1222

by Anne Holt

  It had never occurred to me that the church was rich. On the contrary, I remembered all the fuss surrounding the renovation of the cathedral in Oslo before the wedding of the Crown Prince. If we were to believe the newspapers, the building was on the point of falling down thanks to many years of neglect and a lack of money.

  ‘He was financial director there,’ said Magnus, his bushy monobrow knitted into a frown. ‘Or was he an accountant? No, I don’t remember. It wasn’t until he moved to the church at Ris as priest that he became seriously ... visible to the masses, so to speak.’

  He whinnied like a horse.

  ‘Do you know if Roar Hanson ever worked there?’

  ‘No-o ...’

  He drew the word out slightly, scratching behind his ear with his index finger.

  ‘To be honest, I’d never heard of Roar Hanson until today. An anonymous sort of chap, Hanson. Unfortunately he had none of his colleague’s charm and warmth.’

  There was another knock on the door.

  ‘Who is it?’ I said crossly; I had told Geir I wanted to be left alone, and he had promised to keep the others away.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Berit, hesitating before she came into the room and closed the door behind her. ‘But something’s happened. Something that

  She tugged at her ponytail.

  ‘Don’t tell me anybody else has been killed,’ I mumbled.

  ‘No, it’s —’

  ‘And don’t tell me anybody else has decided to set off on their own.’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘In fact, you could say the opposite is true.’

  ‘The opposite,’ pondered Magnus, making a clicking sound with his tongue. ‘You mean somebody’s trying to get in?’

  Then he laughed, loudly and uproariously, quite a different sound from the laughter I had heard before. Magnus Streng had a repertoire of laughter that an impressionist would envy him.

  ‘Yes.’

  I looked from Berit to Magnus and back again.

  ‘What?’

  She was fighting back the tears. Swallowing and breathing rapidly with her mouth open. Then she rubbed the back of her hand over her eyes, forced a smile and said:

  ‘Somebody is digging their way down to the main entrance. From outside. They want to get in.’

  Then she snivelled and added:

  ‘At least, that’s the way it seems.’

  ii

  Berit, Geir and Johan had persuaded the guests to move down into Blåstuen and Jøkulsalen. Every single hotel room had been checked to make sure that everyone, with the exception of the staff, Geir, the Red Cross personnel and I were located in the lower part of the wing. Magnus Streng had taken his role as chief of security very seriously, and had immediately chosen Mikkel as his deputy. The young gang leader muttered a sullen ‘OK’ as he tried to hide his surprise and something that resembled pride on his sulky countenance for a change. None of the guests was told the truth about why people had to be moved. Geir came up with the explanation that the gap where the carriage had been needed some reinforcement. There were also problems with the structure of the staircase itself since the fall, he lied, and everybody needed to stay away until this had been investigated. Magnus was enjoying his role. I could already hear his exhortations: people must keep calm, there was no need to worry.

  This was a big fat lie, and everybody knew it.

  Since the accident there had been every reason to worry.

  Oddly enough, people had accepted their temporary internment. Even Kari Thue had allowed herself to be sent down to Blåstuen without making a fuss.

  Of course it was difficult to know what she was thinking, and she immediately made sure she was as far away from the two Muslims as possible. Over the course of just two days she had managed to acquire her own little court. They followed her into the far corner by the window looking out over the veranda to the south, where she settled down on a yellow sofa with multicoloured stripes, looking for all the world as if she were surrounded by friends. I sat by the stairs leading down to St Paal’s Bar, and watched. Everything was going worryingly smoothly.

  ‘It won’t be long before they’re done,’ whispered Berit, with one hand on my shoulder. ‘It sounds as if they’re getting close to the door.’

  I followed her towards the main entrance. Whoever was shovelling snow out there was doing a thorough job. After Johan had decided that it was pointless, dangerous and unnecessary to keep the entrance open, the small windows in the outside door had gradually darkened as a wall of snow built up outside. Now it was getting light again. Since the entrance was protected by a solid porch with benches on each side, it was necessary to dig down on the outside in order to get in under the roof and reach the door.

  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 c
utting 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.’

  iii

  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.

  ‘... who were in the extra carriage,’ I went on. ‘And who have been staying in the apartment on the top floor. What’s happened?’

  Severin looked around. I knew exactly what he was thinking. Before he replied, he spent a couple of seconds weighing up how much he had to say in order to achieve what he wanted.

