He had foam all around his mouth. Adam held his breath. Erik looked like a troll, scrawny and bent, and he was gasping for breath.

'We came to an agreement,' he panted. 'We agreed to get married. Neither of us could live with the shame, with our parents' shame, with ... I was fond of Eva Karin. She gradually became my life. My ... sister. She was fond of me, too. She loved me, she said, as recently as the evening when she ... While I chose to live ... alone, for ever, she wanted to keep Martine. That was the agreement. Martine and Eva Karin.'

Slowly he went back to his armchair. Sat down. Wept silently without hiding his face in his hands.

'There had to be a punishment,' he said. 'There had to be a punishment eventually.'

'Who did you tell?'

'I'm the one who has to bear the punishment,' Erik whispered. 'I'm the one who is living in h.e.l.l. All the time, every day. Every night, every second.'

'I have to know who you told, Erik.'

'Here.'

Erik's outstretched hand was holding a book with a worn leather cover. It had been lying on the coffee table when Adam came in, shabby and stained and without a t.i.tle. Adam hesitated, but took it when Erik insisted.

'Take it! Take it! It's my diary. If you read the last twenty pages, you'll understand. You'll find what you want to know in there. Read it all, in fact. Try to understand.'

'But I can't, I mean I can't just-'

'I'd like you to leave now. Take the diary and go.'

Adam just stood there with the book in his hand, the book containing all of Erik Lysgaard's thoughts. He had no idea what to do, and still hadn't come to terms with the chaotic impressions crowding in on him after the grieving widower's outburst. Just as he was about to ask if there was anything he could do for him, he finally understood: there was nothing anyone in the whole world could do for Erik Lysgaard.

He tucked Erik's life under his arm and slipped silently out of the house on Nubbebakken for the very last time.

Rolf had crept along the landing as quietly as possible. Perhaps Marcus had fallen asleep again, it was so quiet in there. With all the sleepless nights he had suffered, it would be fantastic if he could get some rest. Rolf slowly pushed down the door handle. Too late he remembered the hinges squeaked, and he pulled a face at the harsh sound as the door opened.

Marcus was awake. He was sitting up in bed staring into s.p.a.ce, the newspapers in a neat pile beside him. The food was untouched, the gla.s.s still full of orange juice.

'Weren't you hungry?' asked Rolf, surprised.

'No. I have to talk to you.'

'Talk away!' Rolf smiled and sat down on the bed. 'What is it, my love?'

'I want you to send little Marcus away. To my mother or to a friend. It doesn't matter which, but when he's safe and sound I would like you to come back here. I have to talk to you. Alone. Without anyone else in the house.'

'Good heavens,' said Rolf, with a strained smile. 'What's wrong, Marcus? Are you ill? Is it something serious?'

'Please do as I ask. And I would very much appreciate it if you could do it straight away. Please.'

His voice was so different. Not hard, exactly, thought Rolf, but mechanical, as if it wasn't actually Marcus who was talking.

'Please,' Marcus said again, more loudly this time. 'Please get my son out of the house and come back.'

Rolf got up hesitantly. For a moment he considered protesting, but when he saw the unfamiliar look in Marcus's eyes, he headed for the door.

'I'll try Mathias or Johan,' he said, keeping his tone as casual as possible. 'A school friend will be easier than driving him all the way to your mother's.'

'Good,' said Marcus Koll Junior. 'And come back as soon as you can.'

'Georg Koll knew my father,' said Silje Srensen. 'They were business acquaintances. Even though I only met him a couple of times when I was a child, it was enough to realize the man was a real s.h.i.t. My parents didn't like him either. But you know how it is. In those circles.'

She looked at the others and shrugged her shoulders apologetically.

Neither Johanne nor Knut Bork had any idea what it was like to move in the circles of the wealthy. They exchanged a quick glance before Johanne once again immersed herself in the doc.u.ment the solicitor's secretary had brought in.

'As far as I can see, this is a completely valid will,' she said. 'Unless a new will was made at a later date, then ...'

She gave a little shake of her head and held up the papers.

'... this is the one that applies.'

