poster bearing the words "Sale on Medicine" was displayed in the window of the low-price Kiwi grocery, and the hairdresser had a tempting advertisement for a new tanning bed.
"I need something to eat. Are you coming?"
They went in and Sejer bought a newspaper and some chocolate. He peered out the window and down to the fjord.
"Excuse me," said the girl behind the counter, staring nervously at Karlsen's uniform. "Nothing has happened to Ragnhild, has it?"
"Do you know her?" Sejer put some coins on the counter.
"No, I don't know her, but I know who they are. Her mother was here this morning looking for her."
"Ragnhild is all right. She's back at home."
She smiled with relief and gave him his change.
"Are you from around here?" Sejer asked. "Do you know most people?"
"I certainly do. There aren't many of us."
"If I ask you whether you know a man, maybe a little odd, who drives a van, an old, ugly van with its paint peeling off, does that ring a bell?"
"That sounds like Raymond," she said, nodding. "Raymond Låke."
"What do you know about him?"
"He works at the Employment Centre. Lives in a cabin on the far side of Kollen with his father. Raymond has Down's syndrome. About 30, and very nice. His father used to run this station, by the way, before he retired."
"Does Raymond have a driver's licence?"
"No, but he drives anyway. It's his father's van. He's an invalid, so he probably doesn't have much control over what Raymond does. The sheriff knows about it and pulls him over now and then, but it doesn't do much good. He never drives above second gear. Did he pick up Ragnhild?"
"Yes."
"Then she couldn't have been safer," she smiled. "Raymond would stop to let a ladybird cross the road."
They both grinned and went back outside. Karlsen bit into his chocolate and looked around.
"Nice town," he said, chewing.
Sejer, who had bought an old-fashioned marzipan loaf, followed his gaze. "That fjord is deep, more than 300 metres. Never gets above 17 degrees Celsius."
"Do you know anyone here?"
"I don't, but my daughter Ingrid does. She's been here on a folklore walk, the kind of thing they organise in the autumn. 'Know your district.' She loves stuff like that."
He rolled the candy wrapper into a thin strip and stuck it into his shirt pocket. "Do you think someone with Down's syndrome can be a good driver?"
"No idea," Karlsen said. "But there's nothing wrong with them except for having one chromosome too many. I think their biggest problem is that they take longer to learn something than other people do. They also have bad hearts. They don't live to be very old. And there's something about their hands."
"What's that?"
"They're missing a line on their palm or something."
Sejer gave him a surprised look. "Anyway, Ragnhild certainly let herself be charmed."
"I think the rabbits helped."
Karlsen found a handkerchief in his inside pocket and wiped the chocolate from the corners of his mouth. "I grew up with a Down's syndrome child. We called him 'Crazy Gunnar'. Now that I think of it, we actually seemed to believe that he came from another planet. He's dead now – only lived to be 35."
They got into the car and drove on. Sejer prepared a simple little speech that he would serve up to the department chief when they were back at headquarters. A few days off to go up to his cabin seemed tremendously important all of a sudden. The timing was right, the long-term prospects were promising, and the girl showing up safe and sound at home had put him in a good mood. He stared over fields and meadows, registered that they had slowed down, and saw the tractor in front of them. A green John Deere with butter-yellow wheel rims was crawling at a snail's pace. They had no chance to overtake it; each time they came to a straight stretch, it proved to be too short. The farmer, who was wearing a gardener's cap and earmuffs, sat like a tree stump, as though he was growing straight up out of the seat. Karlsen changed gears and sighed.
"He's carrying Brussels sprouts. Can't you reach out and grab a box? We could cook them in the kitchen at the canteen."
"Now we're going as fast as Raymond does," muttered Sejer. "Life in second gear. That really would be something, don't you think?"
He settled his grey head against the head-rest and closed his eyes.
CHAPTER 2
After the quiet of the countryside the city seemed like a filthy,