same old world. They walked through the
corridors with matching wallpaper and carpets and
expensive art on the walls. She put the key card in
the lock of the suite, then said, ‘After you,’ and
held the door open for the man, who slipped by
with what she interpreted as an air of expectation.
‘The Palace Suite measures 105 square metres,’
Betty said. ‘The suite has two bedrooms, each with
their own king-size bed, and two bathrooms, each
with jacuzzi and telephone.’
She went into the room where the old man had
taken up a position by the window.
‘The furniture was designed by Poul Henriksen, a
Danish designer,’ she said, stroking her hand over
the paper-thin glass top on the coffee table.
‘Perhaps you would like to see the bathrooms?’
The old man didn’t answer. He had kept his
soaking-wet hat on, and in the silence that
followed Betty heard a drip land on the
cherrywood parquet floor. She stood beside him.
From here they could see everything that was
worth seeing: the Town Hall, the National Theatre,
the Palace, the Norwegian Parliament – the
Storting – and Akershus Fortress. Beneath them lay
the Palace Gardens, where the trees pointed up
towards a leaden grey sky with black splayed
witches’ fingers.
‘You ought to come here on a fine spring day,’
Betty said.
The old man turned and sent her an
uncomprehending look, and Betty realised what
she had just said. She might as well have added:
Since you have only come here to take in the
view.
She passed it off with a smile as well as she
could. ‘When the grass is green and the leaves are
on the trees in the Palace Gardens. It’s absolutely
beautiful then.’
He studied her face, but his thoughts appeared to
be elsewhere. ‘You’re right,’ he said at last.
‘Trees have leaves. I didn’t think about that.’
He pointed to the window. ‘Does this open?’
‘A little,’ Betty said, relieved at the change of
topic. ‘You twist the handle there.’
‘Why only a little?’
‘In case someone should get any silly ideas.’
‘Silly ideas?’
She shot him a quick glance. Was the old man
going a bit senile? ‘Take a hike,’ she said.
‘Commit suicide, I mean. There are a lot of
unhappy people who . . .’ She made a gesture with
her hand which was intended to illustrate what
unhappy people do.
‘So that’s a silly idea, is it?’ The old man rubbed
his chin. Did she detect the hint of a smile among
the wrinkles? ‘Even if you’re unhappy?’
‘Yes,’ Betty said resolutely. ‘At least, in this
hotel while I’m on duty.’
‘While I’m on duty.’ The old man chuckled. ‘That
was a good one, Betty Andresen.’
The mention of her name made her jump. Of
course, he had read it on her name tag. There was
nothing wrong with his eyesight then; the letters
forming her name were as small as the letters of
receptionist were large. She pretended to take a
discreet peek at the clock.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘You’ve probably got other more
important things to do.’
‘I suppose I have,’ she said.
‘I’ll take it,’ the old man said.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I’ll take the room. Not for tonight, but —’
‘You’re taking the room?’
‘Yes. It is available for booking, isn’t it?’
‘Mm, yes it is, but . . . it’s terribly expensive.’
‘I prefer to pay in advance.’
The old man pulled out a wallet from his inside
pocket and removed a wad of notes.
‘No, no, I didn’t mean it like that, but 7,000 for
one night. You wouldn’t rather see —?’
‘I like this room,’ the old man said. ‘Please count
it, just in case.’ Betty stared at the thousand-kroner
notes he wafted in front of her.
‘We can sort out the payment when you come,’
she said. ‘Mm, when would you like to . . . ?’
‘As you recommended, Betty. One day in the
spring.’
‘Right. Any particular day?’
‘Of course.’
17
Police HQ. 5 November 1999.
BJARNE MØLLER SIGHED AND GAZED OUT OF THE
WINDOW. His thoughts wandered freely as they had
tended to do of late. The rain had held off, although
the leaden grey sky still hung low over police HQ
in Grønland. A dog trotted over the brown, lifeless
lawn outside. There was a Crime Squad post
vacant in Bergen. The deadline for applications
was next week. He had heard from a colleague
over there that it only rained twice every autumn in