'But Georg Koll died years ago,' Silje said in bewilderment. 'His children inherited everything! The children from his marriage, that is. I had no idea Georg had another son. That is what it says, isn't it?'

Johanne nodded.

'My son Niclas Winter,' she quoted.

'n.o.body must have known about him,' said Silje. 'I remember my father laughing up his sleeve when the inheritance was due to be paid out, because Georg lost touch with all his children after he left his wife when they were little. He really was a complete b.a.s.t.a.r.d, that man. His ex-wife and kids lived in poverty in Vlerenga, while Georg lived in luxury. It's Marcus Koll Junior, the eldest son, who runs the whole company now. I think they reorganized slightly, but ...'

She turned to the computer.

'Let's google Georg,' she murmured, staring expectantly at the screen. 'Bingo. He died ... on 18 August 1999.'

'Almost exactly four months after this was drawn up,' said Johanne, growing increasingly thoughtful. 'So it's hardly likely that he would have made a new will after that. I think our friend Niclas Winter was done out of his inheritance, simple as that!'

'But you can't just disinherit children born within a marriage in this country, surely?' Knut Bork exclaimed.

'If the estate is big enough ...'

Johanne leafed through the thick red book.

'The legitimate share to the children is one million kroner,' she said, searching for inheritance law. 'How many siblings does this Marcus Koll have?'

'Two,' said Silje. 'A sister and a brother, if I remember rightly.'

'According to this will,' Johanne said, 'the three of them should have received a million each, and Niclas should have inherited the rest.'

Silje gave a long drawn-out, shrill whistle.

'We're talking big money here,' she said. 'But surely there has to be...'

Knut Bork leapt up and grabbed the doc.u.ment.

'Surely there has to be a statute of limitation,' he said agitatedly, as if it were his own fortune they were discussing. 'I mean, Niclas couldn't just turn up after all these years and start demanding ...'

He broke off and adopted a posture that made him look like a keen lecturer.

'Why the h.e.l.l did I let that woman go?' he said. 'She mentioned something about Niclas Winter ringing around various solicitors more or less at random. He said his mother had just died, and she had told him on her deathbed that there was an important doc.u.ment addressed to him held by a legal practice in Oslo. It would secure his future. Perhaps he didn't ...'

They looked at each other. Johanne had found the section on inheritance law, and was sitting with her hand between the pages.

'There's a lot that needs checking, of course,' she said hesitantly. 'But at the moment it looks as if he didn't know about the will.'

'Why did his mother keep the fact that he was going to be rolling in money a secret from him? Shouldn't she have made sure that ... ?'

'Perhaps she didn't want him to find out his father's ident.i.ty until after her death,' said Silje. 'There's so much we don't know. There's no point in speculating any further, really.'

'But we do know something,' Johanne interjected. 'There have been a couple of articles in Dagens Naeringsliv about Niclas Winter since he died. His installations have shot up in price, at a time when sales of modern art are virtually non-existent. It said in the paper that he had no heirs, and that he was ... fatherless. His mother was an only child, and his maternal grandparents are dead.'

'So we can draw the conclusion that Niclas had no idea who his father was, or that he was the rightful heir,' said Knut Bork, perching on the windowsill with one foot on Johanne's chair.

'Not at the time, anyway,' she said. 'In which case the statute of limitation doesn't run out until ...'

The thin paper rustled faintly as she turned the pages.

'Paragraph 70,' she said vaguely. 'He's got six months. From when he finds out about the will, I mean. But I agree with you, Knut. As far as I know there is a definite statute of limitation ... I think it's ...'

The rest disappeared in an unintelligible mumble as she read. Knut waggled his foot impatiently, and leaned forwards to try and see the book for himself.

'Paragraph 75,' Johanne suddenly said loudly, following the text with her finger: 'The right to claim an inheritance lapses when the heir does not validate such a claim within ten years of the death of the testator. That's what I thought.'

'Fifteenth of April this year,' said Silje. 'That's when the statute of limitation would run out.'

The computer's screen saver suddenly burst into a silent firework display. Johanne stared at the red magnetic ring around Sat.u.r.day 17 January. It had an almost hypnotic effect on her. In two days it would be the nineteenth once more, and she felt the hairs on her arms stand on end. Knut put his feet on the floor and stood up.

