Anne Holt - 1222

‘Are you deaf, or something? What’s going on? What do you all keep doing in the kitchen?’

I looked at the boy.

Strictly speaking, there were 193 suspects in the case, since I could only say with absolute certainty that the pink baby and I were innocent. Bearing in mind the force of the raging storm, if it was at all physically possible to move from place to place in the village of Finse, then the circle of potential perpetrators would have to be extended. Apart from the passengers who had been provided with accommodation outside the hotel complex, I had heard that there were others out there too – the odd cottage owner and four Polish joiners who were busy restoring one of the apartments in Elektroboligen.

An uncertain but limited number of possible murderers.

Adrian was one of them.

‘What the fuck’s the matter with you? Hanne! Hello!’

It was the first time he had used my name. I don’t know how he knew it. He must have eavesdropped on the conversation between Dr Streng and me when he was dressing my wound.

Adrian had been pretty aggressive the previous day. But I was convinced that his outburst against the priest had been an expression of general contempt for adults. And for authority. And in particular for any football team other than Vålerenga.

‘Look at me,’ I said eventually.

‘What?’

He pulled his cap further down.

I leaned forward and pushed it back.

‘Look at me,’ I said again. ‘What have you got against Cato Hammer?’

‘Cato Hammer? That idiot who supports Brann?’

I couldn’t see the slightest hint of shame or fear. On the contrary, his eyes narrowed in contempt and when he looked away and glanced around the room, it was as if he were hoping the priest might pop up again for a fresh mauling.

‘You don’t make jokes about football,’ he snapped. ‘Brann suck. And that wanker doesn’t even speak with a Bergen accent! He’s never even lived there! He isn’t -’

‘Not many Vålerenga fans were born and brought up in eastern Oslo,’ I broke in. ‘Were you?’

Stupid question. No doubt Adrian had grown up all over the place. And nowhere. He didn’t bother to reply.

‘Cato Hammer is dead.’

He looked completely floored for a few seconds before screwing his eyes up again, this time in disbelief. When he eventually opened his mouth to say something, I thought I could see a hint of fear in his eyes. At the same moment we heard a racket on the stairs. I turned around in a reflex action. A family of four were making their way noisily down with the Portuguese water dog pulling on the lead. It barked when it spotted me.

‘It’s seven o’clock,’ the father trilled enthusiastically. ‘A new day, new opportunities!’

‘What were you going to say?’ I asked Adrian quietly, trying to catch his eye again. ‘You looked as if you were going to say something?’

It was too late. He shrugged his shoulders and tugged at that bloody cap.

‘Nothing.’

‘Nothing?’

‘Sorry to hear that, maybe. Or oh, how dreadful. Is that what you mean? Whatever.’

‘I find it odd that you haven’t asked how he died.’

Adrian sighed.

‘How did he die?’ he asked.

‘He was murdered.’

‘What?’

‘He was shot.’

‘When?’

The question surprised me. I concentrated more on trying to interpret his facial expressions than really listening to what he was saying.

‘Last night,’ I said briefly.

‘Where is he now?’

‘You’re asking some very odd questions.’

‘Just like you,’ he said, nodding in the direction of the coffee machine. ‘Do you want a drink?’

Adrian was a child in many ways, and even if I have allowed myself to be fooled by adults for some reason, I have yet to meet a young person who can carry off that particular role.

‘Don’t say anything to anybody else,’ I said. ‘For the time being.’

He stared at me for a second before shaking his head. ‘Keeping something like that a secret,’ he muttered. ‘That’s bound to go well. Do you want a drink or not?’

Adrian was himself again. The annoying thing was that I couldn’t be completely certain what I had seen in his face when the noisy family with the dog disturbed me.

But it could certainly be compared to fear, and I couldn’t work out why this made me so uneasy.

I had no way of knowing if it was Adrian who had given the game away. Probably not, given that when the boy did communicate with anyone other than me, it was through sullen words of one syllable. Apart from with Veronica, I assumed, although I had only seen them together in mutual silence. In any case, the girl hadn’t come down to breakfast yet. On the other hand, everybody else had. Kari Thue was complaining loudly about how well she had slept.

‘It’s a disgrace,’ her thin voice sliced right across the room to me. ‘It’s absolutely indefensible, allowing people to sleep so heavily and so late under these circumstances. Many of us could have suffered concussion in the accident without realizing it. And if that happens, the person is supposed to be woken up at regular intervals!’

The lobby had been transformed into a transit hall, and rumours were buzzing as people came and went. Everyone seemed to be en route to somewhere. They stayed just long enough for the gossip to start up again, exactly as it had on the train before the accident. I sat there utterly fascinated, listening to one improbable tale after another. The rich flow of stories had only one truth in common: Cato Hammer had disappeared.

The dining room was in the wing that stuck out towards Finsevann, with an entrance leading from St Paal’s Bar. As far as I knew, the staff also used a conference room further in, on the other side of the wall from Blåstuen. My food had been served on a tray by a woman who for some reason was smiling the whole time. I had noticed her the previous evening. She was obviously employed at the hotel, and treated me with a friendly air of collusion that I was unable to understand. Even if I had taken part in the unpleasant events of last night, and was also in a unique position because of my inability to leave the reception area, there was no reason to treat me like a member of some kind of Finse club. I immediately assumed that she knew what had happened to Cato Hammer. It would be difficult to deal with both the corpse and the practical problems linked to the murder without informing the staff. At the moment she was wandering around like some kind of mountain Pollyanna, dispensing smiles and laughter in all directions. Which was remarkable in itself, really. The atmosphere among all those coming and going from the dining room, some carrying plates and coffee cups, was becoming more and more intractable as the questions came thick and fast and nobody seemed capable of providing any answers.

‘Everybody will be told what’s happened.’ She smiled in a doomed attempt to calm the masses. ‘There will be an information meeting in here at nine thirty! Everybody will be told then.’

I didn’t like her, but the food was good.

‘Is it true?’

One of the girls from the handball team was staring at me. She was slender, flat-chested and lanky. Her tracksuit was red, and she was wearing new trainers from which the laces had been removed, for some reason. I frowned.

‘Is it true?’ she repeated with a smile.

Her teeth were enclosed in a sturdy metal framework. I smiled back.

‘Is what true?’

‘That he’s dead, that bloke. That priest.’

‘Why are you asking me?’

‘Well, at least you’re sitting still,’ she said, looking around before perching on the table and swinging her legs. ‘All the other adults are just wandering about all over the place.’