Hell Fire by Karin Fossum Page B

bag of jellybeans in his inner pocket; he picked out a green one and popped it in his mouth. It was still quite fresh. As he chewed, he looked up at the farm. They saw a man coming down across the field and recognized Robert Randen in his blue coveralls.
    â€œI saw you from the window,” he said when he reached them. “How’s it going?”
    Sejer stood with his back to the trailer.
    â€œI heard you found a footprint,” Randen continued. “Can you deduce anything from that? From just a shoe?” He dug his hands into his pockets.
    â€œHow did you know that?”
    â€œI heard it when you were working down here, that there was a print on the floor.”
    â€œYou must absolutely not mention that to anyone,” Sejer ordered. “If that information gets out to the press, he’ll have ample opportunity to get rid of the shoes.”
    Randen understood. “What I really wanted to know is when I can get rid of the trailer,” he said. “It’s the wife who’s asking. We can see it from the bedroom window, you know; it upsets her. She stands there in the evening looking down here and can’t find peace. I’ve forbidden the girls to go anywhere near the trailer—not that they want to anyway. But their classmates are clamoring for all the details. The local paper was at the door yesterday, asking to hear my version. Though I chose not to tell them.”
    â€œWe support you on that one,” Skarre said from the step.
    â€œWill you be going to the funeral?” Randen asked.
    â€œYes,” Sejer said, “it’s a matter of course. We’ll have a lot to do with the family, for quite some time possibly.”
    Randen started to leave but then turned around once more. “Yes, that was it; I was wondering if I can get rid of the trailer. Soonish.”
    â€œNo,” Sejer confirmed. “I’m afraid it’s going to have to stay here for a while.”
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    They then drove on to Haugane and stood for a while surveying the landscape. They could see down to the farm from here too, and once again, Skarre timed how long it took them to walk there. It was shorter but rougher underfoot, and it wasn’t easy to know which way he might have walked. But they still wanted to walk it themselves, and as they did so, they kept their eyes peeled. They found nothing and they saw nothing. On the way back to the station, they stopped at a gas station and Sejer went in to buy the local newspaper. Then he sat in the car and flicked through it. He eventually found the death notice. Bonnie’s mother, Henny Hayden, had written it with the help of the funeral directors.
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Our dearly beloved daughter Bonnie and dearest grandchild Simon were suddenly and brutally torn from us today. Haugane, July 5. Henny and Henrik Hayden.

11
December 2004
    BONNIE WAS DUE to go to Kristine that morning, but she went to the office first to talk to Ragnhild. She handed over the receipt for the bedding she had bought for Ingemar, and Ragnhild promised to have the money transferred. They sat for some time talking about the situation; Ragnhild had been in contact with the family and they seemed to understand how serious it was.
    â€œWe’ll try to find a quick solution,” she promised, “because it can’t go on like this. Who’s first on your list today?”
    â€œKristine.”
    â€œGrit your teeth.”
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    Kristine lived in Reistad with her husband and two children. The house was luxurious and well positioned, with a big double garage and pillars by the front door with decorative hop vines climbing up them. There was an iron horseshoe under the nameplate. Every time Bonnie went there, she was struck by all the wealth, which was so unlike her own world. She went up to the door—a carved oak door—and when she put her finger on the bell, she heard a quiet
ding-dong
inside. She opened the door and went in, standing for a moment in