After that it was all chaos, for a long time.

I told them who I was and who he was. I pointed to the Hot Spot and told them what was going on there. I said I had seen his wife inside and suggested they got someone to check if she was home yet. I gave them the names of Jakob Aasen, Stig Madsen and Belinda Bruflåt and said all three had left, long before me. I told them everything I could remember, and afterwards I repeated it all.128

At four o’clock I was allowed to go. I went straight home, let myself in, had a hot shower and hit the sack.

*

I woke with a start, to someone trying to force the doorbell through the wall. It was five o’clock, either morning or afternoon, some day or other.

I jumped out of bed, snatched a dressing gown, staggered into the hall, opened the door a fraction and peered out.

In the old days they used to send Ellingsen and Bøe. But Bøe had retired and the budget was slashed, so now they sent Elllingsen on his own.

He showed me his ID, to be funny, eyed my bare legs dubiously and said: ‘Your presence is required at the station, Veum.’

‘Who by?’

‘Duty officer, Kripo.’

‘But I’ve told them—’

‘They want you to make another statement.’

‘That’s what you get for informing the police, Elling. Next time I’ll just leave the body.’ I stepped aside. ‘You’d better come in while I throw on some clothes. If I have permission.’

He waited in the hall while I dressed. I splashed some water on my hair, brushed it, ran my hands over the stubble on my face, looked out of the window to check the weather, went back to the hall and said: ‘What day is it today, actually?’

He stared at me. ‘It’s Sunday. And it’s five o’clock in the afternoon. Welcome back to civilisation, Veum. Welcome back to Planet Earth.’

‘I could’ve wished for a better reception committee than you, Elling. Are we off?’129

‘We’re off.’

Halfway down the stairs I asked: ‘And who’s the duty officer this weekend?’

‘There’s a Muus loose aboot the hoose,’ he grinned.

I sighed with a heavy heart. ‘Happy Christmas, Elling. Happy Christmas.’

130

17

Inspector Dankert Muus smiled like an unpopular son-in-law at his mother-in-law’s funeral. His office had the stale, heavy stench of cremated cigarettes and a recent corpse was still hanging from between his thin lips.

He made a strikingly sallow impression. His complexion was a lighter shade of the ash on the dead cigarette, and he looked as if he had been trying to sell Christmas trees in July.

I sat down on the chair in front of his desk and glanced at Ellingsen, who was standing by the door as though afraid I might make a run for it.

Muus shook his head. ‘I cannot fathom why they would’ve let you go. How much evidence have you destroyed? How many alibis have you come up with?’