wouldn't have chosen anything at random, she would have used something that had made an impression on her, or something that was familiar and dear to her. He knew quite a lot about things that were familiar and dear to Annie, and so he kept going. Until he heard his grandmother calling from the living room that she was done with her nap. Then he took a break to make coffee for her and butter a few pieces of lefse or some waffles, if they had any. To be polite, he watched TV for a while, keeping her company. But as soon as he felt able, he slipped back to his room. She didn't complain. He sat there until midnight, then dragged himself to bed and turned off the light. He always lay still for a while, listening, before sleep came. Often it didn't come at all, and then he would slip into his grandmother's room and steal a sleeping pill from her bottle. He didn't hear the footsteps outside going back and forth. As he waited to fall asleep, he thought about Annie. Blue was her favourite colour. The chocolate bar she liked best was a Dove with raisins. He made a mental note of several words and stored them away for later. The important thing was not to give up. When he finally found the right password, it would seem so obvious that she had chosen it, and he would say to himself: I should have thought of that before!
Outside, the courtyard was dark and quiet. The entrance to the empty kennel gaped like an open, toothless mouth, but it wasn't visible from the road, and a thief might still think there was a dog inside. Behind the kennel stood the shed with a modest woodpile, his bicycle, an old black-and-white TV, and a pile of newspapers. He always forgot when there was a paper drive, and he didn't read the local paper any more. In the far corner, behind a foam mattress, lay Annie's school bag.
He had run out to Bruvann and back, thirteen kilometres. Had tried to stay below the pain threshold, at least on the home stretch. Elise used to pour an ice-cold Farris and hand it to him when he came out of the shower. Often he would have only a towel wrapped around his waist. Now no one stood waiting for him, except for his dog, who lifted his head expectantly when Sejer opened the door and let the steam out. He got dressed in the bathroom and then found a bottle for himself. He snapped off the bottle cap against the counter edge and put the beer to his lips. The doorbell rang as he was half-done with the bottle. Sejer's doorbell didn't ring very often, so he was a little taken aback. He raised an admonishing finger at the dog and went to open the door. Outside stood Skarre, by the railing, with one foot on the stairs, as if to indicate that he would retreat quickly if he had come at a bad time.
"I was in the neighbourhood," he said.
He looked different. His curls were gone, sheared off close to his scalp. His hair had acquired a darker sheen, making him look older. And his ears actually stuck out a bit.
"Nice haircut," Sejer said. "Come on in."
Kollberg came leaping, as he always did.
"He's a little overzealous," Sejer said. "But he's good-natured."
"He ought to be, at that size. He's like a wolf."
"He's supposed to look like a lion. That's what the chap who mixed the breeds and created the first Leonberger intended. He was from the town of Leonberg in Germany and wanted to create a town mascot."
"A lion?" Skarre studied the big animal and smiled. "No, I'm not that gullible."
Skarre took off his jacket and hung it in the hall. "Did you have a talk with Holland today?"
"I did. What have you been doing?"
"I visited Halvor's grandmother."
"Did you?"
"She served me coffee and lefse, along with all the misery of her old age. I now know what it's like to get old."
"What's it like?"
"A gradual decline. An insidious, almost unnotice-able process that you only discover at sudden, shocking moments."
Skarre sighed like an old man and shook his head anxiously.
"The cell division process decreases, that's what it's all about. It slows down more and more, until the cells practically stop renewing themselves altogether, and everything starts to shrink. In fact, that's the first stage of the decomposition process, and it starts when