  ‘A small ... revolution,’ he said quietly and hesitantly, as if he wanted to buy himself more time.

  Nobody said anything, nobody asked anything. Everybody was looking at Severin Heger.

  ‘A child died,’ he said. ‘A baby.’

  ‘You shot a child!’

  Geir took a step towards Severin. It looked as if he were intending to avenge the baby’s death right there and then.

  ‘No! No! The baby died last night. Quietly and peacefully. It was sleeping next to its mother, but when she woke up the baby had died. No sign of external violence, no sign of anything at all apart from ... sudden infant death syndrome?’

  He shrugged his shoulders; the gesture was one of resignation rather than indifference.

  ‘Was the baby pink?’ I asked.

  ‘Pink?’

  ‘Was she dressed in pink from top to toe?’

  ‘Well. Yes. When they came up to us, a whole gang of them, wanting to ... I went downstairs to stop them from ... I went down to talk to them.’

  He swallowed hard before adding:

  ‘Yes. It was a girl. The mother collapsed completely. Acute psychosis, I think. It was like throwing a lighted match into a can of petrol. Panic was threatening to take over completely. Two lads – I think they’re from the Red Cross – were doing their best to get the situation under control, but we thought it was best to make a move.’

  Once again he swallowed hard before repeating:

  ‘It was a girl.’

  I didn’t even know that Sara and her mother were in the wing. To tell the truth I had hardly thought about them, at least not since the hotel lost contact with the apartments.

  I remembered the faint smell of sour milk from the baby’s clothes. I could see that little face in front of me, yelling and yelling into my jumper straight after the accident, as the temperature dropped and I was afraid we were all going to die.

  ‘She received a hard blow to the head. When the train derailed and crashed.’

  Nobody seemed to grasp what I was saying. Perhaps I had only thought it.

  ‘But you’re armed,’ said Geir. ‘Couldn’t you keep them away?’

  ‘We are armed,’ Severin nodded. ‘But so were they. Axes, hammers, kitchen knives. A drawbar for a sledge! God knows what they’d kitted themselves out with.’

  ‘You had guns,’ Geir insisted.

  ‘Yes. But we are actually very keen not to shoot anyone. The balance of terror, you know. The deterrent effect. Our guns are primarily there to maintain peace. But these people were totally desperate. They thought we had a doctor, better food, they thought we had ...’

  He ran one finger across his brow and shook his head almost imperceptibly.

  ‘They would have smashed their way through the door, I think. They kept saying we had some member of the royal family with us.’

  From outside we could hear loud banging on the door.

  Severin straightened up. Berit was looking increasingly sceptical. Geir glanced at the policeman with something approaching hostility. Johan was the only one who still seemed impressed that Severin had made his way from the wing to the hotel, and had got here in one piece.
<
br />   ‘The situation was quite simply such that I had to bring ...’ He pulled up his sleeve and looked at his watch. Then he started again. ‘I need a part of the hotel where we can be alone.’

  He turned to me this time.

  As if there were suddenly only two people there, it was me he looked at. When I realized why, for the first time since I was shot I felt a small stab of longing for the job I had done for so long. I was reminded of an affinity between colleagues that even I had felt and once been part of, despite the fact that I had done my best to avoid it for many years.

  Severin Heger trusted me. I didn’t know if he was still part of the Bergen police in what had been renamed the PST, or if he was a consultant in the growing market for private security. Since I thought I knew what kind of people he was guarding, I assumed that Severin had left Bergen and ordinary police work in favour of the more secret elements of the force. But right now we were both police officers, and he was relying on the fact that I would help him, just as he had helped me on the day I almost died.

  ‘He needs an isolated part of the hotel,’ I said. ‘And I think you should help him.’

  ‘But who is he?’

  Berit looked from me to Severin.

  ‘Who are you? Why should I —’

  ‘Berit. Give him what he’s asking for.’

  I was trying to remain calm.

  ‘Trust me. Please.’

  The shadows outside were obviously tired of waiting. Someone banged on the door again, and Severin had to take a step backwards to stop them from coming in. The look he gave me was easy to interpret.

  ‘The top floor looking out towards Finsevann,’ I suggested quickly. ‘From room 207 onwards. Would that be OK?’

  ‘No,’ said Berit. ‘That’s too much. Too many rooms.’

  She turned to Severin and tugged at her ponytail again. The gesture was evidently a sign that she was thinking.