‘Listen to me. It was a journalist, OK? Off you go to bed. Now. Draw the curtains, and then they won’t bother you again. You have to make a list. Of absolutely everyone you can think of who could lay you open to sabotage. Through food. Contact. Drink. Medicines. Voodoo, for that matter. A list. Can you manage that, Hege?’

Selma saw that the girl was shaking. Carefully, she pushed her into the hall, giving her the most reassuring smile she could muster, and closed the door without waiting for an answer. She took her mobile from her pocket and began to follow the stranger’s trail around the house in the light from the pocket torch function.

The prints were surprisingly clear. Selma had been mistaken. The man, or woman in big shoes, hadn’t just been here. At least an hour must have elapsed. The prints were made in soft slush, which had frozen to ice immediately afterwards. The edges were knife-sharp.

Size forty-six, Selma guessed after holding her hand over a particularly distinct print. She took three photos of it, one of them with her keys neatly arranged beside it as a measure, and straightened her back.

Naturally, it could have been a journalist.

Selma had come across many journalists in her life, and they sometimes sported strange footwear. All the same, she had yet to meet a journalist at work in such expensive ski boots.

To be more precise, Fischer RCS Skate Boots, she was certain.

In fact she had the same boots herself.

As had almost all members of the national cross-country ski team.

THE MANUSCRIPT

101 OFFICE INTERIOR, OSLO CITY CENTRE, DAY

Open windows with curtains fluttering. Obviously summer. A MAN sitting on a settee. He is holding both hands around a mug of steaming tea. A WOMAN is seated on an office chair, with a sideboard beside her, where there is also a teacup. She has a notepad on her lap, but has put down her pen. She is swinging quietly from side to side, with her legs crossed.

WOMAN: How can you be so sure?

MAN: The story fits. The skis …

(PAUSE)

WOMAN: Lots of people had skis like those.

MAN (somewhat discouraged): Not at that time. Besides, I Googled it. Searched through the archives. Afterwards. After they were there. At the Ski Museum. Everything fits.

WOMAN: Does it mean anything?

MAN: You’re asking if it means anything?

WOMAN: Yes.

MAN: Of course it means something!

The WOMAN looks down at her notepad. Closes it. The MAN drinks the hot liquid. He suddenly bends down to the floor and puts down the cup. Looks around, spots a used cup on the desk. Picks it up and puts it down at the other side of his feet, in exact symmetry with the first one.

WOMAN: What does it mean, then?