finally died after forty-two years of shitty behavior toward his youngest daughter. Please send any flowers to the funeral home, preferably horrible blue carnations. As many as possible.’ I had put a stamp on the envelope. Fortunately, Nefis stopped me from sending it.”
“They wouldn’t have printed anything like that anyway!”
“No. But I would have made a fool of myself. So I gave up. Instead I walk around with this.”
She returned the announcement to her wallet.
“It’s a sort of membership card in reverse,” she said. “Proof that the family don’t want me. I don’t want them, either.”
Her smile never reached her eyes. She patted her pocket lightly and looked around, with a slight air of surprise, as if she didn’t quite know why she had ended up talking about her father’s death.
“There’s something here,” she said, carefully starting to pick up one of the many folders on the work table. “It’s exactly as if …”
There was something. Her movement stiffened.
“Look around,” she said, as she replaced the folder again.
“I’ve done that several times,” Silje said. “What should I look for?”
“Sidensvans clearly had a system to his belongings,” Hanne said, sotto voce, as if she did not want to disturb her own reasoning. “One pile there by the door is only magazines and periodicals. Over there you’ll find medical literature. And there …”
A nerve was noticeable at an angle to the bridge of her nose.
“But even though it’s all arranged in some kind of order, the overall effect created – this whole room – gives an impression of disorder. Of chaos. Nothing is tidily stacked one on top of the other, there’s no symmetry to it all. No neat edges, in a manner of speaking. Agreed?”
“Yes, I suppose—”
Silje tried to look around with a fresh pair of eyes.
“But here,” Hanne said, holding her palm peremptorily over the work desk. “Here the documents are placed edge to edge, parallel and linear. Striking.”
Silje did not answer. Instead she approached more closely. Now, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Hanne, she nodded gently.
“You’re right, of course, but he may have … It’s possible he’s pernickety about everything he’s currently working on, but that it’s impossible to maintain that kind of order with everything – sort of thing? So that other things become … a bit messy?”
“Exactly,” Hanne said tartly. “You can do better than that, Silje. There’s a far more obvious explanation. These documents have been moved. And carefully put back again.”
“Moved? It’s less than twenty-four hours since he was here, Hanne. Of course something’s been moved. By Knut Sidensvans himself.”
Silje surreptitiously scrutinized Hanne. The Chief Inspector was markedly older now. Her dark hair had taken on a gray sheen at the temples, something to which Hanne had partly resigned herself. It did not suit her, and she really ought to have something done about it. The wrinkle from her nose to the corner of her mouth was deeply etched, despite the recent rounding out of her body – a middle-aged spread that made her trousers somewhat too tight to actually sit well. When Hanne suddenly turned to face her, Silje noticed that the only unchanged aspect was her eyes. Deep-blue, unusually large, and with a distinct black ring around each iris.
“I’m wondering about the keys,” Hanne said.
“Yes, what was that?” Silje said expectantly.
“Sidensvans’s body was found with his coat on. He didn’t have a wallet. No keys, either.”
“No keys?”
“I read the report before we came here. No wallet. No keys. Damned odd.”
“Not really. He might have put them—”
“What have you got with you at the moment, Silje?”
“With me?”
“Yes. No handbag. Just like men. What do you have in your pockets?”
A jangling of coins was heard as Silje took a look.
“Loose change. Wallet. Cellphone. A small flashlight. And … keys. And
“They wouldn’t have printed anything like that anyway!”
“No. But I would have made a fool of myself. So I gave up. Instead I walk around with this.”
She returned the announcement to her wallet.
“It’s a sort of membership card in reverse,” she said. “Proof that the family don’t want me. I don’t want them, either.”
Her smile never reached her eyes. She patted her pocket lightly and looked around, with a slight air of surprise, as if she didn’t quite know why she had ended up talking about her father’s death.
“There’s something here,” she said, carefully starting to pick up one of the many folders on the work table. “It’s exactly as if …”
There was something. Her movement stiffened.
“Look around,” she said, as she replaced the folder again.
“I’ve done that several times,” Silje said. “What should I look for?”
“Sidensvans clearly had a system to his belongings,” Hanne said, sotto voce, as if she did not want to disturb her own reasoning. “One pile there by the door is only magazines and periodicals. Over there you’ll find medical literature. And there …”
A nerve was noticeable at an angle to the bridge of her nose.
“But even though it’s all arranged in some kind of order, the overall effect created – this whole room – gives an impression of disorder. Of chaos. Nothing is tidily stacked one on top of the other, there’s no symmetry to it all. No neat edges, in a manner of speaking. Agreed?”
“Yes, I suppose—”
Silje tried to look around with a fresh pair of eyes.
“But here,” Hanne said, holding her palm peremptorily over the work desk. “Here the documents are placed edge to edge, parallel and linear. Striking.”
Silje did not answer. Instead she approached more closely. Now, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Hanne, she nodded gently.
“You’re right, of course, but he may have … It’s possible he’s pernickety about everything he’s currently working on, but that it’s impossible to maintain that kind of order with everything – sort of thing? So that other things become … a bit messy?”
“Exactly,” Hanne said tartly. “You can do better than that, Silje. There’s a far more obvious explanation. These documents have been moved. And carefully put back again.”
“Moved? It’s less than twenty-four hours since he was here, Hanne. Of course something’s been moved. By Knut Sidensvans himself.”
Silje surreptitiously scrutinized Hanne. The Chief Inspector was markedly older now. Her dark hair had taken on a gray sheen at the temples, something to which Hanne had partly resigned herself. It did not suit her, and she really ought to have something done about it. The wrinkle from her nose to the corner of her mouth was deeply etched, despite the recent rounding out of her body – a middle-aged spread that made her trousers somewhat too tight to actually sit well. When Hanne suddenly turned to face her, Silje noticed that the only unchanged aspect was her eyes. Deep-blue, unusually large, and with a distinct black ring around each iris.
“I’m wondering about the keys,” Hanne said.
“Yes, what was that?” Silje said expectantly.
“Sidensvans’s body was found with his coat on. He didn’t have a wallet. No keys, either.”
“No keys?”
“I read the report before we came here. No wallet. No keys. Damned odd.”
“Not really. He might have put them—”
“What have you got with you at the moment, Silje?”
“With me?”
“Yes. No handbag. Just like men. What do you have in your pockets?”
A jangling of coins was heard as Silje took a look.
“Loose change. Wallet. Cellphone. A small flashlight. And … keys. And
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