The living room was all black leather and steel, placed on a chalk-white shag-pile rug. Two settees were arranged facing each other, with a table of polished concrete between them. On the north wall hung the biggest TV screen Selma Falck had ever seen in a private home – it must have been around eighty inches wide. A panorama window had been carved into the south-facing wall, in absurd violation of the house’s original architecture. Selma guessed that the view would be magnificent on a good day.

Now it had started raining in the darkness.

Katinka Morell still existed in this house: in the bookcases and the ornaments, maybe even in the carefully arranged knitting left on the rocking chair, as if on display. It didn’t help much, though, because the living room seemed chilly. Maybe especially because the hearth on the other side of the TV was an enormous, dismal, black hole that dominated the room. It should really have been constantly lit, Selma thought as she found herself shivering.

Hege Chin Morell stood in the doorway of what must be the kitchen. Selma could hear someone in there, and the rattling of china being unloaded from a dishwasher. Jan Morell had already taken a seat on one of the two settees.

‘Sit down,’ he told Hege.

She remained on her feet. Selma approached her with outstretched hand.

‘Hello. I’m Selma Falck.’

Hege’s handshake was cool and fleeting. She nodded briefly, mumbled her name, let go her hand and headed for the settee where she sat facing her father. Selma chose to sit beside her. The sliding door into the kitchen slid shut with a peculiar sound.

‘You can tell Selma everything,’ Jan said. ‘But before we start, I just want to say this.’

Leaning forward, he spread his thighs, plumped his elbows on his knees and folded his hands. He stared intently at his daughter.

‘You’re allowed to make mistakes,’ he said. ‘I’ve always said that, and you know I mean it. Everyone makes mistakes. We all do stupid things. Nasty things, some of us even do cruel things at times. We all deserve a second chance. I’ve messed up too, before I met your mum, and …’

‘I don’t know much about that.’

‘Whatever,’ he said, brushing her off. ‘This time it’s not about me. And if you’ve done something stupid, something illegal or something detrimental, then you have to say so now. There’s always a way to move on, Hege. Always a way. OK?’

She nodded.

‘Good,’ he said in a clipped tone, as he leaned back. ‘Go ahead and talk.’

‘I don’t know where to begin,’ Hege said. ‘It’s a bit difficult to grasp what you … what on earth you might be able to do. I’ve submitted a positive drugs test despite never having taken drugs. Everyone says, and not least writes, that there’s no hope now. Dad has …’