Black Seconds (12 page)

She parked in front of the Joker. Stayed in the car for a while looking through the windshield. Then she opened the car door and put her foot down on the asphalt. She looked down at her thick ankle and her brown shoe. Raised her eyes. Gazed at the entrance to the shop. At that moment she froze. She was looking right at a yellow bike. Helga started shaking. Her whole body trembled. She staggered out of the car and starting walking toward the bicycle rack. A sudden heat surged through her body. She vaguely noticed that the doors had opened and someone was coming out of the shop. They reached the bicycle at the same time. In disbelief Helga stared at the red-haired girl with the sullen face who grabbed the handlebars with both hands and pulled the bicycle out of the rack. A Nakamura. She pushed the bicycle onto the asphalt and mounted it. Just the way Ida would have done. Brisk and confident.

"No!" Helga screamed. She began to run. Tried to get hold of the pannier rack, but she did not succeed. The girl gave her a mystified look and started pedaling away from the shop as fast as she could. Helga raced after her. She was not used to running, she was heavy and clumsy.

"No! Wait!"

The girl cycled faster. Her skinny body pushed down the pedals as if her life depended on it. Helga started to lag behind. She stopped abruptly and then rushed back to the car and jumped in. Turned the key, revved the engine violently and reversed. A loud crash sounded and she turned round. A shopping trolley had rolled behind her car and she had reversed right into it. She panicked. She got out again to scan the road for the bicycle. Any second now it would disappear around the bend. She shoved the trolley out of the way and let it roll across the asphalt. Got into the car without checking the damage that had been done to it. Turned into the road. Spotted the bicycle just as it swung into a residential area. She knew this neighborhood well. She had lost sight of the bicycle. She stopped and reversed. Checked her rearview mirror. Where was the girl? Surely that was Ida's bicycle. A brand-new Nakamura, all shiny and yellow! She kept the engine running and got out of the car. Stood for a while, listening. But she heard nothing except the wind and footsteps on the road behind her. Heels clicking sharply against the asphalt. A woman with shopping bags came walking. Helga ran toward her.

"Excuse me!" she panted. "Do you know if a girl with red hair lives around here? Ten, twelve years old?"

The woman looked at Helga and hesitated. "Eh, red hair? I might know her."

"I need to talk to her!"

The woman seemed uncertain. Helga looked like a maniac; her eyes were shining. "Talk to her?" "I have to. It's important!"

Helga could not control herself; she gripped the woman's coat and tugged it. The woman twisted to free herself from Helga's grip. "There's a girl on Røyskattlia," she said. "It's the last house. Her hair's very red."

She tore herself loose and disappeared with brisk steps. Helga got back into her car. Rolled slowly down the road in first gear. Stopped at the junction. She saw the sign saying Røyskattlia and she noticed the last house. It was wooden, painted in an almost black color. She stayed in the car for a while with only one thought in her head. The bicycle had to come home. It had to be parked on the drive as it always was. Then she turned the car around, left the area and returned to her house as quickly as she could. There was no Ida reading on the sofa. She sat down in an armchair and waited for the twilight.

***

At 10:00
P.M.
it was dark. Once more Helga drove down to the Joker. The shop was closed and the parking lot empty. She decided to walk the last stretch. She was wearing a dark jacket, and with her dark hair she was hardly noticeable from the windows. There was little street lighting. She found the house again and stood a few meters away, watching the dark drive. The kitchen window was lit up brightly. She tiptoed down a narrow strip of lawn and sneaked around the corner of the house. Two bicycles were leaning against the wall, not visible from the road. A big, black man's bicycle and Ida's little yellow one. She went over to it and stroked the saddle. She watched the house with curiosity. Who lived inside it? Would they hear her if she rolled the bicycle across the gravel? Carefully she pulled on the handlebars. They had got caught up with the other bicycle's. She yanked them, and they hit the wall with a thud. Helga held her breath. Had they heard her? Nervously she moved away with the bicycle. She decided to go through the garden. The tires rolled noiselessly across the grass.

