Anne Holt - 1222

It was after one o’clock.

The chef had been furious when he was told that lunch would have to be postponed.

I hoped there would be a reason to eat lunch, even after this.

‘It’s somebody from the wing,’ Johan mumbled. ‘They’re the closest. It has to be them. And they must have a bloody good reason to come over here. It’s minus twenty-four out there, and the last time I checked the wind speed was just below thirty metres a second. And it’s still snowing heavily. But they’re almost here.’

I did my best to convince myself that the situation wasn’t threatening. Not for us, at least. Something could have happened in the wing. A revolt, perhaps. Something along the lines of the mutiny Kari Thue had tried to get under way on our side just before the railway carriage came down.

Berit had said there was enough food in the wing where the apartments were, but that it was mostly tins and vacuum packs left behind by the owners of the apartments after each visit. At any rate, it was unlikely that people were starving to death after less than twenty-four hours of not particularly tasty food. At least I thought it unlikely they would set out on the highly dangerous journey between the buildings just to get a better meal.

‘My money’s on those people from the top floor,’ said Johan with a yawn. ‘They’re tough, those guys. Strong.’

The scraping noise grew louder, almost drowning out the roar of the storm. I could now see movements behind the narrow windows in the door. Something dark against the white light from above. A person busy shovelling snow from the lowest part of the door.

‘ Hello! ’

The shout was clearly audible. It was a man. Several shadows were moving behind him; it was impossible to see how many there were.

‘I’m going to try to open the door. Is that OK?’

The voice almost disappeared among the scraping and bumping. Berit walked over to the door. She shouted back:

‘Who are you?’

‘Let us in! We’re…’

The answer faded away. Perhaps because of the wind, or perhaps because the speaker wanted it that way.

The man tugged at the door. Berit considered for a moment, then looked at Johan who nodded. He put his shoulder against it and pushed. The wind immediately found its way in, and the snow whirled in the draught. As soon as the gap was wide enough, the first man squeezed through and closed the door behind him. He stood in front of the door as if he wanted to prevent those outside from following him. Or perhaps he wanted to stop us from going out. At any rate his behaviour was striking as he stood there with his legs apart, arms akimbo like a bad-tempered bouncer outside a popular night club.

He was very tall and was dressed in windproof trousers, heavy boots and a mountain anorak. A woollen jumper was just visible under the anorak. Little balls of snow were stuck very close together around the neck. He gasped for breath and took off his hat before unwinding his scarf and pushing his ski goggles up onto his head.

He looked around without saying anything. The frost had nipped at his cheeks in spite of the scarf, hat and goggles. His face was narrow but with strong, almost handsome features beneath the dark greying hair that clung damply to his forehead. He had a rucksack on his back. It must have been heavier than the size suggested, since the straps were cutting surprisingly deeply into his shoulders.

I tried to understand. My brain tried to get this to make sense, searching for a logical connection in a chain of thought that was far too long.

When the man caught sight of me he stiffened before the shadow of a smile passed across his face, and he eventually took a step forward.

‘Hanne,’ he said, letting out a long breath. ‘I’ve never been so pleased to see you.’

When I recognized Severin Heger, I thought about the day I got shot.

Perhaps that wasn’t so strange. The last time I spoke to Severin, between Christmas 2002 and the New Year, he was the officer in charge with the police in Bergen. I had known him for a long time. He was a school friend of Billy T‘s, and used to work in what was known as the police supervision unit, on the top floors at Grønlandsleiret 44. Even though we weren’t friends, we had bumped into one another from time to time for almost twenty years. I needed help, and he gave me what I needed to unmask the head of the crime unit in the Oslo police force as a corrupt murderer. During the arrest I was shot. One bullet destroyed me for life. The prosecutor in the ensuing trial made a dramatic point of the cold-blooded attack on a female police officer. Personally, I thought the fact that the corrupt police chief had murdered four innocent people to make sure he didn’t lose his position and his reputation was considerably worse.

He was found guilty on all charges.

So it’s his fault that I am no longer able to walk.

As I see it, I have only myself to blame.

I was careless. Billy T tried to warn me. He ran after me when I rushed into a cottage in Nordmarka where we knew the suspect to be. There was no stopping me. I was tired. Broken down, in many ways. It was amateurish, rushing in like that. I had already heard the approaching helicopters in the distance; reinforcements were on the way.

The psychologist I was forced to see once I had eventually recovered sufficiently actually to speak to someone maintained that I was driven by a subconscious desire to die. She called it a death wish, I think. Which is absolute crap. I have no desire whatsoever to die. Life hasn’t exactly turned out the way I hoped, but in spite of everything death is definitely a less appealing alternative.

I was burnt out, irresponsible, and should have left my job as a police officer before it all went wrong. In fact, I remember that was the last thing I thought before I stormed the cottage: I have to give up this job. I can’t do this any more.

I learned my lesson.

Then I got Ida. I’m always with her. I always have time for my daughter. There is a kind of purpose in most things.

The fact that Severin Heger should suddenly turn up during an apocalyptic storm at Finse was considerably more difficult to grasp. Only when I had absorbed what had just happened did the pieces fall into place. My assumptions with regard to who had been hiding in the secret carriage and later in the apartment on the top floor could well be right. They had to be right. I glanced over at the door and felt my skin break out in goosebumps at the thought of the kind of person that was on the other side. Then I looked over at the tall man in his winter clothes.

‘Hello, Severin.’

I just couldn’t think of anything else to say.

He didn’t even try to give me a hug. His smile vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

‘Who’s in charge here?’ he asked, still out of breath.

‘I am,’ said Berit.

He held out his hand and introduced himself.

‘Why -’

‘I need an isolated part of the hotel,’ Severin Heger interrupted her. ‘Without any through traffic’

Berit’s expression was part surprise, part displeasure.

‘This hotel is not in a position to offer the highest level of service at the moment,’ she said. ‘So we are in fact a long way from being able to accommodate that kind of special request or requirement.’

For almost forty-eight hours I had seen Berit Tverre in most moods. Up to now she had never been sarcastic. It didn’t particularly suit her brisk style.

Severin opened his mouth to say something, but I got there first.

‘Why have you come here? What’s happened in the wing? I’m assuming it’s you and your friends who…’

I glanced over at the door, where shadows were moving outside the small windows. I couldn’t understand why the others had stayed outside. Even if they were sheltered from the wind in the deep hollow in front of the hotel, it must be bitterly cold.