Anne Holt - 1222

My chair was halfway across the floor before Geir pulled himself together.

‘What shall we do with the body?’

‘Put him in the freezer,’ I suggested. ‘Or put him outside again. Find a sheltered spot and cover him up with a tarpaulin or something along those lines. Use your imagination. There ought to be enough cold places up here. Where’s the train driver?’

Without waiting for an answer I moved off and added:

‘Let the dead take care of the dead.’

‘Hang on a minute!’

I stopped, and even managed not to sigh.

‘What are we going to do?’ Geir persisted. ‘There’s a murderer out there, and as far as I know you’re the only one with any kind of police experience, and -’

‘Listen to me,’ I said, turning my chair around. It isn’t completely impossible for me to be nice if I want to be. ‘This so-called Royal Carriage,’ I said, drawing quotation marks in the air. ‘As far as I understand it, the passengers from that carriage have been installed in the top apartment in the wing. I have no idea who was on board. But at any rate, I certainly don’t believe they were royals. Our royal family simply doesn’t behave that way. But as the platform was actually cordoned off in Oslo, and as the whole thing is surrounded by such enormous secrecy, then I have to conclude that there must be police officers among them. Security guards, perhaps, if not from the palace. And since this is definitely a case for the police, it would be an excellent idea to seek them out and explain the situation.’

There was of course an ulterior motive to my sudden attack of volubility. I was looking directly into Geir’s eyes as I was talking. Once again I saw that faint flicker I couldn’t quite interpret. He licked the corner of his mouth as if he wanted to divert attention from the fact that he was blinking too often.

‘I think you both know who’s up there,’ I said with a smile.

Neither of them said anything, but nor did they exchange glances. Berit Tverre was looking downwards at an angle, and I was unable to see what she was studying so carefully. In the silence between us I realized I was afraid of the hurricane for the first time since I woke up on the floor in the reception area after having been rescued from the train. The gusts of wind were so strong that we could hear the clink of glass and the rattle of tins. At brief, irregular intervals we heard loud thuds and bangs against the outside walls, as if the weather gods were beginning to believe that it might at last be possible to tear down this building, after all those stormy mountain winters.

‘I think you know,’ I repeated, moving towards the door leading into the lobby. ‘But that’s none of my business, of course. None of this is, fortunately. But I’m still -’

A violent gust of wind against the wall brought me to an abrupt halt.

‘I’m still going to give you a piece of advice,’ I went on when the unexpected surge of fear had abated. ‘Fetch one of the doctors. There are plenty of them around. Not because they can be of any help to Cato Hammer, but because it would be a good idea to conduct a preliminary examination. When it comes to the actual murder, that can wait. There’s no point in starting an investigation here and now. Wait for better weather. Wait for the police. Let them do what they can, and this will all be cleared up in no time.’

I had reached the door; I pushed it open and rolled out of the room.

Nobody made any attempt to call me back.

I couldn’t sleep, of course.

I had moved over to the long table, and I didn’t really know if it was because I wanted to get closer to Adrian, or further away from the kitchen. Geir and Berit had emerged and walked past me without a word. I had no idea what they had done with the corpse out in the kitchen. With the roar of the storm it was impossible to say whether they had bundled Cato Hammer into the walk-in freezer or whether he was still lying on the metal worktop; the thought reminded me that I was hungry.

Adrian was still curled up on the window ledge with his back to the storm. The blanket had partly slipped off. I was close enough to pick up the smell of badly dried clothes and sweaty feet, but far enough away for him not to notice when I turned my chair to look at him more closely. He was completely motionless.

Once upon a time I had been able to sleep like that too.

The boy looked good. As he lay there now, not screwing his mouth up in that practised, dismissive expression, I could see that his lips were full. Even though they were dry with flakes of loose skin and a sore right across the centre of his lower lip, the half-open mouth gave away how young he was. His teeth were white and even, his tongue pink and happy, like a puppy’s tongue. A little spot by the side of his nose was the only defect on his beardless face: you could call it a beauty spot. I was tempted into pushing the cap up from his eyebrows. I didn’t complete the movement. He sat up with a jolt, a protective hand held in front of his face.

‘It’s only me,’ I said quietly. ‘Wouldn’t you rather lie down on the sofa over there?’

‘Shit,’ he mumbled. ‘I was dreaming.’

I hadn’t seen the sweater he was wearing before. It was a bit too small, even for a skinny boy like him. He was still wearing his own thick hoodie underneath the sweater; it was sticking out at the neck and wrists, as if he were caught in a cocoon and were trying to escape.

‘You shouldn’t go to sleep in clothes that are too tight.’

‘I’m cold,’ he said, yawning.

‘Try it the other way round. Put the sweater inside with the hoodie on top.’

‘It’s too bloody scratchy.’

‘Would you rather be itchy or cold?’

He didn’t reply, and pulled a face as he turned his head.

‘You can borrow my padded jacket to put over you,’ I said, pointing over towards the sofa by the bar.

I wouldn’t get any more sleep tonight.

‘Veronica lent me this,’ he said, looking down at his chest. ‘She knitted it herself.’

‘So her name’s Veronica, then.’

He grinned and looked up.

‘Look at this…’

He lifted the sweater slightly. Just above the lower part at the front, Vålerenga’s logo had been knitted into the pattern, roughly and with letters that could be made out only with difficulty. Adrian laughed, a dry, unfamiliar laugh.

‘It’s a bit stupid having the logo so low down, really.’

‘Not very Nemi, being interested in football,’ I said. ‘Shouldn’t you try to get a bit more sleep?’

Instead of replying he stretched and put his feet on the floor. He gave an enormous yawn. His breath was musty and smelled of stale alcohol.

‘Who’s been giving you drink?’

‘Somebody.’

‘The somebody who gave you the sweater?’

‘Mind your own fucking business.’

I moved away.

‘Anyway, it’s not fair,’ I heard Adrian mumbling. ‘Some people were allowed to bring their luggage from the train. I wasn’t. Were you?’

‘I was unconscious,’ I said, struggling to get a drink of hot chocolate out of the machine in the bar. ‘So the answer is no.’

‘My iPod’s still there. And my clothes. I haven’t even got a tooth-brush.’

‘You can buy one down in the kiosk.’

The machine must be switched off. There were no lights showing. I was manoeuvring my chair behind the counter to look for the plug when a thought struck me.

‘You were awake during the rescue operation,’ I stated casually. ‘Did you notice whether most people managed to bring their stuff with them?’

‘Noooo…’

Adrian considered the question.

‘That woman with the pink kid was yelling because she got it into her head they weren’t going to take the buggy. And then there was some idiot who wanted to take a massive great trunk with him. They wouldn’t let him. I didn’t really think about my own bag. At the time. I just wanted to get away from…’