It was light outside the Joker. Helga studied the bicycle in more detail now. It was definitely Ida's. She opened the trunk of her car and tried lifting the bicycle up into it. It was heavy and half of it stuck out, even though she pushed and shoved as hard as she could. The trunk could only be half shut. Growing increasingly distraught, she started searching for a bungee, but couldn't find one. However, she did find a green nylon towrope. She unwound the coil with trembling hands. The bicycle had to come now, it belonged to Ida! The blood roared inside her head as she suddenly heard steps. Startled, she stood up. She felt like a thief. It was an elderly man and he was heading for her car.

"You look as if you could do with a hand," he said gruffly.

Helga gripped the rope tightly in her hands. "I have to get this bicycle home!" she said.

The man looked into the trunk. "Not enough room," he stated. "You drive a Peugeot 306."

"I'm aware of that," she said, stressed. "Some of it'll just have to stick out. But I have a rope."

He took the rope in order to help her. "You going far with that bicycle?"

"I'm going home!" she repeated.

"And where's home?"

He was brusque and efficient. He was someone who was used to stepping in and taking care of things as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Helga felt relieved. She let her arms flop and allowed him to take over and deal with it all.

"Glassblåserveien. I'll drive carefully."

"You'll have to. I'm afraid you might scratch the paint if you're not careful. But I see you've already done that," he said, pointing to the damage done by the trolley.

"I don't give a damn about the paint job," Helga said, watching him nervously while he tied the rope. She did not know if he knew her, if he knew what had happened. What he made of the yellow bicycle. But he knew what he was doing. He had done this before and he sorted it out. She looked at the knots and thought, I'll never manage to undo those. But then I'll just use a knife.

The man was finally satisfied. He tugged the handlebars gently; the bicycle hardly moved. She thanked him. Then she drove home quickly and recklessly. Once she got home she cut the rope with a pair of pruning shears she found in the garage. She struggled to get the bicycle up the steps. She wanted to bring it all the way into the hallway. Finally she stood there looking at it. It felt good to have the bicycle back home again. All that was missing now was Ida. She went over to the telephone and rang Sejer's number.

"I've found Ida's bicycle," she said.

***

Shortly afterward he was standing in her hallway. He studied the yellow bicycle and tried to be tactful. "How can you be so sure?" he asked.

She was standing in front of him, trembling but strong. Her face was determined. "Because I bought it," she said. "From Sportshuset. This is Ida's bicycle. I can tell from the height of the saddle, which is on the lowest setting, and from the handlebars, which were adjusted so that she wouldn't be leaning too far forward. I can tell because it's new and unscratched. Ida wasn't allowed to put any stickers on it."

"If only you'd let her," Sejer said. "A single sticker would have convinced me. Did anyone in the house hear you take it?"

"I don't think so."

He looked at her gravely. "If this really is Ida's bicycle, and the people who live on Røyskattlia have something to hide, they could deny that it was ever at their property. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

She pressed her lips together and stared at the floor in defiance. "I was entitled to take it. It belongs to Ida."

"I'll go talk to them," he said, more kindly this time. "But I ask you to be prepared that you might have made a mistake nonetheless. If they can produce a receipt for the bicycle, it means that they bought it for their own daughter. This brand's very popular. And many choose yellow."

"She had a guilty conscience!" Helga said. "It was so obvious!"

Sejer had no difficulty imagining the terror the girl would have felt when the desperate Helga Joner had started screaming and chasing after her.

"How about the registration number?" he said calmly. "Every bicycle's got one. When you bought the bike, I'm sure you got a registration card. Do you remember?"

She frowned. "Yes," she said. "But I'll have to look for it."

She disappeared into the kitchen. Sejer found the frame number and wrote it down on his notepad. U 9810447. Then he followed her. Helga was rummaging through a drawer.

"It's red," she said feverishly, "I remember that the card was red. The receipt was stapled to the inside. It cost 3,990 kroner. They must think we're idiots," she stuttered as bits of paper and other debris flew around her. "I remember that they had to take five centimeters off the seat post. Go out in the hallway and see for yourself. It was because Ida needed to have the saddle really low. Go and check!" she called out while she carried on looking. Sejer went out to check the post. He ran his finger over the edge. It had been cut. He returned. Helga had found the registration card. She smoothed it out and handed it to him. Sejer stared at the card and then at his notepad.

