I looked at her.

‘Yes, you’re surprised? All the junkie years. But it’s true. I never slept with anyone and I never went on the game. I stole instead. Sometimes I pretended I wanted to … I teased punters … and robbed them. Either on my own or with others.’

Sternly, I said: ‘So that was what you did with Arild Hjellestad, too? You lured him out into the cold, got him drunk, pretended you wanted to … until he was so plastered he fell asleep?’

She tossed her head, her eyes roaming wildly and she shrugged. In a low voice she said: ‘Maybe that was how it happened. Maybe not.’

‘And Harry Kløve? It couldn’t’ve been easier. Stand behind him at a pedestrian crossing, watch the bus approach and push him … into its path?’363

‘Easy? Do you think that’s easy?’

I went on: ‘And Jan Petter Olsen? Go into the building site in the afternoon gloom? Not many people about. Just before work ends for the day and the weekend. What did you do?’

She pressed her lips together.

‘Shove him through the gap in the wall? Where there was meant to be a balcony door? As easy as wink.’

‘All … I did was … send them the letters.’

‘You do admit that then?’

There was a sudden flash in her eyes. ‘Yes, I do admit that. I admit everything. Just tell me what I’ve done and I’ll admit everything.’

I looked at her. ‘Your own father…’

‘He was not—’

‘No, OK. Johnny Solheim. For him you needed something more violent. It wasn’t enough to…’

Her eyes hung on my words, like a hypnotised field-mouse facing a snake.

‘You knew where he was performing that night. You waited outside until he left. You followed him. When you finally reached a bit of the street where no one could see you…’ I nodded encouragement.

She picked up the thread with a strange remoteness in her voice, as though she saw everything from a great distance. ‘I shouted to him. He turned round. At first he didn’t recognise me, then he said: “Ruth?” That was when I pushed the knife into him. As far as I could, while staring him straight in the face. He … fell down some basement stairs. That … felt good.’

‘And now there was only your real father left. Why, oh why, did you send these letters?’

‘So that they knew, so that they understood someone was after 364them, that something might happen, that f-fate could catch up with them too.’

‘And Jakob. How had you planned to kill him?’

She stared at my legs, down by my ankles, without replying.

‘You won’t have any need for a plan now, Ruth.’

Then her eyes were on my face, as black as lumps of coal. ‘I’ll get out again … one day.’

I sighed heavily. ‘Why are you lying to me?’

She glanced at me. The cigarette had been smoked down to the end now. She stubbed it out in a matchbox, took another and lit it. ‘Lying? What do you mean?’