Chapter 17
Siri returned to the scene of the crime with Sander and Killian’s lies buzzing in her head.
I fell down.
We were hauling a bunch of debris.
The hell they were. But she couldn’t get any further.
She heard a beckoning whistle. It was Gerd, who had been inspecting the area around the Volvo, where work had abruptly stopped. Now she was crouching to examine something in the snow.
“What is it?”
More prints.
“Aren’t these another set?” Gerd said. “They’re different from the two we found up there. The sole is wrong. These came from someone else.”
Siri leaned down to get a closer look. “Yes. They’re different.”
Size 39, maybe 40. Not a boot. Some kind of athletic shoe. But the print wasn’t very clear; they couldn’t make out the brand.
“And look at this,” Gerd said. “From here you have a perfect view of the scene—both the road he’s coming down and the crash itself.”
She stood up, her knees creaking, and gazed across the village. More reporters were arriving. They parked their cars and got out. A band of black birds shot into the milky-white sky.
“Somewhere,” Gerd said, “we have a witness.”