‘On the anvil.’ I take a sip of coffee but it’s too hot. I blow into the mug. ‘Skewered onto the sharp end of the anvil.’

Lena cringes.

‘I have to give a police statement and that won’t be easy.’

‘How so?’ she says.

I pause and rub my tired old eyes.

‘Imagine Halloween but darker and weirder. Adults only. R-rated.’

‘Pan Night?’

I nod. ‘Not sure how much detail I should tell the police.’

She sips her coffee and puts down her mug.

‘Well, don’t get yourself into any trouble. But remember, they know all about Pan Night. Been tolerating it for years. Decades, even. What they want is witnesses, any relevant suspicious activity, a timeline leading up to the discovery of the head.’

‘Alright.’

‘Any theories in Visberg as to who killed Arne Persson? Police talking to anyone in particular?’

I down my coffee, the burn to my throat some kind of strange comfort, and pour myself another.

‘Shade on the Bosnian grill owner. Ex-soldier. People talk about the clockmaker but that’s just because he’s an oddball as far as I can tell. Then there’s the sisters.’

‘Utgard sisters? Wood-carving sisters?’

‘The very same.’

‘In Visberg, now?’

‘Pop-up shop,’ I say. ‘And from what I saw last night they’re doing brisk business. Then there are the gamer twins, who people gossip about because non-gamers always think video games turn us all into homicidal maniacs with no impulse control.’ She watches me top up my coffee again with a look in her eye like maybe they’ve got a point. ‘Woman who owns the Hive self-storage. Her late husband died in a freak chainsaw accident years ago.’

Lena shudders.

‘Partial decapitation,’ I say, looking her in the eye.

‘Shit,’ she says.

I nod. ‘I’m told the neck wound was extensive. Cut more than a third through.’

‘You plan on going anywhere dangerous, anywhere off the beaten track, you take Sebastian with you as back-up, okay? Make use of him.’

‘It’s all off the beaten track,’ I say. ‘All of it.’

The phone rings in her office so she goes off to answer it.

I sit down at my desk and the caffeine hits. Acid reflux and hyper-alertness: the two consistent states of any good reporter.

Six stories. Bare-bones layouts and sub-headings. A list of people I need to probe now I’m better known in the hill town. Word spreads, and last night will have helped. I was there when they experienced a watershed moment. There on the inside. They’ll talk more freely now and I can help break this case, because from what I saw last night, that closed-community mentality, that violent rewind to ancient traditions, they will not open up to the Gavrik police. It’s got to be me who bridges that gap. Me, who works things out. For the sake of Arne Persson and his ex-wife, Annika. For the sake of every other surviving resident.