Anne Holt - 1222

As Berit had said, the clothes were too big. But they were clean. I don’t think the jeans would have stayed up if I’d been able to walk, but as I was doomed to remain seated, they were fine. The white sweater smelled faintly of fabric softener. The wool rubbed pleasantly against my arms.

I tried to clean up as best I could. It wasn’t easy. The space was so small that the wheelchair was trapped between the wall, the door of one of the cubicles, and the chair I had sat in as I let the water run over my body. The floor was covered in water. The place smelled of soap and a lack of fresh air, and only now did I notice that the constant sound of the storm and wind was gone. There were no windows in the toilet, and it was surrounded by other rooms in all directions. I was completely insulated from the noise outside. I sat there for a few seconds with my eyes closed, simply enjoying the silence. Then I stuffed my own clothes into a plastic bag, placed it on my knee and looked around for a while before I knocked on the closed door.

Berit opened it.

‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘A billion trillion thanks. I think somebody’s going to have to clean up in here.’

Her smile was the warmest I had seen for a long time. Berit Tverre was a person who liked helping others.

‘Have people started waking up?’ I asked her.

‘A few. Not many. So far we haven’t had to say anything. Everything’s quiet.’

‘I’m thinking of testing out Magnus’s theory.’

‘About the icicle?’

‘Yes. How would you get hold of such a thing if you wanted to? While all the outside doors are blocked with snow, I mean?’

Berit put her hand to the back of her neck and rolled her head from side to side.

‘Our roof is really badly insulated,’ she said. ‘Enormous icicles form along the eaves. In the rooms on the top floor, all you have to do is open the window and help yourself. Although the windows will snap off the icicles if you try. They all swing outwards from the bottom. They sort of tip up. And the wind has probably blown down most of the icicles. A lot of the bangs we’ve heard must have been thick chunks of ice hitting the walls and windows.’

‘But is it possible to open a window at all in this storm?’ I asked. ‘Wouldn’t the pressure from the wind and so on simply push it closed? And even if you managed to get it open, wouldn’t-’

‘Maybe. I don’t know. This weather… we’ve never experienced anything like it before.’

I set off towards my usual spot on the other side of the reception desk, in the corner by the Millibar. The bag of dirty clothes was cold and damp against my thighs. Once again Berit pre-empted me.

‘Let me take your clothes. Would you like me to have them washed?’

‘No thanks. Just put them somewhere. Where’s Geir?’

‘He’s already started.’

‘Started what?’

‘Looking for the room the icicle came from.’

I stopped.

‘If it really is the case,’ she said, ‘that someone has used an icicle to kill Roar Hanson, it will be obvious that a window has been opened. If it isn’t broken, then the room will still be wet from all the snow that would have come swirling in during just a few seconds.’

A fleeting smile passed across her face.

‘We can think too, Hanne.’

I think that was the very first time she used my name.

Before I had time to make an issue of it, Geir came running in.

‘Steinar Aass,’ he said, gasping for breath. ‘I think it’s Steinar Aass!’

He bent down, supporting himself with his hands resting on his knees.

‘What is?’ I asked.

‘He’s jumped. He’s lying under the window up there… in the snow… where…’

‘Calm down,’ said Berit. ‘I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.’

Geir straightened up, took three deep breaths and started again. ‘Room 205,’ he said, pointing up at the ceiling. ‘He’s managed to open the window and jump out. I mean, it’s not far, and I -’

‘205,’ said Berit, moving away. ‘If he jumped from there we ought to be able to see him from…’

She stopped at the far end of the table. I followed hesitantly. It was as if Berit had only just noticed that the snow was beginning to pile up against the windows. I presumed there were still the remains of a gap between the building and the enormous drifts outside, at least in the corner where the wing was attached to the main building.

Berit clambered up onto the window ledge. Since I couldn’t see what she saw, I tried to read her face. It was expressionless, and then she closed her eyes, took a deep breath and said:

‘What makes you think it’s Steinar Aass?’

Geir climbed up beside her. He had to stand with his knees bent; the window wasn’t high enough for him.

‘There’s a man lying in the snow,’ he said without looking at me. ‘It looks as if he was aiming for the big drifts a few metres away from the wall. But of course he missed. Slid down. He’s partly covered in snow, but as he’s lying where the wind catches most, we can still see him.’

‘Dead?’

Unnecessary question.

‘Definitely.’

‘How can you know it’s Steinar Aass?’ Berit asked again. ‘He’s lying face down, and… Where did he get those clothes from, anyway? Isn’t that… That’s Johan’s snowmobile suit!’

‘It was hanging up in the drying room,’ said Geir. ‘He took it. Along with Johan’s hat and goggles.’

‘In other words, we’re not talking about a suicide here,’ I said.

They both turned to face me at the same time. I threw my hands wide.

‘Nobody dresses like a polar explorer if their intention is to freeze to death. And the jump was far from high enough for him to die from the fall. With the snow and everything. But you still haven’t answered Berit’s question. How can you be sure it’s -’

‘Look what he’s got on his back,’ Geir interrupted.

‘Well,’ I said. ‘It’s a bit difficult for me to…’

‘A laptop,’ said Berit. ‘That bloody laptop, the one he was always carrying around. When he arrived from the train I noticed it was in a bag like that. With a couple of twists he could turn it into a rucksack.’

She pressed her forehead against the window pane and peered out.

‘A Brazilian flag on the flap,’ she mumbled. ‘You’re right. It is Steinar Aass. But what on earth was he doing there? Why the hell…’

Her voice cracked into a falsetto.

‘He was intending to run away,’ I said tersely.

‘Run away? Run away? Could he drive a snowmobile? Did he even know where it was? Didn’t he realize it would take him hours to dig his way down to…’

‘Hubris,’ I said. ‘A familiar characteristic of people like Steinar Aass. And the stakes must have been high. Incredibly high. He had too much to lose by staying here. Bearing in mind what we know about the man from the newspapers, things were getting too hot for him.’

I didn’t know how right I was. Just a few weeks later, his business colleagues would be seized and placed under arrest in a major police operation in the Natal province of Brazil. They could look forward to a lengthy trial and an even longer prison sentence, all under conditions that made the prison at Ullersmo look like a five-star hotel. Steinar Aass was actually mentioned in an interview with the leader of the Norwegian branch of the investigation, a week after the raids had been carried out in both Norway and Brazil:

We had serious questions for another Norwegian who could have cast light on some of the biggest transactions into which we are now looking more closely. However, he tragically lost his life in the Finse disaster. His case is currently regarded as being of no interest to the police.