but embellished like a playroom with decorative shutters and scalloped edges on the gables. The yard was well kept. A large veranda with a prettily turned railing ran around the entire building. The house sat almost at the top of the ridge, with a view over the whole village, a small village, quite lovely, surrounded by farms and fields. A patrol car that had come on ahead of them was parked next to the letterbox.
Sejer went first, wiping his shoes carefully on the mat, and ducking his head as he entered the living room. It only took them a second to see what was happening. She was still missing, and the panic was palpable. On the sofa sat the mother, a stocky woman in a gingham dress. Next to her, with a hand on the mother's arm, sat a woman officer. Sejer could almost smell the terror in the room. The mother was using what little strength she had to hold back her tears, or perhaps even a piercing shriek of horror. The slightest effort made her breathe hard, as was evident when she stood up to shake hands with Sejer.
"Mrs Album," he said. "Someone is out searching, is that correct?"
"Some of the neighbours. They have a dog with them."
She sank back on to the sofa.
"We have to help each other."
He sat down in the armchair facing her and leaned forward, keeping his eyes fixed on hers.
"We'll send out a dog patrol. Now, you have to tell me all about Ragnhild. Who she is, what she looks like, what she's wearing."
No reply, just persistent nodding. Her mouth looked stiff and frozen.
"Have you called every possible place where she could be?"
"There aren't many," she murmured. "I've called them all."
"Do you have relatives anywhere else in the village?"
"No, none. We're not from around here."
"Does Ragnhild go to kindergarten or nursery school?"
"There weren't any openings."
"Does she have brothers or sisters?"
"She's our only child."
He tried to breathe without making a sound.
"First of all," he said, "what was she wearing? Be as precise as you can."
"A red tracksuit," she stammered, "with a lion on the front. Green anorak with a hood. One red and one green shoe."
She spoke in fits and starts, her voice threatening to break.
"And Ragnhild herself? Describe her for me."
"About four foot tall. Two and a half stone. Very fair hair. We just took her for her sixth-year check-up."
She went to the wall by the TV, where a number of photos were hanging. Most of them were of Ragnhild, one was of Mrs Album in national costume, and one of a man in the field uniform of the Home Guard, presumably the father. She chose one in which the girl was smiling and handed it to him. Her hair was almost white. The mother's was jet-black, but the father was blond. Some of his hair was visible under his service cap.
"What sort of girl is she?"
"Trusting," she gasped. "Talks to everybody." This admission made her shiver.
"That's just the kind of child who gets along best in this world," he said firmly. "We'll have to take the picture with us."
"I realise that."
"Tell me," he said, sitting back down, "where do the children in this village go walking?"
"Down to the fjord. To Prestegårds Strand or to Horgen. Or to the top of Kollen. Some go up to the reservoir, or they go walking in the woods."
He looked out the window and saw the black firs.
"Has anyone at all seen Ragnhild since she left?"
"Marthe's neighbour met her by his garage when he was leaving for work. I know because I rang his wife."
"Where does Marthe live?"
"In Krystallen, just a few minutes from here."
"She had her doll's pram with her?"
"Yes. A pink Brio."
"What's the neighbour's name?"
"Walther," she said, surprised. "Walther Isaksen."
"Where can I find him?"
"He works at Dyno Industries, in the personnel department."
Sejer stood up, went over to the telephone and called information, then punched in the number, and waited.
"I need to speak with one of your employees immediately. The name is Walther Isaksen."
Mrs Album gave him a worried look from the sofa. Karlsen was studying the view from the window, the blue ridges, the fields, and a white church steeple in the distance.
"Konrad Sejer of the police," Sejer said curtly. "I'm calling from 5 Granittveien, and you probably know why."
"Is Ragnhild still missing?"
"Yes. But I understood that you saw her when she left Marthe's house this morning."