‘We can change places,’ she said, getting to her feet.

The other girls were not as dauntless as their friend. Or perhaps they were just good at reading body language. Selma sat with her back turned to them, something she would have done from the beginning, if it hadn’t been for Lars Winther already being seated when she arrived.

‘Connection,’ she reminded him. ‘Between the cases of Haakon and Hege. Do you think so?’

His eyes narrowed a touch. He grabbed his cup, which was now in front of her, and drew it to him.

‘I’m not here to help you,’ he said. ‘At least not when you insist on keeping your assignment secret. Since you’re hardly working in competition with me and DG …’

He stopped and raised his eyebrows a little.

‘Or are you? Are you writing something? For a newspaper? NRK? A book? After all, every celebrity is writing a book these days. I was wondering when your turn would come round.’

Selma’s laughter was genuine. He noticed that, she saw. He smiled back, with no trace of sarcasm at the corners of his mouth.

‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m not writing anything. Although there have been loads of offers.’

‘I can believe it.’

‘Believe this too: I’ve got time to spare. Quite simply time to spare, Lars.’

She touched his arm with her hand. Just for a second, just long enough for her to notice that he felt uncomfortable. She pulled her hand away and straightened her back. He squeezed his eyes shut and then opened them, wide open, twice over, as if they had suddenly become dry.

‘Call it a midlife crisis,’ she went on in an undertone. ‘I’ve worked far too much for all my life. Far too hard. I haven’t exactly hit the wall, but I want to try to take better care of myself for a spell. Have more time. Help people without submitting a bill for it. Without being a participant in some TV programme or other.’

He nodded.

‘Let’s be open with each other,’ she added. ‘I’m curious and keen to help my friends. You probably appreciate that Jan Morell is convinced of his daughter’s innocence. The same applies to Haakon’s parents.’

Her phone vibrated quietly and she glanced at the display before tucking it back into her bag.

‘You’re a journalist. You’re looking for the facts. Just the same as me. And I’ll give you one. A sign of good faith, you might say.’

‘Can I use it?’ he asked, tapping his way into the recorder function on his phone.

‘No. But go ahead and take notes.’