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holding a stopwatch. Suddenly Harry snatched out the syringe, looked at the remaining contents,
threw aside the syringe and made notes on a piece of paper.
‘Th-this makes it easier in fact, Hole,’ the Chief Superintendent stammered. ‘Because we have bad
news.’
‘I have bad news, gentlemen,’ Harry said, tearing a piece of cotton wool from a bag and dabbing his
arm. ‘Idar Vetlesen can’t possibly have committed suicide. And I presume you know what that
means?’
Gunnar Hagen felt a sudden urge to laugh. The whole situation appeared so absurd to him that his
brain simply could not come up with any other satisfactory reaction. And he could see from the
Chief Superintendent’s face that he didn’t know what to do, either.
Harry looked at his watch and stood up. ‘Come to the meeting room in exactly one hour, then you’ll
find out why,’ he said. ‘Right now I have a couple of other matters that need to be sorted out.’
The inspector hurried past his two astonished superiors, opened the door and disappeared down the
corridor with long, sinewy strides.
One hour and four minutes later Gunnar Hagen trooped into a hushed K1 with the Chief
Superintendent and the Chief Constable. The room was filled to the rafters with officers from
Lepsvik’s and Hole’s investigation teams, and Harry Hole’s voice was the only thing to be heard.
They found standing room at the back. Pictures of Idar Vetlesen were projected onto the screen,
showing how he was found in the curling hall.
‘As you can see, Vetlesen has the syringe in his right hand,’ Harry Hole said. ‘Not unnatural since
he was right-handed. But it was his boots that triggered my curiosity. Look here.’
Another picture showed a close-up of the boots.
‘These boots are the only real forensic evidence we have. But it’s enough. Because the print
matches those we found in the snow at Sollihøgda. However, look at the laces.’ Hole indicated with
a pointer. ‘Yesterday I carried out some tests with my own boots. For the knot to lie like that, I
would have to do up my laces back to front. As if I were left-handed. The alternative would be to
stand in front of the boot as if I were doing it for someone else.’
A ripple of unease went through the room.
‘I’m right-handed.’ It was Espen Lepsvik’s voice. ‘And I tie my laces like that.’
‘Well, this may just be an oddity. However, it’s this sort of thing that arouses a certain ’ Hole
looked as if he was tasting the word before he chose it, ‘. disquiet. A disquiet that forces you to ask
other questions. Are they really Vetlesen’s boots? These boots are a cheap make. I visited
Vetlesen’s mother yesterday and got permission to see his collection of shoes. They’re expensive,
every pair without exception. And, as I thought, he was no different from the rest of us, he
sometimes kicked his shoes off without undoing the laces. That’s why I can say –’ Hole banged the
pointer on the image – ‘that I know Idar Vetlesen did not tie his shoelaces like this.’
Hagen glanced across at the Chief Superintendent whose forehead was lined with a deep furrow.
‘The question that emerges,’ Hole said, ‘is whether someone could have put the boots on Vetlesen.