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course,” Carmen said. “Of course, you’re welcome to come to the church. But please come in a normal car. And neither of you can be in uniform,” she added, nodding at Skarre. “I don’t want that. People will talk. You know how it is; we live in a small place.”
    Sejer promised to do as they wished.
    “Please let us know if you would like to talk to a psychologist,” he offered in a kindly manner.
    Nicolai shook his head. “There’s not a lot to say. We’ve lost our child and we’re sad. What can they do to help? It’s just rubbish. And don’t give me all that talk about group therapy,” he said. “Sitting in a circle and sharing your innermost thoughts and feelings, no way. As I see it, grief is a private thing. And even if there are others in the same situation, Tommy was special. In every way. And we’re the only ones who’ve lost a boy like that.”
    “Of course,” Sejer placated him. “But you are also allowed to change your minds, so just let me know. And promise me not to underestimate other people. There’s a lot to be said for experience, even if you don’t appreciate that now. A lot of people have been there before, and sometimes it’s good to lean on others. There, I’ve said my bit. And we’ll let you know as soon as the body is released.”
    Carmen followed them out. She stood in the doorway, hesitating.
    “Does the fact that you’ve come here mean something?” she asked. “Be honest.”
    Sejer put his hand on her arm. “It simply means that we care,” he said, “and are doing all that we can in Tommy’s best interest.”

11
    MARIAN ZITA’S FAST-FOOD café was in the pedestrian zone between the square and 7-Eleven. It had red awnings over the windows and a sign above the door read ZITA QUICK. There were twenty settings inside, and the whole place was saturated with the smell of fried food and spices. A girl wearing red nylon overalls and a hairnet was standing behind the counter.
    “Can I help you?” she said. “Do you want to eat in? Or take out? The chairs in here are quite comfortable, but the ones outside are wrought iron, so we get quite a few complaints. Just so you know. So, how can I help you?” she said again. Her cheeks were flushed, perhaps because Skarre was a handsome sight in his immaculate uniform, with his blond curls under the black cap.
    “Is something wrong?”
    Sejer nodded to one of the tables at the back of the café. “Could be,” he said seriously. “Can you sit down for a couple of minutes?”
    She nodded, came around from behind the counter, and walked toward them. She’s about the same age as Carmen, Sejer thought, or maybe a little older. Certainly no more than twenty-two.
    “Um, well,” she stammered, “I just thought, is it to do with Carmen and Nicolai’s baby?”
    Sejer gave her a reassuring look. She was wearing a locket around her neck, which might have a photo of her sweetheart inside. She sat there playing with it now, obviously nervous and anxious.
    “Yes,” he replied. “We just want to talk to you a little about what happened up at Damtjern. You see, that’s what we do when someone dies. Especially if it’s a child.”
    “But it was an accident, wasn’t it?” she said. “He fell off the jetty? That’s what Pappa Zita said when he called yesterday—that Tommy had wandered out of the kitchen and down to the pond. I almost couldn’t understand what he was saying. He was so upset, and I’ve never heard him like that before. It was scary. He’s always so big and strong, but he was crying like a baby. I had to ask him to repeat himself a few times, and it was difficult to know what to say. To be honest, I don’t even remember what I said. I was lost for words. I was pretty useless, really.”
    “How well do you know Carmen and Nicolai?” Sejer asked.
    She looked at them, one and then the other, her eyes as brown as horse chestnuts. She seemed to be honest and sincere.
    “Not very well. I’m just a cover,” she