‘But anyway, you can scarcely think of two such different people as Hege and Haakon,’ she said. ‘Haakon was the leading light of the men. Outspoken. Politically engaged, at least in the politics of sport. He has taken a forceful and distinct stand against doping. On more than one occasion, he has criticized the Norwegian Skiing Federation, the Norwegian Confederation of Sports, the International Ski Federation and the International Olympic Committee. For everything from nepotism to stupid technical requirements, via economic foul-ups. Haakon was a man of strong opinions. With a family. A partner and child. Open with the public to an almost comic extent, such as when for example he chose to publish his training diary in detail.’

The metal pen soundlessly drew three lines down from Haakon’s circle.

The public, she wrote in blue.

‘Hege is Haakon’s total opposite. Unassuming, almost mysterious. Little involvement in events beyond sports activities.’

‘If you had any idea what both she and I do for UNICEF and Médecins Sans Frontières then …’

‘Exactly. We’re left without any idea. We see it so seldom. Hege is a quiet, almost taciturn young woman. Lives with you. Her father. A widower. Almost certainly has had a boyfriend or two, that’s none of my business, but nothing serious. Hege can seem …’

Selma restrained herself. In distraction, she nibbled the metal stick.

‘You’ll break it.’

‘Sorry. To outsiders, Hege can seem a bit … immature?’

Jan Morell did not bat an eyelid. He had put his glass down on the floor and, elbows leaning on the armrests, he pushed the fingertips of both hands together to form a tent.

‘Immature,’ Selma reiterated, nodding. ‘From the outside, she seems immature. Following the conversations I’ve had with her, I see that this might be wrong. Quite the opposite, in fact, she gives the impression of being thoughtful, but all the same there’s something …’

She smacked her lips, searching for the word she was after.

‘… naïve about Hege. I think for example that she’s very bad at the art of lying. Before I met her for the first time, at your house on Thursday evening, I was far from convinced of her innocence. I am now. At least from a moral standpoint, I’m pretty sure that your daughter is a young woman who sticks to the truth. There still remains the possibility that she ingested Clostebol through some accident she knows nothing about. But with the discovery of the tube of Trofodermin in her luggage, I agree with you: someone has done this to her. She’s most certainly not lying. I don’t think she’s capable of it.’

‘As opposed to you and me,’ Jan said, barely audibly.

‘True enough. The ability to lie when necessary is an adult’s painful duty and burden.’

She smiled at him, almost teasing. He still did not bat an eyelid.

‘Where are you going?’ he asked brusquely. ‘What’s the point of all this?’

‘What if we’re not dealing with one case?’