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he’d tried to protect himself; he hadn’t had time. Sejer thought the child had been killed first, as his body was closest to the door. The next picture was of the woman, who was the child’s mother. There were just the two of them, Bonnie and Simon Hayden. No father who lived with them, no brothers or sisters. The mother was also blond, but she didn’t have curls, so perhaps the child had inherited his mop from his father. Her white summer dress was wet and stained with blood from the stab wounds. Sejer looked next at the close-ups, which were taken under the instruction of Bardy Snorrason, who was responsible for the autopsy. Her feet were bare, the toenails painted. On and on through the photographs, until finally he sat staring at the last one. The worn gray linoleum floor covered in considerable amounts of blood. And over by the countertop, a clear footprint. He studied the picture, holding it up to his eyes. This, he thought, is all we have for the moment.
    He leaned back in the chair to process the images. Frank started to chew the toe of his shoe again and there was a knock at the door. Snorrason came in with the forensics report. He was also close to retirement age. He gave Frank a pat and pulled out a chair, putting down a pile of paper with dense text on the desk in front of him.
    â€œThe preliminary report,” he said. “I’ve been thorough.” Sejer started to read the report while Snorrason sat beside him and commented on the findings.
    â€œThe boy, Simon, had four stab wounds. All to the stomach so he presumably bled to death. And, sadly, it may have taken some time. His mother, Bonnie, was also stabbed four times—he made quick work of it. Once through the carotid artery, so her death would have been swift. The three other wounds were to vital organs: the heart, liver, and kidneys. And then the gash by her mouth—he slashed her face. What are your thoughts so far?” The Icelander looked at the inspector.
    â€œHe must have known that they were in the trailer,” Sejer said. “They’ve been carefully selected. He may have planned this for some time. I’m guessing that he feels no remorse; this is a deeply disturbed individual.”
    He leafed through the pile of paper. He didn’t understand all the terminology, but Snorrason explained it to him.
    â€œMaybe he tortured a cat. That’s how it often starts,” Sejer said. “Or someone has done him wrong. And this is his revenge. But why a mother and child? I don’t understand. There’s certainly plenty to piece together.”
    Frank came out from under the desk and Sejer bent down to stroke his head.
    â€œWe won’t leave this case unsolved,” Snorrason said, “if it’s the last one we work on. So, let me tell you what else the bodies told me. They had just eaten. There was undigested food in both their stomachs, and the boy had had a fizzy drink. Both were otherwise healthy, but the mother had broken a bone, presumably as a child. She is five feet six inches tall and weighs one hundred and nineteen pounds. The boy has a slight build. Otherwise I haven’t found anything out of the ordinary. The wounds are deep. The blade was nine inches long but very narrow. And the knife handle was four inches.”
    Sejer clasped his hands around his neck. He thought of all the people he would have to talk to. “Bonnie Hayden didn’t have colleagues as such,” he said. “She was a home health aide and they work independently. But I’m going to talk to all her clients. Her parents are still alive, but she had no siblings. I’ve already been to see her mother, Henny Hayden, but she was not in any fit state to say much. So we’ll wait until after the funeral, although we don’t really have time to wait. Bonnie had practically no contact with the child’s father anymore; they had only lived together for a couple of years. The boy went to