Not of the modern type, with remote control, GPS and software that meant the owner could sit anywhere in the world watching what was going on. This edition was simple, she saw, and was stamped with the Public Roads Administration logo. She supposed it had been set up with a view to tracking the movement of wild animals across the road that bisected the Maridalen valley, with abundant wildlife on both sides. The red and yellow logo was almost worn away. The cable ties holding the camera fastened to the spruce trunk, on the other hand, looked new.

Selma glanced yet again towards the road.

Someone had started singing. More and more people joined in. A psalm, she presumed, at least it was slow and sombre enough. It didn’t look as if anyone had noticed her little detour. She was clearly visible from the gathering down there. So she moved behind the tree to avoid being so easily discovered. After fishing out a bunch of keys from her pocket, she began to saw through the plastic ties.

The camera was state property.

A couple of minutes later, it was lying on the ground.

Now, in other words, it was abandoned goods. A camera on a frozen forest floor: she should take it with her and deliver it to its rightful owner. She would most certainly do that. After having a closer look at it, admittedly. She put the camera in her pocket. There was just enough space. Almost silently, she descended to the road again, crossed the ditch in a single bound and then sneaked the camera out of her pocket and into her bag.

Bottolf Odda had started speaking on the other side of the crowd.

‘If we could all just let the service bus pass,’ he said in a loud voice, ‘then our bus will come down from Skar shortly to pick us up. In the same groups as we arrived, please. We thank you all for coming, and wish to announce that the funeral will take place on Friday at 11 a.m. in the Trefoldighets Church.’

In silence, people began to follow his instruction. The fittest moved beyond the ditch on the lower side. The rest spread out along the edge of the road, and it took only a couple of minutes for the number 51 bus to set off again. Conspicuously slowly, as if the driver wanted to pay his last respects.

Selma jogged northwards and knocked on the bus door. The driver hesitated. Staring at her with scepticism that a moment later dissolved into a smile of recognition. With a low sigh, the bus door opened.

‘Thanks.’ Selma gave a sad smile as she clambered aboard. ‘There were so many of us.’

‘No problem. Is he with you?’

Selma didn’t have a chance to answer before a man’s voice behind her said: ‘Yes, I’m with her.’

The door slid shut. Selma sat down in the middle of the almost-empty bus. A tall, slim man collapsed into the seat beside her, smiling as he touched his forehead with two fingers.