Anne Holt - 1222

‘You do remember,’ I said.

‘He said… he said “watch yourself”.’

‘Watch yourself? Was that all?’

‘Yes.’

‘Watch yourself as in “can you move out of the way”?’

‘No. Watch yourself as in “WATCH YOURSELF!”’

His body lurched forward as he snapped out the words, and I moved back in my chair.

‘It’s odd that I didn’t pick it up,’ I said, taken aback.

The corners of Adrian’s mouth turned down in an indifferent expression.

‘It’s not my fault if you can’t hear properly.’

He thought the conversation was over. He couldn’t get up because of my chair, and tried to push me away.

‘Hang on,’ I said. ‘I’ve got more questions.’

‘But I haven’t got any more answers.’

‘Why do you sleep in the window, Adrian?’

He blushed noticeably. Small patches of pink on his shiny skin rapidly grew bigger.

‘What’s it got to do with you?’

‘Veronica doesn’t want you in her room, is that it?’

His whole face was red by now.

At least Veronica had some kind of decency, I thought, if she hadn’t even touched the boy. She was setting clear boundaries for the dreams in which he could entangle himself.

‘I think,’ he said, clearing his throat. ‘I think being near you is OK. At night, anyway.’

The reply was such a surprise that all I could think of was to smile at the boy. His face had darkened, and when he tried to get up again, I let him. He had lied to me about what Roar Hanson had really said, but I wasn’t going to get any more out of him.

Not at the moment, anyway.

Like other practised liars, he had stuck close to the truth. As a rule it’s the sensible thing to do, but Adrian had given me a piece of a jigsaw puzzle without realizing that I only needed a fragment of sky to sense the outline of the entire finished picture.

And I was beginning to understand why he was lying.

It was definitely not a pleasant thought, but if I was right, at least I was on the way to something.

A kind of goal, perhaps.

I didn’t really know.

It was five past five by now, and there were still two hours to go to the first sitting for dinner. I was starving, and absolutely full of caffeine. I was tired of coffee, myself, and my disjointed thoughts. When Adrian left I had thought I was getting close to something, but now I was no longer so sure. At any rate, a break might be good for me. I had wheeled my chair over to the sofas by the Millibar. The only people keeping me company in the small seating area were the Kurds.

To begin with it was difficult to understand why they didn’t spend more time in their room. They never spoke to anyone. Nobody ever bothered with them. They seldom exchanged more than a word or two with each other, and that was in a language I had so far been unable to identify. It was only during dinner the previous evening that I had seen them engaged in something that could be called a real conversation. Now they were sitting bolt upright on the yellow sofa that really belonged in Blåstuen, each with a glass of water in front of them. Even though I had said I had no intention of sleeping tonight, Berit had left the sofa there. Just in case, she said with a smile, and hurried away.

One of the kitchen staff came through the swing doors with a large basket full of buns. My mouth started to water, and I had to swallow. He smiled when he saw me, and offered me the basket before putting it down on the counter next to the hot chocolate machine and hurrying back to the kitchen. I took two.

‘Delicious,’ I mumbled, smiling at the dark-skinned man.

The buns were so hot they were still steaming.

The man nodded, but made no move to help himself. The woman kept her eyes downcast almost all the time, glancing surreptitiously around only now and again.

‘The storm seems to be on the way out,’ I said, sinking my teeth into the second bun. ‘The wind is easing, and the temperature is rising.’

The man gave a slight nod. The woman didn’t move.

The Germans passed us on their way down into the wing. They had grown tired. One day in the midst of the storm had been sensational, a unique experience to write home about. Now, well into our third day of isolation, nothing was exciting any longer. Their restlessness was not helped by the fact that Berit had restricted the sale of beer. The taps would not be opened until seven o’clock. This was the third time I had seen the three young men get up and move elsewhere in less than twenty minutes, with no apparent goal or purpose.

Bearing in mind all that had happened during these three days, I was more and more surprised by the atmosphere in the hotel. With every harrowing experience that occurred, it took less and less time for people to settle down. Most looked as if they were bored, but there was an air of patience about the tedium. A sense of resignation over the way things were, a quiet conviction that all would be well if we could just get through one more day on the mountain. The brief glimpse of normal weather we had seen out over the lake had of course helped, but I was still fascinated by the way in which the guests appeared to distance themselves from their own horrific experiences, and the fact that two people had been murdered. It seemed as if I was the only one who feared the night that lay ahead of us, the only one who was conscious of the fact that a murderer was still at large, and that we had no way of knowing whether he planned to strike again. The remaining members of the church commission had resumed their bridge tournament, which I found positively distasteful.

On the other hand, we all needed peace and quiet.

I couldn’t see Kari Thue, which was just as well. Mikkel and his gang had taken over St Paal’s Bar once more, and were idly listening to music, while Mikkel sat with his feet on the table rocking his chair back and forth, a laptop on his knee. Judging by the mechanical sounds and his abrupt movements over the keyboard, he was playing some kind of game.

‘Could you all listen, please!’

Berit’s voice had grown stronger since the evening before last, when she had told us there was no need to worry. Now she could be heard everywhere; even the lads in St Paal’s Bar were startled out of their comatose state and leaned forward to listen.

‘The wind has now dropped to a stiff breeze. The temperature has gone up to minus nineteen. There is no possibility of anyone reaching us tonight, but I think we should be prepared to move out tomorrow. Since it is also snowing less heavily than it has been for the past few days, I would like to ask for volunteers to help open up all the exits. The main entrance has already…’

I hoped I was the only one to pick up on her hesitation. Only those of us in the know were aware that the entrance had been cleared that morning.

‘… Johan cleared the main entrance this morning when the wind began to drop,’ she went on after a pause no longer than a breath.

I liked Berit more and more.

‘But the opening needs to be made bigger. We also need to clear all the emergency exits. Up to now we have allowed them to become blocked by the snow, which is strictly against the law. I would ask those who are willing to pitch in to go and meet Johan outside the ski room. It’s next to the inside porch, if anyone hasn’t found it yet. We have clothes and boots you can borrow.’

Three men at the table leapt to their feet. One of the handball team raised her hand politely.

I‘d be happy to help!’

‘Only adults,’ said Berit, smiling and shaking her head. ‘The weather is still pretty challenging. But thank you!’

Mikkel closed the laptop and put it down on the table in front of him. Then he got up slowly and prodded two of his well-built subordinates in the chest. They got to their feet without hesitation and followed him in the direction of the ski room. None of them glanced in my direction as they walked past.