Selma remained standing. She tried to hop from one foot to the other, but it was difficult on the uneven ground.

‘You have to be yourself,’ Einar said softly. ‘Even though your world has been turned upside down and you’ve lost everything you had, you haven’t lost yourself. What did we talk about when you paid me a visit the other night?’

‘Lots of things.’

‘Qui bono, Mariska! Read The Investigator’s ABC!’

He pulled his own copy out of the blue IKEA bag and waved it as he continued: ‘We talked about searching for whoever gains from a crime. And sometimes more importantly: who loses most from it. Tomorrow it’ll be a week since you took on this assignment, Mariska. You’ve spoken to the people involved many times now.’

He returned the book to the bag, pulled on his mittens and leaned back against the sloping stone.

‘Who do you think would be punished most severely by Hege Chin Morell being caught doping?’ he asked, looking her straight in the eye.

He maintained eye contact, something he could never normally do.

‘Jan Morell,’ Selma said, nodding.

‘Who has, in contrast to Hege, of necessity acquired many adversaries, maybe even enemies, while building up a million-kroner company?’

‘Jan Morell.’

‘And who …’

Only now did he look down. In the numerous bags and boxes around him, he knew exactly where to look. He found the same edition of the A-magasinet supplement that he had shown her earlier.

‘Who actually says nothing whatsoever about himself when he is interviewed? In contrast to his daughter that everyone thinks they know all there is to know about?’

An answer wasn’t necessary. Selma pulled off the blanket, which had become so full of static electricity that it had attached itself to her coat. Folding it up neatly, she placed it on a rock.

‘Forget Hege,’ Einar told her. ‘Neither she nor the Federation is affected by sabotaging Hege Morell. It’s the daddy who is the real victim, Mariska. The daughter is young and has loads of possibilities. The father is living out his dreams about skiing through his only child. He suffers most from what has happened. Her dad.’

‘Sleep well,’ Selma said. ‘And thanks. Thank you very much.’

She leaned forward and let him whisper the accustomed words of farewell. In a reassuring voice, she answered as she had done for so many, many years: ‘You did the right thing, Einar. The bastard deserved to die.’

THE MANUSCRIPT

601 INTERIOR, BASEMENT, OSLO, NIGHT-TIME