‘Show me when it was taken,’ I say. Anton stares hard at me, visibly annoyed, then seems to decide it’s a better idea to continue the conversation. He clicks on the photo settings to show me that the photo was indeed taken last Friday, at 9.20 a.m. Leah’s entire face is visible, and without doubt, completely unscathed. Just hours later, she’d turn up for our session, terrified and incoherent, the right side of her face beaten to a pulp. My hand hurts and I realize I’ve dug my fingernails hard into my palms. I am barely able to contain myself, because I have the terrible suspicion I could be sitting here, sipping coffee with Leah’s killer. Then something else occurs to me – what if something happened between them and he attacked her, and she came to my session, disorientated and afraid, trying to tell me she was about to go to her cabin to get away from him? She would still be there, too afraid to return to Oslo, pregnant and vulnerable, trapped with her own thoughts. Leah has told me many times that it’s the only place she feels safe. Only, he’s gone there, and I find it hard to believe that he just went to check on her. But she could still be there, hiding from him. Waiting for me.

‘What happened after this picture was taken? Anton, did you have an argument?’

He stares at me hard and again, I feel a flush of fear spread out in my stomach, there is something unnerving about his ice-blue gaze. He surprises me by nodding.

‘Yes,’ he whispers. ‘That’s why I went to the cabin. I couldn’t reach her and I wanted to apologize. Which I did. I even called you. Twice, on the Sunday, days before I went there, because I didn’t know where she’d gone or why she wasn’t responding and I figured you’d know. I thought she told you absolutely everything.’ Anton’s face creases in a slight grimace, as though it is difficult to think about those days when he was unable to get hold of Leah.

‘That was you? On Sunday afternoon?’ I recall the two missed calls as I drove home from Camilla’s – I looked the number up in the phone registry, but it was unlisted. Hours later Leah called, but said nothing – the last I’ve heard from her.

‘Yes.’

‘What was the argument about?’

‘Old stuff.’

‘Old stuff?’