1222

by Anne Holt

  After the railway carriage fell, there were 118 of us in the hotel. Then the four mysterious guests had arrived, but they were under lock and key in the cellar, and did not need to be taken into account. Since both Steinar Aass and Roar Hanson had died, and I still counted myself as innocent, we were now down to 115 possible perpetrators. If I discounted all those under fifteen, I arrived at ninety-seven.

  Ninety-seven suspects.

  Far too many.

  If I were to draw conclusions of a tentative and extremely temporary nature, based on the methods and the scenes of the crimes, then I was looking for someone strong and fit, who had access to a gun, and whose story could arouse the sympathy of a priest. This person must also carry within them a hatred powerful enough to make them murder Cato Hammer, with sufficient will to survive to kill Roar Hanson to avoid being unmasked.

  Now I was going too far, of course. Unprofessional.

  The Kurds had guns. Mikkel was strong and fit. I had no doubt that Kari Thue’s personality made it possible for her to feel hatred. Most of us could probably persuade Roar Hanson to feel sorry for us, at least on a bad day.

  I couldn’t do this.

  The best thing would be to mind my own business, keep my fingers crossed and wait for the police.

  However, I did decide to look for Adrian. I had to find out what Roar Hanson had said to him when I was distracted by my annoyance at being given paprika-flavoured crisps, and failed to grasp why Adrian reacted so aggressively to the pallid priest with the white flecks at the corners of his mouth.

  At least it would pass the time.

  iv

  For some reason I was disappointed by the sight that met me when I got back to the lobby.

  At one end of the long table right next to the shabby wicker chairs with the tartan cushions that were never used by anybody except the lady who knitted, Kari Thue and Mikkel were absorbed in a quiet conversation. The lobby was so full of people that they didn’t notice my arrival. Their heads were almost touching in a display of intimacy that I didn’t like. Kari Thue was sitting at the end of the table, Mikkel at the side with his back to me.

  Of course I shouldn’t let it bother me.

  The fact that Mikkel had saved my life and in addition had started to behave in a way that was bordering on the acceptable didn’t mean he was someone to be reckoned with. On the contrary, he was high on the list of those I suspected of having murdered both Cato Hammer and Roar Hanson. True, the list was extremely long and I had no evidence against the boy apart from the fact that he was strong and fit, but still: Mikkel was not my friend.

  Suddenly he got to his feet so abruptly that the chair fell over. I couldn’t hear what he said, but there was no misunderstanding the gesture with his finger.

  I smiled. Kari Thue picked up a book with lightning speed and immediately appeared to be so absorbed in its contents that I almost began to doubt what I had seen. But I was still smiling.

  Mikkel really was on the way to making important decisions in life.

  v

  ‘Adrian! Adrian!’

  The boy didn’t even bother looking in my direction. He was sitting on the floor between the kitchen door and the dresser with Veronica. I didn’t recognize the game they were playing. They had a lot of cards spread out on the floor in a strange pattern, face up. It looked as if Veronica had considerably more cards in her hand than Adrian, which struck me as an appropriate metaphor for their relationship. I no longer believed she was as young as she seemed at first glance, and I found it odd, to put it mildly, that she got any pleasure from hanging out with a kid of fifteen.

  It didn’t have to be about pleasure, of course. It could be a question of usefulness, or necessity, for that matter; the way Veronica behaved towards her fellow human beings made me look like an open and sociable person. Adrian was the only one of all the passengers from the train who hadn’t given the skinny figure dressed in black a wide berth right from the start.

  ‘Adrian,’ I said again when I reached them. ‘I need to talk to you.’

  ‘Forget it,’ he snapped.

  Adrian and I had certainly had our differences, but the boy must be somewhat oversensitive if he thought our arguments justified such behaviour. I could only imagine that Veronica had persuaded him to go against me.

  ‘Come on,’ I said calmly. ‘I really do have to talk to you.’

  ‘But I don’t have to talk to you.’

  The young woman was examining her cards. She placed the queen of hearts on the floor before picking up two of the cards that were lying face up.

  Two aces.

  The boy swore vehemently and threw the jack of clubs on top of the queen, then picked up a king.

  ‘What are you playing?’ I asked.

  Neither of them answered. I sat there for a few minutes following the game, which seemed increasingly absurd.

  ‘Isn’t there somewhere else you need to be?’

  He didn’t look at me.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘I’m going to sit right here until you’re ready to talk to me.’

  ‘There!’ he hissed, banging the ace of spades down on top of the nine of diamonds, which Veronica had just put down. ‘Ha!’

  When he was about to pick up a card, Veronica placed her hand on his.

  ‘Hang on,’ she said in that deep voice that contrasted so sharply with her thin body. ‘Look.’

