by Anne Holt
‘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.
vii
‘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.
‘Wonderful,’ Ma
gnus murmured, almost ecstatically. ‘It’s over. Tomorrow we can go home.’
His words jerked me out of an almost physical intoxication. A good dose of endorphins had given me an unfamiliar feeling of happiness, simply because the storm was abating.
The feeling quickly disappeared when Magnus started talking.
‘What is it?’ he asked kindly, almost lovingly.
‘This isn’t going to be easy.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, his voice devoid of expression. ‘I don’t understand.’
A deep furrow appeared at the top of his nose.
‘There’s nothing to be sorry about,’ I said hastily. ‘It’s just that I can’t understand how we’re going to be able to leave here tomorrow.’
‘But the storm,’ he said, gesturing with his left arm. ‘It’s obviously on the way out, and —’
‘There is absolutely no way the police are going to let us leave,’ I said calmly.
‘Not going to let us ... What do you mean?’
‘There’s a double murderer among us. It would be dreadful police work if they simply let everybody leave before they’ve secured all the clues, interviewed everybody ...’
I stopped for breath.
‘There’ll be an absolute outcry,’ said Magnus. ‘A revolution. Mutiny. Nobody in this hotel, with the possible exception of you, me and the hotel staff, will agree to be kept here once it becomes physically possible to leave.’
‘Exactly,’ I said.
‘And what are we going to do about that?’
I was desperate to go home.
My back was hurting and it was difficult to take a deep breath. It felt as if a vice were tightening around my chest. I was reminded of the reason why I had been on the train that derailed: I was on my way to consult an American specialist about all the problems I was now suffering from.
‘I know,’ I said breathlessly. ‘But fortunately it will soon be time for dinner.’
Magnus Streng got to his feet and came around the table. Then he took my head between his big, chubby hands and placed a feather-light, fleeting kiss on my forehead. He didn’t let go, but gazed into my eyes.
‘Hanne Wilhelmsen,’ he said, clearly amused. ‘Things can never go really badly for a person with your appetite. Come on, let’s go and persuade Berit to give us a little aperitif. I didn’t get a drink when I needed one, so it will taste all the better now.’
When he opened the door and went ahead of me into the lobby, I thought he wasn’t waddling any more.
viii
I’m used to good, homely food.
When I was injured in the shooting, something dramatic must have happened to my metabolism, because my weight plummeted and since then I have remained slim, in spite of an appetite that can sometimes be a real pain, both to me and to others.
Mary is a real expert when it comes to cooking.
However, I have never tasted a better cauliflower soup than the one that was served as a starter at Finse 1222 on Friday 16 February 2007. Small florets of cauliflower, the most boring and tasteless of all vegetables in Norwegian cuisine, lay floating in a soup so rich and strong that I wondered how it was possible to get so much aroma into something that basically tasted of cauliflower with a dash of cream.
‘Wonderful soup,’ said Magnus, asking for more. ‘The mountain air really does give you an appetite. My compliments to the chef. Once again.’
He winked at the waiter, who smiled back.
I put down my spoon. Once more I had allowed myself to be carried down the stairs so that I could have dinner in the dining room. All in all, I had accepted more help from people in the past twenty-four hours than in the last four years put together. Berit, Geir and Johan were also at the table. Just like yesterday.
We were getting into a routine.
‘And how are things looking outside?’ Magnus asked enthusiastically. ‘Is it possible to get an idea of the damage?’
Both Geir and Johan had been outside for the last few hours. They looked completely exhausted; Geir was almost falling asleep as he ate.
‘It’s strange,’ said Johan, enjoying his soup. ‘Very strange. Most of the buildings have completely disappeared.’
‘Has the storm taken them?’ Magnus enquired expectantly. ‘I suppose they’re down there somewhere. Under the snow.’
Geir gazed blankly down at his bowl.
‘At any rate, there won’t be any family winter holidays up here. I’d really prefer to let the summer do the job, and melt all the snow away. Which probably means we’ll have to wait until August.’
He gave a long, drawn-out yawn, without a trace of embarrassment.
‘We managed to dig out the snow plough,’ he went on. ‘That Mikkel is a real hard man. Tomorrow we can start clearing the platform. It’s almost stopped snowing. The wind is still blowing hard, but it’s significantly less strong than it was. And it’s dropping by the hour.’
