But what's more interesting is a hiker who was in Raymond's courtyard yesterday evening and seems to have tried to convince Raymond that the car was red."
He placed the drawing in front of him on the table.
Skarre's eyes grew big. "What? Could he describe..."
"Something in between," Sejer said laconically. "Wearing a cap. I didn't dare push him too hard, he gets so upset."
"I call that fast work."
"I call it bold, more than anything else," Sejer said. "But now we're talking about someone who knows who Raymond is. He was seen. He wanted to find out what Raymond saw. So we have to focus on the car. He must be very close to us, for God's sake."
"But to go to Raymond's house, that's pretty reckless. Do you think anyone else might have seen him?"
"I went to every house nearby. No one saw him. But if he came by way of Kollen, then the Låke house is the first one, and there's not much of a view of the courtyard from the farm below."
"What about the old man?"
"He says he heard them outside, and wasn't tempted to look out of his window."
They ate their ice creams in silence.
"Shall we forget about Halvor? And the motorcycle?"
"Absolutely not."
"When do we bring him in?"
"Tonight."
"Why wait?"
"It's quieter at night. You know, I talked to Ragnhild's mother while the girl was scribbling her crystal-clear evidence on the paper. Sølvi isn't Holland's daughter. And the biological father lost his visitation rights, apparently because of drunkenness and violence."
"Sølvi is 21, isn't she?"
"She is now. But evidently there have been years of painful conflicts."
"What are you getting at?"
"In a sense he lost his child. Now his ex-wife, with whom he has a strained relationship, is going through the same thing. Maybe he wanted revenge. It's just a thought."
Skarre gave a low whistle. "Who is he?"
"That's what you're going to find out as soon as you're done with your ice cream. Then come over to my office. We'll leave the moment you locate him."
He left. Skarre punched in the Hollands' phone number and licked his ice cream as he waited.
"I don't want to talk about Axel," Mrs Holland said. "He just about destroyed us, and after all these years we're finally rid of him. If I hadn't taken him to court, he would have destroyed Sølvi."
"I'm only asking you for his name and address. This is just routine, Mrs Holland, there are thousands of things we have to check up on."
"He's never had anything to do with Annie. Thank God!"
"Please give me his name, Mrs Holland."
Finally she gave in. "Axel Bjørk."
"Do you have any other information?"
"I have it all. I have his social security number and his address. Provided he hasn't moved. I wish he would move. He lives too close, only an hour away by car."
She was getting more and more agitated.
Skarre took notes, and thanked her. Then he switched on his computer and did a search for "Bjørk, Axel", thinking how paper-thin personal privacy had become, nothing but a transparent cloth that it was impossible to hide behind. He found the man with no trouble and began reading.
"God damn it all!" he exclaimed with a swift, apologetic glance up at the ceiling. He clicked on "Please Print" and leaned back in his chair. He picked up the page, read it again, and crossed the corridor to Sejer's office. The chief inspector was standing in front of the mirror with one of his shirt sleeves rolled up. He scratched his elbow and grimaced.
"I've run out of ointment," he said.
"I've got him. He's got a record, of course."
Skarre sat down and put the sheet of paper on the blotting pad.
"Well, let's have look. Bjørk, Axel, born 1948—"
"Police officer," said Skarre quietly.
Sejer didn't react. He read slowly through the report.
"Former officer. All right, but perhaps you'd rather stay here?"
"Of course not. But it is a little sensitive."
"We're no better than anyone else, now are we, Skarre? We'll have to hear the man's side of the story. You can count on it being different from Mrs Holland's version. So, we're going to have to take a trip to Oslo. He obviously does shift work, so there's a chance that we'll find him at home."
"Number 4 Sognsveien, that's in the Adamstuen district. The big red apartment building near the trolley stop."
"Do you know Oslo well?" Sejer asked, surprised.
"I drove a taxi there for two years."
"Is there anything you haven't done?"
"I've never done any skydiving."
CHAPTER 6
Skarre demonstrated his knowledge from his cab-driving days by directing