Anne Holt - 1222

‘I think I ought to spare them my input in this particular enterprise,’ said Magnus with a little smile.

He came and stood beside me but didn’t sit down, although there was room on the sofa.

‘Instead I would like to talk to you.’

He glanced sideways at the Muslim couple, who were still clutching their glasses of water, and had not touched the buns.

‘In private,’ he murmured.

The Kurds didn’t seem to have any intention of moving.

The fact that they were still sitting there in the unusual atmosphere that had enveloped them most of the time since the train crash could only indicate one thing: I had interpreted Severin Heger correctly when he looked into my eyes for far too long before hurrying after Berit to lock himself in down in the cellar.

At least, I hoped so.

‘We’ll go into the office,’ I said, pushing my chair slowly away from the Millibar.

‘You asked me about the Public Information Service Foundation this morning,’ said Magnus Streng, munching away at a bun. ‘And I’ve given it some thought.’

He had helped himself to three buns from the basket as we left the Millibar, and gave one to me. I polished it off in four bites. Even Mary’s expertise as a baker fell short of these buns; they were incredibly light, with something that must be raspberry jam and vanilla cream hidden in the middle of the sweet dough as a delicious surprise.

I studied Magnus with interest.

‘I’ve come up with something,’ he said, swallowing. ‘Something that happened in the Public Information Service Foundation. I don’t remember exactly when it was, but it must have been eight or nine years ago. That’s when Cato Hammer was working there.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Well…’

Jam and cream oozed down his strong, square chin.

‘It was there that people first noticed the man,’ he said, looking around for something to wipe his chin with.

‘I didn’t,’ I said, handing him a wet wipe from the side pocket of my chair.

He shrugged his shoulders and opened up the little wipe.

‘OK. Maybe not you. But as far as I know and recall, that case was his… breakthrough in the media, I suppose you could say.’

‘What case?’ I said.

‘That embezzlement case,’ he said, slowly wiping his chin.

‘Cato Hammer was embezzling money? Embezzling?’

‘No, no, no! Just hold your horses!’

He rolled the wet wipe into a ball and placed it on the desk in front of him.

‘It was a female employee,’ he said. ‘She had psychological problems, and reading between the lines you could see that the whole thing was a real tragedy. A case of kleptomania combined with religious obsession and a weak mind. That’s how it was presented, at any rate. Reading between the lines, as I said.’

‘An unfortunate combination,’ I said, raising my eyebrows. ‘But what in God’s name has this got to do with Cato Hammer?’

‘He was the spokesman when it came to dealing with the media. You have to understand, this was potentially explosive for the church. The people’s church, the people’s money. And we’re not talking about an insignificant amount here. Three million kroner, if I remember correctly. Something like that. Big bucks. Since then we have seen Norway go to rack and ruin, with corruption everywhere and the theft of public resources as an everyday occurrence. But this was at a time when such things were still rare.’

‘Or at a time when the exposure of such things was rare,’ I corrected him.

‘That’s probably true,’ he said, nodding. ‘At any rate: Cato Hammer took care of everything. He must have had a position on the board, as I mentioned to you the last time we talked about this. I just can’t remember what it was. Anyway, he really put himself out there, as the papers say these days. Not on his own behalf, but on behalf of the institution. He apologized deeply and sincerely for what had happened, and promised a thorough review of the organization to ensure that something like that could never happen again. And in the middle of all this, he showed great consideration and respect for the unfortunate woman. Her identity was protected, her name was never made public, and the whole thing blew over eventually’

‘Blew over? Wasn’t it a legal matter?’

‘I expect it was. But the woman was seriously ill, and perhaps the press was being kind.’

We both burst out laughing; Magnus laughed loud and long.

‘No,’ he said, wiping away the tears. ‘There must have been something about it in the papers. But as I said it’s nearly ten years since it all happened, and I don’t remember every detail. On the other hand, I remember Cato Hammer very well. He was immediately profiled in a couple of the Oslo newspapers, and was a guest on several TV programmes. In less than a week he had an image: the caring leader. A fine representative for the church’s message of love, Cato Hammer. This was at the time when the men of darkness within the church were allowing themselves to be frightened into the light in order to put a stop to homosexual priests. Cato Hammer was exactly what the church needed at a time when many had begun to leave in protest. Gentle and simple and suitably cuddly. He became a pastor just a few months later.’

‘What a memory you have.’

‘I’ve been training it since early childhood! The brain is a muscle, you know. Not literally, of course. But it’s worth keeping it in trim.’

He smacked his lips contentedly and pushed the little wet-wipe ball around the table.

‘Betrayal and greed,’ I murmured.

‘What did you say?’

He looked up, one hand ready to flick the ball. He had placed an empty coffee cup on its side and was trying to get the ball into it. He kept missing, but wouldn’t give up.

‘Roar Hanson’s words,’ I said. ‘He was referring to an episode within the Public Information Service Foundation. But it doesn’t sound as if… Given what you’ve told me, it sounds as if Cato Hammer…’

‘… was guilty of neither betrayal nor greed,’ he went on as I paused infinitesimally. ‘More like the reverse, I’d say.’

‘Unless…’

I stopped.

‘Unless what?’

‘Nothing. Do you remember… do you remember what the woman was called?’

‘The guilty woman? No.’

He gave a brief laugh and finally scored a goal with the ball of paper.

‘There are limits,’ he said. ‘Even for me. I can’t remember a name that was never made public!’

Once again he became absorbed in the little game he had invented.

I had been struck by a thought, but hadn’t quite managed to catch it. However, something was different, and it was distracting me. Something had changed radically.

‘Listen,’ I said quietly, shaking my head.

‘Certainly,’ Magnus said pleasantly, his expression surprised. ‘And what would you like me to listen to?’

‘To something that is no longer there,’ I said.

There was almost complete silence.

The sound of the wind was still managing to penetrate the thick walls, but it had given up the attempt to tear Finse 1222 to pieces. The howling sounded distant and muted, as if it were no longer anything to do with us. We were safe indoors, behind walls that had protected people for a hundred years. This twisted, warped building had seen storms come and go for an eternity without suffering any significant damage. This time the attack of the storm had been fierce. It would take time to repair the damage. But the hotel at the highest station on the Bergen line had withstood the gales as it was built to do, and like the rest of us had relied on the fact that it would survive.

Magnus and I sat in silence for a few minutes, absorbing the fact that the storm was abating. The windows in the small office were still completely covered in snow. We couldn’t see the change, but we could hear it, feel it, perceive it with every sense except sight.