‘The railway company is going to have a hell of a job with the track,’ Johan muttered. ‘But fortunately that’s not my problem.’
‘Does this mean,’ said Magnus, wiping his mouth thoroughly with a large serviette, ‘that we’ll be picked up by helicopter?’
Johan nodded.
‘I should think the first group will be picked up early tomorrow morning.’
I was still surprised that none of them was thinking about the fact that two murders had been committed.
‘How are things over in the wing?’ I asked.
‘No idea,’ said Johan with a wry smile, then he leaned forward and said quietly: ‘In view of what that guy said about the ... situation over there, I thought it was best to leave them snowed in for a while longer. The last thing we need is that gang storming in here. When I was over at the Red Cross depot picking up the satellite phone, I could tell they hadn’t made any attempt to dig themselves out. Nor has anybody else, for that matter.’
He grinned and shook his head.
‘The biggest building looks like a roof somebody has just thrown down on the snow.’
Magnus looked around in bewilderment. Johan must have forgotten that the little doctor was the only one at the table who didn’t know about the four people in the cellar. He was in the office when Berit came and told us that somebody was trying to dig their way in, but he had never been told who they were. He hadn’t asked. Nor did he do so now.
‘Have you had enough, sir?’
The waiter smiled at Magnus, who immediately reverted to his normal, jovial self.
‘I’m looking forward to the next course,’ he said, pouring himself another glass of wine.
‘You picked up a satellite phone?’ I said to Johan, trying to appear uninterested. ‘Does that mean we can now communicate with the outside world?’
‘It should do,’ he nodded. ‘But I haven’t managed to get it working yet. I don’t really understand why. I expect I’ll be able to fix it this evening. It’s not really a problem, after all. I mean, it’s not as if we need to call for help. The rescue services know we’re here.’
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Veronica come down the stairs into the dining room. As usual, Adrian was trailing behind her. She stopped, looked around and sat down at a free table. Adrian bent down to her. She whispered something. The boy nodded, picked up two of the four chairs at the table and carried them up to the long table in the lobby.
Veronica stared fixedly down at the table. Her black hair hung like a curtain in front of her face, and she didn’t look out until Adrian came back and sat down on the empty chair. Now they didn’t need to worry about unwelcome companions at their table.
Her make-up was exaggerated. I wondered whether she really was that pale, or whether she used some kind of stage make-up. On the first evening there had been something absurd about the young woman, but now she was starting to lose her grip. The black lines around her eyes were no longer so sharply drawn. Her hair was so greasy that the brown roots along her parting showed up even more clearly. She had taken back
the sweater Adrian had borrowed. As she answered the waiter’s questions, she kept anxiously fingering the Valerenga logo on her stomach. She was bouncing her heels nervously up and down on the floor. She still had Adrian’s red socks on her feet.
Veronica never carried a bag.
Odd.
I have little pockets here and there on my wheelchair, so a handbag would be superfluous. And I very rarely use make-up. When I was still able to walk, I usually managed with just the pockets in my jacket.
Women who wear make-up don’t do that. Kari Thue, for example, never let go of that ridiculous little bag with the straps. She clutched it tightly as if it contained the crown jewels, for which she was entirely responsible. I looked over at the bottom table, where she had gathered her entourage. Five other women were sitting around the table, four of them with handbags that were either hanging over the back of the chair, or at the owner’s feet. Kari Thue had placed her bag on her knee, to be on the safe side.
Women take their handbags seriously.
Almost all women. But not Veronica.
On the plate in front of me lay a piece of venison. The sauce was a deep brown colour, almost red. Where the chef had got hold of fresh asparagus during a snowstorm in February was a mystery. I picked up a spear with my fingers and tasted.
‘I don’t understand this,’ I murmured, eating it slowly just the way that delicious, tender asparagus should be enjoyed.
Veronica had had a bag.
I licked my fingers one by one. They tasted of salty butter, with a faint hint of Parmesan.
In the left-hand side pocket lay Adrian’s list, his notes on some fifty people and the bags they had brought with them from the train. I had hardly given the list a thought since I saw it for the first time. I placed the sheets of paper on my knee and smoothed them out. The beautiful handwriting flowed over the densely filled pages, perfectly legible. Now that I had a considerably better overview of my fellow passengers than when I asked the boy to compile the list almost two days ago, I was even more struck by how observant he was.