'But could Niclas come along and claim everything his siblings have owned for almost ten years?' he exclaimed. 'Isn't that b.l.o.o.d.y unjust, actually?'

Johanne was lost in thought.

'Why did he fall out with the children?' she said quietly, staring blankly into s.p.a.ce.

'Georg Koll?'

'Yes.'

'As I said, he was an absolute s.h.i.t most of the time. And I'm sure there was something about Marcus he didn't like the fact that Marcus was gay. The other two children sided with their brother. Marcus Koll was probably one of the first who really ... Well, he was the first person I knew who was openly gay. There was quite a bit of talk about it. In those circles. You know.'

Knut still knew very little about those circles, and Johanne looked as if she had barely heard what the inspector had said.

'Niclas was gay as well,' she said expressionlessly.

'Georg can't possibly have known that.'

'In the case in the US there's a link between ...'

Her eyes suddenly focused.

'So these two men are brothers,' she said, so quietly that Knut had difficulty hearing her. 'Half-brothers. In a similar case in the US it turned out there was a remarkable link between the victims. Could ... ?'

She looked from one to the other.

'Could Marcus Koll be the next victim?'

Her eyes slid from Knut to the calendar.

'The nineteenth of January is the day after tomorrow,' she said. 'Could it be ... ?'

'Do you believe in your own theory?' Knut broke in irritably. 'Or have you already dropped it? If The 25'ers really are behind these murders, I'm sure they'll have made sure they got their people out of the country long ago! VG gave away virtually everything we know, and the perpetrators must be idiots if they ... For f.u.c.k's sake, NCIS has been in constant contact with the FBI for the last twenty-four hours! The Americans might be bowing and sc.r.a.ping and thanking us for putting all our resources into the investigation, and sending people over tomorrow to help us, but they're making no effort to hide the fact that they think the perpetrators are on their way home!'

Johanne slammed the statute book shut with a dull thud.

'If we really do believe they intend to go on murdering people,' Knut said harshly, 'then we ought to do what they suggest in this rag ...'

He waved the newspaper around.

'... and warn every gay man and woman about next Monday. And the twenty-fourth. And the twenty-seventh. There'll be total-'

'It can't do any harm to send a patrol car,' Silje said reprovingly. 'An unmarked car. With plain-clothes officers. Nothing to attract attention. Marcus Koll ought to be informed about the fact that-'

'He ought to be informed about as little as possible,' Johanne interrupted. 'Or at least he shouldn't be told anything whatsoever about this will. I think he should be confronted with that particular piece of information under different circ.u.mstances and by different people, not during a visit by a couple of plain-clothes officers. We don't even know if he's aware he has a brother.'

'We'll send someone round anyway,' Silje said firmly. 'They're not going to say anything about the will, because so far we're the only ones who know about it. They can ... express a general concern for h.o.m.os.e.xuals with a public profile. Everyone knows about this case now. It should be fine.'

She smiled and stood up, signalling that the meeting was over.

Johanne remained seated, lost in her own thoughts, until Knut Bork had left the room and Silje was standing with her hand on the light switch.

'Are you thinking of staying here?' she asked. 'If so, it could get a bit lonely.'

Marcus Koll was all alone in the big house on Holmenkollen, apart from the dogs who were fast asleep in their basket next to the open fire. He had showered and put on clean clothes. Since he didn't know how long Rolf was going to be away, he had used the electric shaver instead of bothering with foam and a razor. When he was ready he had spent a few minutes in his study before sitting down in one of the soft, wing-backed armchairs in front of the picture window that looked out over the city and the fjord.

He was waiting.

He felt calm. Relieved, somehow. A faint tingling in his body reminded him more of being in love than of the sorrow he felt, and he breathed deeply through his nose.

It was the view he had fallen for once upon a time.

The garden sloped gently down towards the two tall pine trees by the fence right at the bottom. The other trees along the boundary provided privacy from the neighbouring house down below, but in no way detracted from the glorious panoramic view. Living up here was like living well outside the city, and it was this feeling of isolation combined with the view that had made him buy the house.