dishes, and then sweep the kitchen floor. He had already emptied his father's urine bottle and filled his water mug. Today there was no sun to be seen; it was overcast grey, and the landscape outside was dreary and flat. The coffee