‘Of what?’ Selma asked, as she stood gazing out of the enormous window on the top floor of the Fornebuporten building.

‘That we’re dealing with a case of pure sabotage. A tube of Trofodermin was left in Hege’s sponge bag. It wasn’t placed in there by her. Ergo someone else must have done it. It can’t have been for any other reason than to compromise her.’

‘Stupid, then …’

Out on the fjord she spotted the lights of a cargo ship en route to Oslo harbour. The weather was still clear and cold. Since she could not afford to buy winter tyres for the Amazon, and also felt it would be sensible to stay away from the Poker Turk and his garage for as long as she could, she had taken a taxi out to MCV’s premises in the fabulous building beside the Telenor Arena.

She was keeping tabs now and would soon have to ask for payment of expenses.

‘Stupid, then,’ she repeated, ‘that Hege has no idea when it was put there. That we can’t confine ourselves to Lillehammer and the weekend before she came across it, since she can’t remember the last time she delved right down to the bottom of the bag. Stupid too that your proof has also gone right down the toilet. Quite literally. And that the tube has been burned to oblivion.’

‘What was I to do?’ he said in a voice that was far too high-pitched. ‘That fucking tube could have destroyed everything! Even though I know that Hege never tells a lie, we can see now, clear as crystal, that many other people do believe she’s a liar!’

‘And Sølve Bang knows about the tube, then?’

‘Yes. Because of that … muttonhead who keeps our house clean.’

He poured a solid swig of whisky into an engraved crystal glass.

‘It’s past eight o’clock,’ he muttered. ‘There’s some Pepsi Max in the fridge over there.’

He used his glass as a pointer.

‘No, thanks,’ she said. ‘And now he’s been in touch with you, is that right?’

‘Yes. He threatened me, Selma. He actually threatened me.’

‘I would take that with complete composure.’

She still stood by the window. She felt old. Her body felt heavy and lethargic and unfamiliar. Tired, she thought. Fed up.

Still quite scared, she noted, and gave a smile.

‘With complete composure?’ Jan Morell repeated scornfully. ‘Composure? You don’t know what that man’s capable of.’

‘No. I don’t. I actually find it more difficult working out what his role is in all this. Admittedly, he has one or two duties to perform in the organization, but how he can just …’

She placed her hand on her neck and massaged it slowly before letting go, crossing over to the fridge, opening it up and taking out a bottle of cola after all.

‘At that press conference,’ she said. ‘Or rather that little ceremony to honour Haakon’s memory. On Saturday up there in Holmenkollen. A journalist suddenly raised the question of whether a drugs test would be conducted post-mortem. Everyone was totally taken aback. Sølve simply …’