‘Do you believe that Haakon was knocked down?’ Einar asked as he turned the bag of cheese puffs upside down to find that it was and would remain empty.

‘Well, a situation did certainly arise that got his dander up. On the film clip we see him lashing out at the car with his pole. It could have knocked him off balance, at the very least.’

‘But did Arnulf Selhus drive up to Maridalen that night in order to kill him?’

‘We’ll probably never know. What we do know for sure, however, is that Arnulf actually bought three tubes of Trofodermin when he was in Milan with his wife a fortnight ago. The police said so this morning. In all likelihood it will turn out that he was the one who tried to make it look as if Haakon was taking drugs. He had access to the locker room; he had the means as well. If Haakon were still alive, his focus would probably have been one hundred per cent on exonerating himself from a charge of cheating. Not running to Bottolf with a complaint about a payment made by mistake that had already been cleared up. Discrediting your accusers is a strategy as old as the hills.’

The TV was now broadcasting interviews with various representatives of Norwegian sport.

A children’s ski coach in the Heming IL sports club was very shaken, and the treasurer of the BUL sports club was almost speechless at what had happened. Three fourteen-year-olds on skis in Granåsen were more concerned about the arrival of snow in Trøndelag.

‘But what do you think?’ Einar insisted.

‘Well, Arnulf may have been in Maridalen just by chance. He had the dogs with him, and they had to be walked regardless of the weather. Maybe he drove there because he knew Haakon would be in that particular area. I’ve always thought that Vanja’s son shares too much information, and he had put out a selfie on Instagram before setting off on his training session.’

She made to pick up her phone, but caught herself just in time.

‘#notbadweatherjustunsuitableclothes and #notexactlyawimp. Plus #allalongMaridalen, so there was no doubt about where he was going.’

Sighing, she shook her head.

‘The police will get to the bottom of it.’

‘Yes, I suppose so. The Selhus guy is dead anyway. Got his comeuppance, if I may say so. And that Knut Nilssen, too. He seems even crazier than me, from what they write about him. Waited forty years and then … Bang! You know, if you set out on revenge, then dig a grave for two!’

Einar gave a toothless grin.

‘Is that a snippet of Buddhist philosophy?’ Selma asked with a smile.

‘No, James Bond. Are we eating anytime soon?’

‘The pizza’s in the oven.’

‘Jan Morell!’ Einar called out enthusiastically, pointing at the screen.

The reporter’s voice was talking to an image of Jan Morell as he approached the entrance of the NRK building in Marienlyst.