He sent me a stern look. ‘No, it isn’t, Veum. Nothing’s impossible. Bit imaginative maybe, but … fine.’195

‘And then there’s the drummer. Arild Hjellestad. He drank himself to death, it was said. In January this year. He was plastered and fell asleep outdoors, in the snow, and was frozen to death. That kind of thing can be arranged too, can’t it?’

‘Yeeees,’ he drawled.

‘We know nothing about who he was drinking with, for example. In those fraternities they seldom drink alone.’

‘In which fraternities?’

‘Among alcoholics. Things went downhill pretty smartly for Hjellestad after 1975.’

‘1975?’

‘The year they split up, The Harpers.’

He made a note. ‘OK. So, in other words, you think there may’ve been no less than three criminal acts here. If you’re right, three murders in fact. Hjellestad’s case is the least convincing. It could hardly have been anything more than unthinking … Nevertheless. Alright.’ He gesticulated in Mediterranean fashion, eyebrows raised quizzically. ‘But why, Veum? And how are we going to prove it? You know as well as I do that the safest way to commit murder is to disguise it as an accident. Statisticians say a long line of murders pass unnoticed every single year. That’s the definition of a perfect murder, Veum. The accident…’

I nodded twice, the first in affirmation, the second towards all the paperwork covering his desk. ‘So there’s nothing about the deaths here? Not one of them was considered … suspicious?’

He shook his head. ‘No. So I’m glad you came to tell me, Veum. It may save us a lot of extra work. At least it means I must have a very thorough conversation with your old school chum, Jakob Aasen.’

I nodded. ‘There was one other matter I was wondering about…’196

‘Oh, yes?’

‘The murder weapon.’

‘Yes?’

‘There was nothing about it in the papers. And I saw nothing but blood. Was there a weapon at the crime scene?’

His eyes lingered on me. ‘No, there wasn’t, Veum. That’s one of the things we’re … You’re not walking around with it on you, are you?’

I smiled wanly. ‘No, I put it in my safety-deposit box.’

‘Because when we find that,’ he said resolutely, ‘we’ll have the murderer as well.’

I wafted a hand in his direction. ‘If you should find anything…’

‘If we do, you can be sure I won’t tell you, Veum.’

‘No, I wouldn’t have expected you to.’

I left him then and there with two new deaths to investigate, suspicious or not, accidental or premeditated. At any rate, both Hjellestad and Kløve were dead.

Before I clocked off I went to the National Registration Office and tried to meet my special friend, Karin Bjørge. But there wasn’t so much as a switchboard operator left in the public service department.

So I went home and rang her from there. She didn’t sound particularly cheerful when I asked if I could treat her to the meal I had promised.

‘Wasn’t it me who owed you, Varg?’