Blinked. At last, controlled and natural. Her pulse rate was over one hundred, she noted, and put the mug down before the unavoidable shaking of her hands began.

She folded them and placed them on her lap.

‘No?’

Lars Winther smiled, the same crooked smile, half boyish, half ironic.

‘No. We’re just going through a bad patch in our marriage, that’s all.’

She thought the new deeds for the property in Ormsundveien couldn’t possibly have been registered yet.

It was out of the question.

‘These things happen,’ she said, returning his smile. ‘Sometimes it passes. Sometimes not. Are you married?’

‘Yes.’

‘If it’s lasted a while, then you’ll know what I mean. And instead of talking about my personal … challenges at the moment, I’m really interested in hearing what the police had to say.’

‘And as I said, I’d like to know what role you have in this case.’

The situation was at an impasse, she realized. Deadlock. She ought to get up. Leave. She ought to forget all about Lars Winther. He was dangerous, despite his blond Tintin quiff and blue eyes.

At least to Selma.

‘My role is really modest,’ she said after a pause for thought that was exactly one second too long. ‘Just a friend of the Morell family. And for that matter, a good friend of Haakon’s parents. He was my godson. From that point of view, I know too many people in this … in these cases to control my own curiosity. But I don’t have an official role.’

He nodded.

‘Jan Morell was a client of yours, I know that.’

‘Was?’

‘Yes, you’ve sold your practice, haven’t you?’

‘Yes, you’re right. He was my client. For many years. It happens that you become friends. Not the best of friends, but in this case …’

She broke off to look at her Rolex.

‘I don’t think we’re going to gain much from this little meeting,’ she said, smiling as she picked up her phone from the table. ‘Thanks for coming, and sorry for wasting your time. Really.’

She put her mobile in her handbag. She pushed the chair back and made to stand up. With a hand gesture and something that might resemble an apologetic expression, he persuaded her to remain seated all the same.

‘It wasn’t a new theory for the police,’ he said softly. ‘That there had been a vehicle in the picture, I mean.’

Selma drew her chair a little closer to the table again and leaned forward.

‘No?’

‘They weren’t exactly communicative, you might say. But thanks to me giving them the wildlife camera, I did at least get to know that. They probably thought, like all the rest of us, it seemed strange that things could go so wrong for a really well trained athlete. He’s fallen before, and the worst thing that happened was a serious abrasion.’

Selma made no sign of filling the ensuing pause.