  She placed four twos on the floor one after the other, gave a little smile and gathered up all the other cards on the floor.

  ‘Paris,’ she said.

  ‘Shit,’ said Adrian.

  I’ve played a lot of cards in my life, but this was the most ridiculous, incomprehensible game I’d ever seen.

  ‘What do you want?’ mumbled Adrian, getting stiffly to his feet.

  ‘I just want to talk to you. In private.’

  The boy had already smelled less than sweet on the train. By now the smell around his skinny body was so unpleasant that I wrinkled my nose and moved back.

  ‘Look, I haven’t got a room of my own, OK! Which means I haven’t got a bathroom!’

  ‘That’s the most stupid thing I’ve ever heard. You were the one that chose to sleep in the window. And even if you don’t want a room, there’s nothing to stop you from using a shower. Any time.’

  ‘Haven’t got any clean clothes,’ he muttered. ‘No point in having a shower.’

  ‘Come with me,’ I said, taking advantage of the fact that he was too embarrassed to refuse.

  The smell was so strong that I had no desire to take him into the little office. Instead I went ahead of him towards the wicker chairs that were still unoccupied. Kari Thue was no longer sitting at the wooden table. I nodded towards one of the chairs. Adrian sat down, sullen and reluctant.

  ‘How’s it going?’ I asked, moving my wheelchair so close to his knees that he couldn’t get up without pushing me away.

  His mouth took on a sulky expression that presumably meant that I should mind my own business.

  ‘Adrian. I don’t really understand what I’ve done to upset you. You make your own decisions about who you want to be with while we’re up here, but it won’t be long until they come for us. When that happens, I don’t think Veronica will be in as strong a position to help you as I will. I am after all —’

  ‘So you’re using blackmail now?’

  He looked me briefly in the eye. He was close to tears. His lips were trembling and he suddenly lashed out with his right hand. I don’t think he meant to hit anything, but he caught my thigh with a hard blow.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, pulling back his hand. ‘I didn’t mean ... I’m sorry, OK!’

  ‘It’s fine. I didn’t feel a thing. It’s OK.’

  I wondered what his hair looked like underneath that bloody hat. As if he had read my mind, he pulled the hat off and placed it on his knee before scratching his scalp frantically with both hands, his fingers stiff.

  ‘What do you want?’ he mumbled eventually, putting his hat bac
k on.

  ‘What was it about Roar Hanson that made you so angry, Adrian?’

  ‘He was fucking disgusting.’

  ‘What was it that was so disgusting about him?’

  ‘Didn’t you see him? That greasy hair with a comb-over, and that horrible white stuff at the corners of his mouth. And he stank.’

  He stopped and lowered his eyes.

  ‘He was coming on to Veronica.’

  ‘Yes, so you said. How old is Veronica, actually?’

  ‘Twenty-four. That fucking priest was a pig, running after little girls.’

  ‘I don’t think twenty-four counts as a little girl, Adrian. If he was into that kind of thing, there’s a whole load of fourteen-year-old handball players here.’

  ‘They haven’t even got tits! Hardly, anyway.’

  ‘Unfortunately, that’s part of the appeal,’ I said drily. ‘If Roar Hanson really did prefer girls who were a little bit too young, then he would have preferred them without tits. But he wasn’t like that, Adrian. There’s absolutely no evidence to suggest it. And you are far too intelligent to go along with crap like that.’

  ‘But he was after Veronica! It’s true! I saw it with my own eyes! And she wasn’t the only one who thought the old bastard was vile. There were two old women in the hobby room who told him to fuck off as well.’

  ‘I’m sure they didn’t.’

  ‘Well, maybe they didn’t say that exactly, but he was all over them and they moved several times. What a fucking ...’

  He couldn’t find the right swear word.

  ‘What was it he said to you?’ I interjected while he was thinking.

  ‘Said? I don’t talk to wankers like him!’

  ‘You did talk to him. Yesterday morning. After you’d been to the kiosk to get me some crisps and cola. He said something to you about washing your hands, I think. I didn’t hear properly because I was distracted by the fact that you’d brought me paprika-flavoured crisps, and I don’t like them.’

  Adrian sat motionless, staring into space. It was as if thinking back made him confused. Or perhaps he wasn’t entirely sober; I thought I could smell alcohol on his breath. That first morning I had suspected that Veronica had alcohol with her. I must have been wrong. As far as I could see, she didn’t drink alcohol at all. She always carried a bottle of mineral water with her, during the evenings too.

  ‘I don’t remember,’ he said, pulling at his hat. ‘It wasn’t anything to do with washing my hands, anyway.’

  ‘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.

  vi

  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.