and Simon carried them out in a shopping bag. As they approached the car, Bonnie suddenly stopped. On the windshield, under the wipers, was a piece of yellow paper. For some reason, sheâd been given a parking ticket. With slow steps, she went up to the car and snatched the piece of paper; it was like plastic, weather-resistant. She had parked in a handicapped parking spot. The low sign showing the handicapped symbol was buried by the snow, so she hadnât seen it. Seven hundred kroner, she sobbed. Simon could see that his mother was upset. And even though he was happy to have his animals, this alarmed him. Bonnie put the yellow piece of paper in her bag and made light of it. She didnât want to ruin the day.
Once they were home, Simon asked for some scissors. He cut open the bag and let all the wild animals fall onto the floor. With great respect, he placed them in a big circle with the lion in the middle; only the buffalo was walking away.
âScar?â Bonnie asked.
âMufasa,â Simon replied. âWe should get a jungle.â
Bonnie looked around the living room. She had potted plants on two windowsills, so she lifted them down, one by one. She made a lush green ring with them around the animals.
âWhich one do you like best?â she asked.
âAll of them,â Simon said without hesitation. He knelt on the worn wooden floor and admired the wild animals, lifting them up one by one and smelling them. Bonnie went into the kitchen, where she opened her handbag. She found the yellow slip and dried a tear.
7
July 2005
FRANK WAS LYING with his head on Sejerâs feet. Sejer liked the feeling of being close to something warm and alive, even if that generally meant his socks got wet because the dog slobbered. He was holding a glass of whiskey in his hand, with no ice. On the table beside him was a pouch of tobacco that he rarely opened, being a man of moderation.
He thought about Bonnie Hayden. The long knife had pierced her body four times. In a fury or more methodically? He was certain that the murder had been planned, that there was a motive behind the evil act. A motive that he could not yet see. He had studied the photographs of the naked bodies for some time, Bonnie slim, Simon thin as a beanstalk. Both of them washed clean of blood, leaving the sharp wounds gaping, strangely narrow and precise. Bonnie had a tattoo on her shoulder. And over her breast, three moles in a gentle arc, which reminded him of Orionâs Belt. He could just picture a man, perhaps Simonâs father, stroking a finger over them, counting them solemnly. He could not imagine the fear and terror that must have filled the old trailer. But sometimes his imagination ran wild and then he struggled to breathe. When the glass was empty, he got up and switched off the lamp. On his way to the bathroom, he passed a photograph of his late wife, Elise.
âIâll never get over it,â he said to the picture. âTime passes, but this is not what Iâd hoped for. Just so you know.â
8
ROBERT RANDEN SAW the car through the kitchen window. He had been expecting the police, so he immediately went out to meet them and ushered them back into the kitchen.
âWe can talk in here.â
There was a long sanded wooden table with eight chairs, each with a simple pattern carved on the back. Randen himself stood by the countertop.
âI canât sleep,â he said. âI keep remembering the smell. It smelled like a slaughterhouse.â
Sejer thought to himself that it would be impossible to live with the scene that Randen had discovered. He would remember it even when he was sitting in an old peopleâs home. It would haunt him until the end of his days.
âHow many people live here on the farm?â Skarre asked.
âMy wife Solveig, myself, and our four girls in the main house. My mother lives in the cottage on the other side of the yard. And there are four Poles in the
Once they were home, Simon asked for some scissors. He cut open the bag and let all the wild animals fall onto the floor. With great respect, he placed them in a big circle with the lion in the middle; only the buffalo was walking away.
âScar?â Bonnie asked.
âMufasa,â Simon replied. âWe should get a jungle.â
Bonnie looked around the living room. She had potted plants on two windowsills, so she lifted them down, one by one. She made a lush green ring with them around the animals.
âWhich one do you like best?â she asked.
âAll of them,â Simon said without hesitation. He knelt on the worn wooden floor and admired the wild animals, lifting them up one by one and smelling them. Bonnie went into the kitchen, where she opened her handbag. She found the yellow slip and dried a tear.
7
July 2005
FRANK WAS LYING with his head on Sejerâs feet. Sejer liked the feeling of being close to something warm and alive, even if that generally meant his socks got wet because the dog slobbered. He was holding a glass of whiskey in his hand, with no ice. On the table beside him was a pouch of tobacco that he rarely opened, being a man of moderation.
He thought about Bonnie Hayden. The long knife had pierced her body four times. In a fury or more methodically? He was certain that the murder had been planned, that there was a motive behind the evil act. A motive that he could not yet see. He had studied the photographs of the naked bodies for some time, Bonnie slim, Simon thin as a beanstalk. Both of them washed clean of blood, leaving the sharp wounds gaping, strangely narrow and precise. Bonnie had a tattoo on her shoulder. And over her breast, three moles in a gentle arc, which reminded him of Orionâs Belt. He could just picture a man, perhaps Simonâs father, stroking a finger over them, counting them solemnly. He could not imagine the fear and terror that must have filled the old trailer. But sometimes his imagination ran wild and then he struggled to breathe. When the glass was empty, he got up and switched off the lamp. On his way to the bathroom, he passed a photograph of his late wife, Elise.
âIâll never get over it,â he said to the picture. âTime passes, but this is not what Iâd hoped for. Just so you know.â
8
ROBERT RANDEN SAW the car through the kitchen window. He had been expecting the police, so he immediately went out to meet them and ushered them back into the kitchen.
âWe can talk in here.â
There was a long sanded wooden table with eight chairs, each with a simple pattern carved on the back. Randen himself stood by the countertop.
âI canât sleep,â he said. âI keep remembering the smell. It smelled like a slaughterhouse.â
Sejer thought to himself that it would be impossible to live with the scene that Randen had discovered. He would remember it even when he was sitting in an old peopleâs home. It would haunt him until the end of his days.
âHow many people live here on the farm?â Skarre asked.
âMy wife Solveig, myself, and our four girls in the main house. My mother lives in the cottage on the other side of the yard. And there are four Poles in the
Similar Books
