Jan stood up and looked at the clock. Drained his glass in one gulp and slammed it down on the polished concrete table.

‘This has nothing to do with the case, Selma. You’ll have to go.’

‘I’m pretty sure Hege’s been sabotaged.’

‘What?’

‘I’m pretty sure…’

‘I heard what you said. But why do you say that? What have you found out?’

‘I’ll tell you when I have more to go on. If I’m to make further progress with this, I really need you to answer my questions.’

He grabbed the glass and began to move towards the drinks cabinet again. Changing his mind, he called out to Maggi. She stood in the living room three seconds later.

‘Did you buy Pepsi Max, as I asked you to?’

Maggi nodded.

‘A bottle and two glasses, then. With ice cubes.’

She hurried from the room. Selma felt the usual prick of shame at never voicing any protest about Jan Morell’s behaviour towards the Polish home help. During her first visit to Vettakollen, almost exactly a week ago, Maggi had seemed upset about the doping allegations and flustered about everything that was going on. However, at that time she had clearly felt at home in the timber villa. She had been quiet and friendly and showed Hege motherly concern. Now she was cowed, scared and jittery.

You’re not very nice to her, was what Selma wanted to say.

But she didn’t. Instead, she sat in silence, waiting until Maggi returned with glasses and a litre and a half of Pepsi Max. The ice cubes made it fizz explosively when she poured out the cola, since she forgot to tilt the glass.

‘Sorry. Sorry.’

Her skinny legs rushed through the living room, into the kitchen and returned with a cloth. The spilled liquid had formed dark, irregular blotches on the highly polished concrete table.

‘Sorry,’ she said for the third time, as she wiped up the spill and then made herself scarce.

‘Why did you get Arnulf Selhus the job at the Cross-Country Skiing Federation?’

Selma picked up a glass and wiped the bottom of it on her trouser leg.

‘Because everyone deserves a second chance,’ he said sullenly.

‘What had he done wrong?’

‘It’s nothing to do with you.’

Selma sighed. She stood up. Stood for a few seconds staring at him. He stared back, his expression that of a sulky teenager.

‘You know me as an easy-going woman,’ Selma began, still on her feet. ‘Most people do. Very few have seen me angry. No one has seen me cry since 1986. I hardly ever swear, I smile a lot, I have a pleasant manner. I seldom voice my opinions, other than in legal matters. I’m popular, Jan. I’m looked up to, and not just because I’m in better shape than most twenty-five-year-olds. I’m very well known, idolized by many and well liked by most. And proficient at my job, irrespective of how hair-raising the embezzlement was. No matter how many lies about my own penchant for thrills and gambling I’ve whispered in my own ear down through the years. I’m competent. I’m smart, Jan. That’s why you chose to enter into this bet. I’m Selma Falck, and it’s Selma Falck you chose to get you out of your life’s worst …’