‘If so, that would’ve been while I was asleep.’

‘You still claim you only found him?’

‘What else would I claim?’

‘And this man you say you found…’

‘Johnny Solheim.’

‘Correct. Did you happen to know him?’

I nodded. ‘We grew up in the same district. But I hadn’t seen him for fifteen to twenty years … until yesterday.’

‘Yesterday? When exactly?’

‘By which I mean … the day before yesterday. Another pal of mine and I were out … on a pub crawl. We stopped off at a place where Johnny Solheim was performing, and we went to see him in the interval.’131

‘To see him?’

‘Yes, we said hi.’

‘Why?’

‘Well, for old times’ sake. Nothing special.’

‘Nothing special?’

‘No.’

‘And this was on Friday? Is that right?’

I nodded.

‘And thirty-six hours later he was … dead.’ Muus glanced up at Ellingsen and said: ‘Nothing special.’ Then he turned his attention to me again. ‘And yesterday? Saturday?’

‘On Saturday … I visited him again.’

‘You don’t say. To chat about old times?’

I looked past him without answering.

He leaned forward. ‘Well? What about, then?’ He leaned back, took the case file and held it in his hand. ‘When we talked to his wife – widow I suppose she is now – we asked her a number of routine questions.’

‘When did she get home? Was she there when you…?’

His face was like granite, his eyes like icicles. ‘One of the questions we asked her was this: Did anything unusual happen yesterday?’

‘Oh, yes? And?’

He opened the file and took out a business card. I recognised it at once. It was mine. ‘“Yes,” the lady said. “Yesterday I had a visitor who asked after Johnny because he wanted to talk to him. A man I’d never seen before,” the lady said. “But he gave me this card…”’

He took a long, leisurely pause. ‘Well, Veum. What was it you wanted to talk to Solheim about?’

I didn’t answer.132

‘Perhaps you were talking to him at about two last night?’

‘No, I didn’t talk to him last night. I met him immediately after I’d spoken to his wife, where she’d told me he’d probably be – in the video shop he owns in Kringsjåveien. The lady who works on the counter can confirm this. Someone called Stig Madsen can as well. I told all this to your officers at the crime scene, Muus. There’s no reason to play smart, so…’ I splayed my hands.

‘Right. And it was a coincidence that you happened to be in exactly the same part of the street as him after not having seen each other for fifteen to twenty years? They should write No Special Reason on your gravestone, Veum.’

‘I thought you’d reserved that epitaph,’ I said.

‘So what did you talk about?’ he barked.

I didn’t answer.

‘You’re refusing to answer?’ He was beginning to flush in his own personal way, a hue that was redolent of rotten plum. ‘In which case, I will have the exquisite pleasure of inviting you to spend a night in our most elegant suite for remand prisoners. Eight square metres and a fresh-air vent in the cellar. Would sir require a wake-up call?’