carpet, "is from the indigo plant. And the red is from the madder plant. But inside the hexagon there's a different red that is made from crushed insects. This orange colour is henna, the yellow is saffron."
He placed his hand on the carpet and stroked downward. "This is a Turkish rug, made with Gordian knots. Every square centimetre has approximately a hundred knots."
"Who designs the patterns?"
"They weave them from patterns that are centuries old, and many have never even been sketched out. The old weavers walk around the workshop, singing the patterns to the younger weavers."
The old blind weavers, Sejer thought.
"Here in the West," Johnas said, "it's taken us a long time to discover this handwork. Traditionally we prefer figurative patterns, something that tells a story. That's why carpets with hunting and gardening patterns were the first to catch our attention, because they include flower and animal motifs. Personally I prefer this type. First the wide outer border that holds everything in place. Then your eye moves further and further in, until at last you come to the treasure, in a sense." He pointed to the medallion in the centre of the rug.
"Forgive me," he said all of sudden. "Here I am, rattling on about me and my interests." He looked embarrassed.
"The helmet," Skarre said, tearing himself away. "Was it a half or a whole helmet?"
"Is there such a thing as a half helmet?" Johnas asked, surprised.
"A whole helmet has a piece that fits over the jaw and cheek. An ordinary helmet covers only the skull."
"I didn't notice."
"What about the leather suit. Was it black?"
"Dark, at any rate. It didn't occur to me to study him. There's something completely normal about watching a pretty girl cross the road and head towards a guy on a motorcycle. It's as though that's the way things should be, don't you think?"
They thanked him and paused a moment at the door. "We'll probably be back; I hope you understand."
"Of course. If the puppies come tonight, I'll be home for a few days."
"Can you leave the shop closed?"
"My customers call me at home if there's something they want."
Hera gave a heavy sigh and whined plaintively, lying there on her Oriental rug. Skarre gave her a long look and then reluctantly followed his boss.
"Maybe we'll get to see them if we come back," he said. "The pups, I mean."
"No doubt," Johnas said.
"Don't come back," Sejer said. He was thinking about his own dog, Kollberg.
"Do you remember Halvor's helmet? The one he had hanging up in his room?"
They were sitting in the car.
"A whole helmet, black with a red stripe," Sejer said. "I guess we can call it a night now. And I have to take the dog for a walk."
"What do you think, Konrad? Do you have as much passion for your job as Johnas does?"
Sejer looked at him. "Of course. But maybe you don't think it shows?"
He fastened his seatbelt and started the engine. "I find it annoying when people gag themselves, in a show of solidarity for someone they don't even know, because they're convinced that he's an honourable person."
He thought about Halvor and felt a little sad. "Up until the day someone kills for the first time, he's not a murderer. He's just an ordinary person. But afterwards, when the neighbours find out that he actually did commit murder, then he's a murderer for the rest of his life, and from then on he's going to kill people right and left, like some kind of killing machine. Then they hug their children close, and nothing feels safe any more."
Skarre gave him a searching look. "So now Halvor is in the spotlight?"
"Of course. He was her boyfriend. But I wonder why Johnas wanted so badly to protect a boy he has only seen from a distance."
CHAPTER 5
Ragnhild Album bent over the paper and started drawing. The notebook was new, and she had opened it reverently to the first untouched page. A car in a cloud of dust might not, in a sense, be worthy of the task that was going to rob the notebook of its chalk-white purity. The box held six different crayons. Sejer had been out shopping: one box for Ragnhild and one for Raymond. Today she had two pigtails on top of her head, pointing straight up like antennae.
"I like the way you've fixed your hair today," he said.
"With this one," said her mother, tugging on one pigtail, "she can get Operation White Wolf in Narvik, and with the other she