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doesn’t seem to be a clear link to the murderer.’
    ‘We don’t know if there was malice aforethought,’ Harry said. ‘Killer.’
    ‘Killer,’ Beate yawned.
    ‘Have you found out where the diamond came from?’
    ‘We’re working on it. The jewellers we’ve talked to say that red diamonds are not unusual, but there’s very little demand for them in Norway. They doubt that the diamond came via Norwegian jewellers. If it came from abroad then that increases the likelihood that the perpetrator is a foreigner.’
    ‘Mm.’
    ‘What is it, Harry?’
    Harry coughed loudly. ‘Just trying to keep myself up to date.’
    ‘The last thing I heard was that it wasn’t your case.’
    ‘It isn’t.’
    ‘So what do you want?’
    ‘Well, I woke up because I was having a nightmare.’
    ‘Do you want me to come and tuck you in?’
    ‘No.’
    New silence.
    ‘I was dreaming about Camilla Loen. And the diamond you found.’
    ‘Oh yes?’
    ‘Yes. I think there’s something in that.’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘I’m not quite sure, but did you know that in the past they used to place a coin on the eyes of a corpse before it was buried?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘It was payment for the ferryman to deliver the soul into the kingdom of the dead. If the soul wasn’t delivered, it would never find peace. Think about it.’
    ‘Thank you for the wisdom, but I don’t believe in ghosts, Harry.’
    Harry didn’t answer.
    ‘Anything else?’
    ‘Just one small question. Do you know if the Chief Super starts his holidays this week?’
    ‘Yes, he does.’
    ‘You wouldn’t by any chance happen to know . . . when he comes back?’
    ‘Three weeks’ time. What about you?’
    ‘What about me?’
    Beate heard the click of a lighter. She sighed: ‘When are you coming back?’
    She heard Harry inhale, hold his breath and slowly let it out again before he answered:
    ‘I thought you said you didn’t believe in ghosts.’
    As Beate was putting down the phone, Bjarne Møller woke up with abdominal pains. He lay in bed twisting and turning until 6.00 when he gave up and got out of bed. He had a long breakfast without any coffee and immediately felt better. When he arrived at Police HQ just after eight, to his surprise, the pains had completely gone. He took the lift up to his office and celebrated by swinging his feet onto the desk, taking his first mouthful of coffee and grappling with the day’s newspapers.
    Dagbladet ran a picture of a smiling Camilla Loen on the front page under the headline ‘Secret Lover?’. Verdens Gang ran the same picture but with a different headline: ‘Clairvoyant Sees Jealousy’. Only the article in Aftenposten seemed to be interested in reality.
    Møller shook his head, cast a glance at his watch and dialled Tom Waaler’s number. Timed to perfection. He would just have finished his morning meeting with the detectives on the case.
    ‘No breakthrough yet,’ Waaler said. ‘We’ve been conducting door-to-door inquiries with all the neighbours and we’ve talked to all the shops nearby. Checked the taxis who were in the area at the relevant time, had a chat with informers and gone through the alibis of old friends with tarnished records. No-one stands out as a suspect, let’s put it that way. And, to be frank, in this case I don’t think the man is someone we know. No evidence of a sexual assault. No money or valuables touched. No familiar features here and no bells ringing. This finger and the diamond for example . . .’
    Møller could feel his guts grumbling. He hoped it was hunger.
    ‘So no good news for me then.’
    ‘Majorstua police station has sent us three men, so now we have ten men working on the strategic side of the investigation. And the technicians at Kripos are giving Beate a hand to go through what they found in the flat. We’re pretty well staffed, considering it’s the holiday period. Does that sound good?’
    ‘Thanks, Waaler, let’s hope it stays that way. As regards the