***

He knew the area as a nice middle-class neighborhood. He found Royskattlia and drove to the last house. A face appeared in the window. A woman. She looked quickly out on to the drive and noticed the strange car. Then she was gone. Sejer went to the front door and rang the bell. Heard the shrill noise it made. A man appeared, looking puzzled. Sejer read the name below the bell.

"Heide?" he said politely.

The man looked at the patrol car. "Yes? What's this about?"

He looked the very picture of innocence. But then again, Sejer had not for one moment imagined that he would walk up the drive and straight into the house of the people who had made Ida vanish into thin air. He did not imagine that Heide would have harmed Ida and then given her bicycle to his own daughter as a present. Though he had heard of worse and more incomprehensible cases than that.

"Konrad Sejer," he greeted him. "I'd like to speak to you. You have a family? A daughter?"

Heide nodded, but remained standing in the doorway.

"May I come in?" Sejer said directly. Heide let him into the hallway. A woman came out from the kitchen. Sejer smiled at her, but she did not reciprocate.

"Why do you want to know about Hanne?" Heide said, looking at him.

"Perhaps she's asleep?" Sejer said, evading the question.

"She's in bed, reading," her mother said.

"Would you please get her?" Sejer requested.

The parents looked at one another. "Get her? At this hour? It's almost eleven o'clock."

"Would you please get her?" Sejer repeated. "I just want to ask her a question."

The mother disappeared and returned quickly with a red-haired girl. She was wearing a bathrobe over her nightie and padded anxiously behind her mother. Sejer gave her a friendly smile. It struck him that she looked guilty.

"I'm from the police," he said. "But you've got nothing to worry about. I just want to ask you a few questions. Do you own a yellow bicycle?"

She blushed instantly. "No," she said quickly. She looked at her father for a long time; her father looked back at her. Her mother was silent.

"Why do you want to know?" her father said, folding his arms across his chest.

"This afternoon your daughter was seen riding a yellow bicycle," Sejer explained. "The person who saw her followed her here. She found the bicycle parked outside your house."

"Yes," the girl said quickly. "But it's not mine!"

Sejer looked at her and nodded. "I know," he said. "And I'm waiting to hear what you're going to tell me next."

"I borrowed it from someone."

"Who lent it to you?" he asked.

"Oh, just a friend." She stared at the floor.

Her father frowned. "So what is it about this bicycle?" he said. "Surely we're entitled to an explanation?"

"You'll get one," Sejer said patiently. "But first you need to tell me the name of your friend." His voice was gentle. At the same time he was agitated.

The girl was having a hard time. Her father looked at her impatiently.

"Go on, tell him the name, Hanne!"

Hanne refused to look him in the eye. Her mother took a few steps forward.

"Surely you didn't take it?" she said nervously. "Is it a stolen bicycle?" She gave Sejer a troubled look. "Hanne would never steal. She wouldn't."

"I'm not saying she would," he said calmly. "And I can inform you that the bicycle has just now been removed. By the person who followed Hanne. You did see her, didn't you? She was calling after you?"

"Yes," the girl said. She was still staring at the floor. Her hands were fiddling with the cord of her bathrobe. "Why didn't you stop?"

"I was scared," she said. Her voice was barely audible. Sejer moved closer to her. "It's important that you tell me where you found the bicycle." Again she was silent.

"What's so special about it?" her mother said. Sejer looked at both parents.

"So neither of you knows how she got the bicycle?"

"She brought it back last night," her father said. "She had been to see a friend and was allowed to borrow it. We've told her not to go anywhere without letting us know. That's why we were angry with her. Her friend's name is Karianne. She lives a few minutes from here."

"The bicycle belongs to the missing girl, Ida Joner," Sejer said. "We've checked the registration number. The woman who followed Hanne was Ida Joner's mother. She recognized it."

Mrs. Heide put her hand over her mouth. "Oh my God, oh my God!" she said loudly. "Where did you find it? You said it was Karianne's. Are you lying to us?"