Anne Holt - 1222

The guardians of the law had chosen, surprisingly enough, to consider those left behind, in this case a Brazilian wife and four fatherless children under ten.

But of course we knew nothing of this on 16 February.

The fact that yet another person had died, before it was even common knowledge that Roar Hanson had been murdered, was all I could think about as Geir and Berit climbed down from the window and stood in front of me, silent, resigned, and with so many questions that they couldn’t even manage to ask a single one.

‘Leave him there,’ I said. ‘Let’s hope the snow will cover him before anybody sees him. After all, you have to stand on the window ledge to see him. Nobody does that.’

Apart from the South African, I thought.

But I hadn’t seen him since the carriage fell. Now I came to think of it, he was the only one who had gone away when I suddenly started speaking and everybody gathered around me. Perhaps he had gone over to the wing in the seconds before the accident. Perhaps he was just scared of Kari Thue, and was staying in his room.

At any rate, I had other things to think about.

It was ten past nine in the morning, and soon the lobby would once again be full of guests and fresh rumours.

‘I’ve told you, it wasn’t a pit bull! It was a cross breed! A quarter Staffordshire terrier and…’

Muffe’s owner had got up. Someone, presumably Berit, had shown him where the body was. The man was now standing with the dead dog in his arms, giving Berit hell while occasionally appealing loudly to people walking past.

‘Look what they’ve done! Look! He was locked in. I looked after my dog, I did everything you asked me to do.’

Nobody seemed to care. On the contrary, if anyone did stop, it was more to express relief that the beast was dead.

The man started to weep. He buried his face in the short fur and sniffled as he murmured the dog’s ridiculous name over and over again. Berit was silent, completely motionless; for a moment it seemed as if she was almost floating. I wheeled my chair towards her without really knowing what to say to the grieving owner.

‘This is just crazy,’ said Veronica. ‘Who did this?’

She and Adrian were coming out of the kiosk. The boy was dangling a big bottle of cola between his index and middle fingers. He looked scruffier than ever, and even at a distance of several metres I could smell yesterday’s drink on him. Since he was definitely not permitted to buy anything in the Millibar, I began to wonder if Veronica had brought an entire cupboard full of booze with her to the mountains.

Her voice was surprisingly deep.

‘Who the fuck has treated the dog like this?’

‘It’s them,’ sobbed the owner. ‘It’s them!’

He nodded at Berit and me. I raised my eyebrows and pointed at the wheelchair without saying a word.

‘Was it you?’ said Veronica, looking sideways at Berit.

‘No,’ said Berit, swallowing. ‘And what’s more, I am not answerable to you. Go and get something to eat. Breakfast is served.’

‘I’ll eat when I feel like it,’ said Veronica, placing one hand on the body of the dog.

The man took a step towards her as if he were harbouring a quiet hope that this girl, dressed all in black and with her ridiculous make-up, might be a witch who could bring life back to the dead body.

‘Lovely dog,’ she said calmly, running her hand over the fur.

‘Best dog in the world,’ said the man.

Adrian said nothing. He hardly even noticed me. Nor was it the dead dog that interested him. His eyes were fixed on Veronica’s face, and he had completely forgotten to pull down his cap. His mouth was half open. A thin string of saliva vibrated between his lips with each short, shallow breath.

Adrian was deeply in love. This bothered me, for some reason. I didn’t need to bother about the boy any more. His interest in me from the first day had long since died; no one but Veronica existed for Adrian. It wouldn’t last long. As soon as help arrived, the boy would be moved to a youth care facility, which would pay more attention to him than either I or his temporary great love.

Or they wouldn’t pay any attention to him at all, which unfortunately was more likely.

He wasn’t my responsibility, and he never had been.

And yet I couldn’t suppress a vague feeling of unease, a nagging sense that this anaemic, antisocial woman wasn’t exactly the best influence on Adrian.

And what I disliked most of all was the fact that she was letting him get drunk every night.

‘I need to talk to you.’

Geir came from behind me, and I jumped when he tapped me on the shoulder.

‘It was him!’ shouted the dog owner. ‘He’s the one who killed Muffe!’

Veronica spun around. Her eyes narrowed to two lines framed in thick kohl with a cold, almost scornful glint just visible in the middle.

‘Are you aware that this is against the law,’ she said. ‘There is an animal welfare law in this country and you-’

‘And you can shut your mouth,’ snapped Geir, going right up to her.

She held her ground.

Adrian smiled inanely.

‘I didn’t kill the bloody thing,’ said Geir. ‘And if I had, you can be sure I would have had a good reason. What is more, we have bigger problems in this hotel than a dead dog. I suggest you and your boyfriend go and sit down. Any more fuss about that animal and I’ll…’

Whatever he was intending to do was left hanging in the air. The threat was equally effective. Veronica assessed him with her gaze before indifferently shrugging her shoulders and heading for the dining room. Adrian trailed along behind her.

‘Come with me,’ said Berit to the dog owner, who was still crying. ‘Let’s find a place for Muffe.’

She put her arm around his shoulders and led him away.

‘Room 207,’ whispered Geir, bending over me.

‘I thought it was 205,’ I said, slightly confused.

‘Steinar Aass jumped from 205. There are clear marks from his shoes on the window ledge, and a piece of the snowmobile suit was caught on a nail. But in room 207…’

He looked around and waved me closer to the reception desk so that we wouldn’t be in the way of the people who were beginning to pour in from their rooms.

‘Someone has been in there too. The window is open. The whole room is full of snow and ice. Ice, Hanne! Great big, long icicles! Everything that was outside the window has been smashed, either by the storm or when the window was opened. But somebody has obviously managed to stretch to the side and get hold of more that way.’

I said nothing.

‘Magnus could be right, Hanne! At any rate, someone has been collecting icicles in room 207. You would never find icicles inside a room unless somebody had put them there. Snow, yes. Masses of snow. But ice?’

Still I said nothing.

I had far too many thoughts, far too much to say.

More and more people were coming down from their rooms. It was difficult to gauge the atmosphere. Some seemed to be in a good mood, almost cheerful, while others were walking with their heads down. Two of the girls from the handball team looked as if they had been crying; they weren’t quite so grown-up any longer, the adventure in the mountains wasn’t so exciting any more and they wanted to go home. The woman who was forever knitting couldn’t quite make her mind up where she wanted to be, and was wandering back and forth between the long table and the door of the kiosk. Mikkel suddenly appeared from the stairs. He threw an unfathomable look in my direction before sauntering towards the breakfast room without saying anything.

A new, unfamiliar fear was clutching at my throat. I coughed. Tears sprang to my eyes, and I opened them wide as I tried to concentrate on breathing calmly.