Tom-Erik Sørlie, a Norwegian veteran of Afghanistan, was sitting by his living-room window when two police cars pulled up on the road below his house and started erecting barriers. He picked up his binoculars from the coffee table and adjusted the lenses until the officers came into focus. He had listened to the police radio all day as he always did, and he knew that something had happened. Two little girls had been killed, he believed another two had gone missing, and now police had decided to check all the roads going out of Oslo. He adjusted the lenses again. Armed police officers with helmets and machine pistols, Heckler & Koch MP5s—he knew the gun well, had used it many times himself. The armed officers had finished setting up the checkpoint and were now stopping cars. Fortunately for the drivers, it was early in the day. Most of the traffic was heading into the capital, not out.
He put down the binoculars and turned up the sound of the news. His TV was always on. As was his computer. And the police radio. He liked keeping himself informed. It was his way to feel alive now that he was no longer part of the action.
Lex, his puppy, stirred in its basket before it padded over to him. It settled by his feet with its head to one side and its tongue hanging out. The German shepherd wanted to go for a walk. Tom-Erik Sørlie stroked the dog’s head and tried to keep an eye on the screens. A TV2 reporter holding a microphone appeared in front of a camera. A residential development in Skullerud could be seen in the background. Police cordons. A girl had gone missing from there. He’d heard the news one hour ago. He got up and grabbed the puppy by the collar. Guided it out onto the steps, into the garden, and attached it to the tie-out line. He didn’t have the energy to go for a walk now. His head was hurting.
It had grown dark outside before the police took down the barriers in the road. A whole day. Someone in the department must have written them a blank check. He ate his dinner in front of the television. A police sketch appeared on the screen. A woman. A witness had seen her in Skullerud. Good luck, Tom-Erik Sørlie thought. It could be anyone. Footage from a press conference. A female public prosecutor. The girls were still missing. No leads. Two murder investigators getting into a car. A bearded man in a beige duffel coat. A woman with long black hair. Both were sharp-eyed. The man in the duffel coat flapped his hand to make the journalists go away. No comment.
Tom-Erik Sørlie turned down the volume on the television and got up to make himself a cup of coffee. Was that a noise he heard? Was there someone in the garden? He put on his shoes and went outside. The dog was no longer attached to the tie-out line.
“Lex?”
He walked around the house to the back garden and had a shock when he saw the apple tree.
Someone had killed his dog and hanged it by its neck from a jump rope.