I turned round and looked at her. ‘Bit cramped in here.’

She stood in the doorway. If she came all the way in she wouldn’t be able to avoid some intimacy between us. ‘It’s only for a little while and … Helga lived here for years.’

I regarded her with some scepticism. ‘In here?’

She nodded.

‘So she didn’t often invite people to a banquet.’

‘No.’

‘But you think this is … better?’

‘For the moment, yes. What was it you wanted, Varg?’310

‘Don’t you want to sit down?’

She gave a weak nod. Then she came in, closed the door after her, pointed to the sofa bed and said: ‘You sit there then.’

I sat down. She pulled over the chair from the desk, keeping her back to the suitcases by the wall, and sat down. That meant we were sitting at two different levels: me with my knees uncomfortably high, her so close and in a position that if I fell forward my head would have ended up in her lap.

A scent of pale roses wafted over to me; it was a perfume that suited her. As a reflection of the fragrance, a light blush reddened her cheeks. ‘What was it you wanted, Varg?’ she repeated.

‘Berge Brevik has just been to see me.’

I observed her. She was instantly on her guard. ‘I see. And so what?’

‘He told me everything.’

The blush deepened. ‘He couldn’t have done. He’s under oath.’

‘Not about what he does. I think he felt a need to explain himself.’

She turned away, to the window. Her profile was distinctive: the strong bridge of her nose; the sullen lower lip. In the somewhat heavy features I immediately recognised her father.

I cleared my throat and carried on: ‘Before he was killed, Johnny told me about, well, the same.’

She whirled back, her eyes flashing. ‘Did he indeed?’ After a short silence, in a calmer voice, she added: ‘But you still haven’t told me what you want, Varg.’

‘Actually, I suppose I’m trying to find out why Johnny died the way he did.’

‘And what has that got to do with me?’

‘A wish to purge or atone for the past maybe.’311

‘What do you mean?’

‘I don’t know. Not yet. It’s just that too many people have died over the last two years.’

‘Arild and Harry, you mean? That might be chance.’

‘Do you think so?’

She stared past me, her face turned to the window again. Then she shrugged her shoulders. ‘I … don’t know. As I told you, I didn’t really know them.’

‘Listen.’ I leaned forward. ‘Their break-up – the dissolution of the band – was in 1975.’ I paused and waited, as though hoping she would interrupt me and finally tell me what really happened that year, but she maintained her stony expression, her eyes still fixed on the black winter evening. ‘It wasn’t until 1985 that something started happening. Ten years afterwards. Why, Rebecca? What happened that year, in 1985.’