She thought Sølve had been the one who had done the tramping around. He had the right ski boots in his wardrobe at home, there were images of the tracks, with an object for comparison just as Einar described in The Investigator’s ABC. Sølve Bang was a cunning bastard who thought of no one but himself. He had girlish hands and toddled around like a penguin, and Selma should really phone her old teammate from the Bækkelaget Sports Club who was now Director of Communications at Statoil. She would tell her about the deception, he wouldn’t get away with it, but why Sølve Bang would traipse around in other people’s gardens with ski boots on his feet was still beyond her comprehension.

‘His feet are too small,’ Einar grunted.

‘Who?’

Selma leaned towards him.

‘I thought you were asleep,’ she said softly, with a smile.

‘I’m resting. And Sølve Bang has small feet. You’ve said that twice. The pictures you took in Vettakollen were of footprints made by shoe size forty-six or something like that. At least that was what you said an hour ago. But you’ve been rambling a lot. You’ve got terribly mixed up, Mariska. My goodness …’

He struggled up into a sitting position. His eyes were no longer quite so glassy.

‘The gypsies have gone!’

‘Yes, we’re the only ones here. And now I have to take out my mobile, Einar. Just for a second.’

‘Wait a minute,’ he said quickly, producing a huge aluminum bin lid from one of the crevices behind him.

He used it as a shield for his head and torso.

‘Just a minute! You have to promise you’ll only take a second!’

Selma looked through it until she found the photo of Sølve Bang’s ski boots. Using her thumb and forefinger, she zoomed in on the cardboard box beside them.

‘You’re right,’ she said in an undertone. ‘These are size forty-one.’

‘Is your phone gone?’ Einar whimpered.

Selma switched it off and put it in her bag.

‘Yes.’

The bin lid clattered as he wedged it between the rocks again.

‘People like that turn up in every case,’ Einar told her, and touched his mouth. ‘Fuck. I’ve got such bloody hellish toothache. Or where my tooth used to be, at any rate. My whole mouth, actually. You don’t have any more booze?’

‘No, not here. I can come back with some more tomorrow.’

She glanced at her watch.

‘Today. Later today. What did you mean by “people like that”?’

‘People like Sølve Bang,’ he said in a resigned tone, struggling to find a more comfortable position.

His movements were even more sluggish than usual. He still kept blinking his eyes in a grimace of pain, and he was fighting to get his tongue to cooperate when he spoke. But he was better. He was present again.