He introduced himself as Konrad Sejer. While he shook Reinhardt's hand, he looked at Kristine and his face softened. She was relieved that someone was taking control. A feeling of embarrassment brought colour to her cheeks, she did not understand why, but it had something to do with his eyes and his presence.
'You both found him?' he asked.
'Reinhardt spotted him first,' Kristine said.
'Are you finding this hard?'
'Yes,' she admitted, 'it's hard.'
He nodded. 'It's good that there are two of you, it's easier when you've got someone to share it with.'
We haven't shared anything for ages, she thought despondently.
'We saw a man,' Reinhardt interjected. 'A man leaving, he was in a hurry. We passed him at the barrier; he drove off in a white car. He drove off at speed.'
Sejer's eyebrows lifted one millimetre; he rarely displayed stronger expressions than that. In the younger detective's face there was a hint of a smile as he became aware of Reinhardt's need for attention.
'We managed to get quite a few details,' Reinhardt said. 'We had only just parked, we walked past him at close range.'
Sejer nodded calmly.
Kristine started walking. She felt a resistance inside her and she dreaded it. The curly-haired detective came up to her, stuck out his hand and introduced himself as Jacob Skarre. He reminded her a bit of a gangly teenager with huge, bright blue eyes and curls that any girl would envy him. Behind him followed a group of crime scene officers carrying equipment needed at the scene of the murder. Or where they had found the body, Kristine thought. Without knowing why, she was absolutely certain that the boy had been killed elsewhere and later brought here by the killer. She thought about the man at the barrier and she shuddered as she recalled his disturbed eyes.
She sat on one of the logs as the crime scene officers started their painstaking work. She watched them as they carefully took their places. She was finally overcome by a sense of calm, now that everyone had a job to do she saw no signs of horror, only gravity. But as soon as she started to think about it, she was gripped by despair because the boy had parents, and they did not know yet. They might be sharing a joke right now. She could visualise them clearly in their living room, perhaps the sun was streaming in through the window. The image took her breath away.
Her thoughts were interrupted by Reinhardt's voice cutting through the silence, it was loud and self-assured. She was so fed up with his voice; she was mortified that he could not keep his mouth shut. The inspector and his colleague had both knelt down, shoulder by shoulder, in the heather. Now they would see what she had seen, the details which would reveal what had happened to the boy. Reinhardt suddenly came over to her. Perhaps they had told him to move back, she wondered, as she looked up.
'Have you realised something?' he asked, sitting down beside her.
'No,' she said in a drained voice.
'Something's missing.'
She gave him a perplexed look. 'What's that?'
'The press,' he said, as if he were an expert in these things.
Her eyes widened.
'Thank God for that,' she exclaimed.
'VG magazine would pay thousands for a story like this.'
He looked at her.
'You can't call them,' she said. 'You can't!'
'But for God's sake, think about it. They're going to be all over this story anyway.'
'Not if you keep your mouth shut.'
'This will be on the news by the evening,' he said, 'and that's only right and proper, in my opinion. People should be given the chance to protect their kids; that boy over there, he's only six or seven.'
She made no reply. Her lips had narrowed and she looked tormented.
'We need to go down to the station,' she whispered. 'We need to make a statement.'
'I know.'
'What if we remember it wrong? We mustn't say something unless we're sure.'
'You remember a little,' he said, 'and so do I. He won't get away with it.'
Kristine shook her head. 'He might just have been out for a walk,' she said. 'Like we were.'
Snorrason, the pathologist, rolled the boy on to his back. Now they could see his face and his half-open eyes.
'I've authorised overtime, Skarre,' Sejer said.
Skarre nodded grimly.
'I'll work day and night on this,' he said.
Snorrason worked with gentle, gloved hands.
'He's such a little lad,' he said quietly, shaking his strawberry-blond head.
'His mother might already have reported him missing,' Sejer said. 'Check with the station, Jacob.'
Skarre