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nodded. ‘Yes, we considered that too. You might recall … there was a car that had been seen in the area at the time she went missing. We never got a decent description of it, but we concluded it was a dark-grey or black saloon, perhaps a Peugeot, but that was as far as we got. We put out a search, but no one responded and we never got any further with our own investigation either.’
    ‘Do you mean to say that’s the hottest tip you have?’
    ‘Had, I think we say. Had, almost twenty-five years ago. However, I would definitely have liked to know more about the car. What make it was, who was driving and what they were doing at that time? These are the questions I ask myself most when I lie awake at night.’
    ‘You checked all the neighbours’ cars?’
    ‘Yeah, yeah. None of them stuck out. Most of the neighbours weren’t interested in cars. One of the men in one of the houses tinkered with an old Volvo, but it was light grey and at the time in question his wife wasin town with it. Several of the other cars were absent that day because their owners were away.’
    ‘You remember quite a lot about the case, I must say.’
    ‘As I told you, it has never given me any peace.’
    ‘Another standard question, Muus. Were there any registered sex offenders under the spotlight?’
    He glared at me. ‘All of them, actually. We door-stepped every single one of them at liberty in the Bergen district and we checked any prisoners on day release. Later we expanded the search to other police districts. Obviously, with such a large target group some didn’t have alibis, but we never found anything on them, never got close to anything that could have been a clue.’
    ‘How many are we talking about?’
    ‘Of known child abusers – from flashers to rapists – we were probably talking about ten locally and between thirty and fifty nationwide. But that covered the country from Kirkenes to Cape Farewell.’
    ‘Any names that stick in your mind?’
    He scratched his head. Then he shook it. ‘No. None I can put my finger on anyway. Some of them must be dead and buried. I hope so. This is the dregs we’re talking about here, Veum. The lowest of the low. When they’re in prison they go through hell, and they deserve to. Abusing small, defenceless children!’
    I asked gently: ‘Have you two got any children?’
    He looked at me, granite-faced. ‘No,’ he said curtly and I understood at once it would be inadvisable to delve any further in that direction.
    ‘But you suspect there was something like that at work?’
    ‘Either that or, as you suggested, a collision with a car, and the driver took the body to get rid of it somewhere else. Not much to be proud of, either.’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Don’t think we’ll get much further than that, Veum.’
    ‘Cecilie Lyngmo was working on the case, Maja Misvær said.’
    Muus sent me a measured look. ‘Yes? Probably was. The whole department was involved, at least at the beginning.’
    ‘Would anyone remember any more?’
    He shrugged. ‘I sincerely doubt it. But by all means try. Most of them have retired now, like me. At least those who would have had anything to contribute.’
    He pushed his mug aside and got up, a sign the conversation was over. Then he placed his fists on the kitchen table, leaned over and looked me in the eye. ‘There’s one thing you should know. If you solve this case, Veum, I’ll forget everything that’s gone on between us over the years. If you find out what happened to Mette Misvær that Saturday in September 1977 you have a friend for life in Dankert Muus.’
    I thanked him, but on the way out I was not at all sure this was something I would anticipate with relish. From my side of the road, it sounded more like a threat.

6
    Back in my office, after a brief search on the internet, I found Cecilie Lyngmo, who, after reaching pensionable age, had travelled ‘home’, as she put it, to a valley north of Flekkefjord.
    When I rang her and introduced myself,