Darius leapt on to the settee, circling himself soundlessly a couple of times before lying down.

‘… rough deal,’ Selma rounded off.

He opened his mouth and she held up her palms to stop him.

‘Strict,’ he nevertheless went on to say. ‘But fair.’

She placed the cushion as a buffer between her and the cat.

‘Fine,’ she said, with a note of resignation. ‘But an agreement like that makes it totally impossible for me to work for you. You’ll realize that, if you think about it.’

‘Look on it as a bet,’ he said sharply. ‘Your very last one. If you find the explanation for how and why an honest, clean, elite athlete has quite inexplicably tested positive and risks losing the greatest experience of her life, then you’ll get your money back.’

‘PyeongChang.’

‘Yes.’

‘No cure, no pay?’

‘Yes. Only then will it really be a bet. You have until the very last selection date. 24 January 2018. If you succeed, the money’s yours. Sixteen million. Many of your problems could be fixed for sixteen million kroner, Selma. Especially since three of them represent debt you have nothing to show for. If you don’t succeed, then both you and I will have wasted our time.’

‘But why me?’

Jan Morell gave a faint smile.

‘Look at yourself in the mirror,’ he said with a touch of contempt. ‘Read your own CV. If anyone is able to get to the bottom of this, it’s you. A top athlete. A top lawyer. You took on three famous drugs cases and won two of them. Into the bargain, you’re one of Norway’s most famous faces and admired role models.’

‘Former top athlete,’ she corrected him. ‘And from Monday on, also an ex-lawyer. Probably also a far less famous face. From now on, at least.’

Holding out his hand, he pretended not to hear her.

‘Do we have a deal?’

Selma got to her feet. Stared at his hand without taking it in hers. Darius jumped warily down to the floor again, with his eyes fixed on the mouse, now lying stone dead in the middle of the floor.

‘I don’t even know where to begin,’ Selma said hesitantly.

‘By coming with me,’ Jan Morell told her, retracting his hand and heading for the door. ‘You have to speak to Hege.’

Only now did he catch sight of the mouse and stopped short.

‘What kind of place is this?’ he exclaimed, taking a step back. ‘And what the hell’s that cat doing here?’

‘It’s a long story,’ Selma said curtly, circumnavigating the mouse cadaver as she went to collect her outdoor clothes. ‘I have to do something first. I can be at your place in a couple of hours.’

A swift glance at the Rolex. Yet another item she would try to keep for as long as possible, it struck her. In reserve, of course: a watch like that would fetch a good price on eBay.

‘Before midnight. OK?’

‘Yes.’

‘And …’