‘Someone asked him where he was going, but he wouldn’t say. He was meeting someone, he said, with a sly smile apparently. But everyone knew by the way he’d smartened himself up it could only mean one of two things: he’d got a job or he was meeting a woman. And jobs? … Well, he hadn’t touched a drum kit for four years. He could probably have fudged his way through a couple of numbers, but he wasn’t a great timekeeper anymore. So…’ He indicated his conclusion with an open palm.

‘…A woman. But who?’

‘And does it even matter?’

‘Hm.’

‘Imagine this scenario, Veum: Arild Hjellestad meets one of his old flames – and don’t forget he had quite a few. He arranges to meet her, cleans himself up, is looking forward to an evening of cosy nostalgia … and then she doesn’t turn up.’

I nodded.

He carried on: ‘He waits and waits and waits. But she doesn’t appear. So what does he do?’

‘Gets drunk. Alone. To dull the shame of it.’

‘And it’s cold, bitingly cold. He finds a corner in a garden outside some block of flats where he doesn’t know anyone. Then exits stage left.’

I looked at him. ‘The only question is this, Vadheim. Did he have a fixed abode and did anyone send him a picture of an angel?’

He stared at me with the expected disbelief in his eyes. ‘Did I hear you correctly? A picture of an angel?’248

I leaned back in the chair and told them everything about Harry Kløve and his mother and the stickers he had received in the post, about the visit to Bente Solheim and the letter she had shown me.

‘She didn’t call you, Vadheim?’

He shook his head and took frenetic notes.

‘She seemed completely doped up. She probably just forgot,’ I said and carried on.

I kept nothing back. I told them about my visits to Anita Solheim and Halldis Heggøy, about my conversation with Sissel and where we could find Ruth. ‘So in other words,’ I concluded, ‘Arild could’ve met someone who’d had a drink with him and left him in the freezing cold. A kind of seduction. A deadly seduction. In which case we’re looking for a woman.’

Vadheim shook his head in resignation and turned to Eva. ‘Throw the dog a bone and he moves in with you. But I have to say that this has been useful to hear.’ He turned back to me. ‘Let’s go through this one more time, Veum. Bit by bit.’

‘OK.’

‘You think that all the deceased – the members of The Harpers – were sent a warning in the post, in the form of pictures of angels with various marks on?’

‘Red crosses above the deaths that had already occurred. Johnny Solheim received a letter with two red crosses – Harry Kløve and Arild Hjellestad – and a circle around one angel – himself – and one untouched: Jakob Aasen. And black crosses above all four.’