The other snippet of news DG had released, exactly an hour after the first, was that Haakon Holm-Vegge had been involved in a road traffic incident with a passing vehicle when he had his accident. Selma had read both the main report and the brief interview with a police inspector three times over, and was impressed. Nowhere was it mentioned directly that this might be a case of an actual collision. Nevertheless it was impossible not to be left with the impression that this was precisely what had happened.

And that it might have been done deliberately.

A homicide, was the suggestion, so subtle that most likely it fell entirely within press ethics.

‘What did you say to the police when you delivered the film?’ Selma asked.

‘Isn’t it more interesting to hear what the police said to me?’

Selma did not answer.

Lars Winther lifted his cup and drank. Setting it down again, he bit the top of a paper tube and emptied the sugar into his coffee.

‘In response to your question,’ he said, stirring the liquid, ‘I said exactly what I had to. That the wildlife camera had come into my hands from a source whose name I could not give them. From experience, the police accept that. At least in the first instance. I explained to them where the gizmo had been hanging. As far as I know, they’ve already had people up there, so for your sake we’ll have to hope that you didn’t leave all kinds of clues behind.’

Selma stared expressionlessly at him.

The forces of law and order faced far more pressing issues, she knew, than trying to discover who had taken down a wild-life camera that had been handed nicely to the police the very same day. Besides, she’d already thought up a good explanation for everything that had happened.

‘And to your question?’ she said. ‘What did the police say to you?’

‘First of all I need to know something.’

He tapped the teaspoon on the rim of the cup and wiped it fastidiously with a paper napkin.

‘What’s your role in all this? Who do you represent? We’ve received confirmation of Dagbladet’s report that you’ve sold yourself out of your own practice. As far as I know, you don’t have a job right now. You’ve moved away from home. I haven’t found out where you’re living, which means that you haven’t yet registered the move with the Population Register. That’s mandatory, you know. Within eight days.’

The sudden surge of adrenaline forced her to swallow.

The adrenal medulla, she thought, as she bought some time by lifting her mug of tea. She did not relinquish eye contact with him over the rim of the mug. Did not blink. Adrenaline is formed in the adrenal medulla from amino acids. Still did not blink. Pure biology. Relax. The veins in your skin are contracting. You’re going pale. The steam is saving you.

‘I haven’t moved,’ she said, unruffled.