Scarred Read Online Free

and rakes a hand through his long, blond fringe.
    ‘I’ve never seen him like that,’ he whispers. ‘He seemed almost in a trance.’
    ‘How do you mean?’
    ‘He just sat there. Rocking back and forth. His eyes were all glazed and distant.’
    Sund’s face takes on a sad, anxious expression.
    ‘Did he say anything to you?’
    ‘Not straightaway. But when I came back out from Erna Pedersen’s room, he muttered something about fractions.’
    ‘Fractions?’
    ‘Yes. He kept repeating it. Fractions, fractions, fractions.’
    Bjarne notes down the word in capital letters.
    ‘Now he’s been very excited about his maths homework recently so it might have something to do with that. What do I know?’
    ‘How old is he?’
    ‘He’s nine.’
    Bjarne nods.
    ‘I won’t keep you for very much longer,’ he says. ‘But do you have any idea who might have done this?’
    Sund heaves a sigh.
    ‘No.’
    ‘Can you think of anyone who didn’t like her?’
    Sund mulls it over.
    ‘I don’t think so.’
    ‘Have there been any disagreements here recently? Did someone get angry or upset with her?’
    Again Sund racks his brains.
    ‘Sometimes our residents get agitated and their discussions heated. But I really don’t think that anyone would hurt Erna Pedersen. She never made a fuss; she was quite frail and unwell. And if she hadn’t died like . . . like this, she would have died soon, anyway.’
    Bjarne scratches his head with the pen. A female care worker walks past them. Sund takes out his mobile and checks for new messages. Then he turns it off and puts it away.
    ‘Did you notice if anyone went to her room today?’
    Sund shifts slightly on the chair.
    ‘I was working mainly at the other end of the corridor. A lot of staff are off sick at the moment.’
    Bjarne nods again.
    ‘I can see from the visitors’ log that no one visited her today. Do you know what it was usually like? Did she have a lot of visitors?’
    ‘You’re better off asking Daniel, Daniel Nielsen. He was her primary care worker. But, no, I don’t think they were queuing round the block, to be honest.’
    Bjarne writes down Nielsen’s name and circles it.
    ‘Are you aware of any relatives who might have visited her from time to time?’
    ‘If they did, it can’t have been very often. I barely know what her son looks like.’
    ‘So she has a son?’
    Sund nods.
    Bjarne writes ‘son’s family in broken photograph?’ on his notepad.
    ‘The camera outside the main entrance,’ he continues. ‘Do you happen to know if it records?’
    Sund shakes his head.
    ‘It’s only there so we can see who rings the bell outside regular visiting hours.’
    ‘So people can come and go as they please?’
    ‘They can.’
    Bjarne nods again.
    ‘Did something unusual happen here today? Anything out of the ordinary?’
    Sund thinks about it.
    ‘The Volunteer Service people were here in the afternoon to play and sing for the residents.’
    ‘Go on?’
    ‘They come once a fortnight.’
    ‘I see. Are they popular?’
    ‘Yes, very.’
    ‘Did Erna Pedersen usually join in?’
    ‘Yes, but I don’t think I saw her there today.’
    Bjarne makes another note.
    ‘How many people usually come from the Volunteer Service?’
    ‘Five or six, I think.’
    Bjarne has met members of the Volunteer Service before, people of all ages who help others in return for no money at all. They’re unlikely to be the type to force knitting needles into the head of an old lady, Bjarne thinks, but he still makes a note of the name of the service in capital letters with an arrow pointing to it.
    ‘Okay,’ he says, getting up. ‘I can imagine that you want to get home and check on your son. But please think about what you saw here today, especially if something strikes you as a little odd or unusual. Anything that might be of interest.’
    ‘Will do,’ Sund says, taking the card Bjarne hands him. Then he hurries towards the lift while switching on his mobile to check for new