I walk through to the living room and sit down on the sofa – I need a few moments to center myself and sort my thoughts after the disturbing meeting with Anton. I fix my gaze on the huge canvas hung across from me on the matte charcoal wall – Eirik’s favorite. It’s a medley of blues and grays and looks like something my nephew might have produced at nursery, and yet, it cost more than my BMW. At least it isn’t Elisabeth’s – the others are all off the walls now and in the cupboard of the spare bedroom. Eirik says this one represents the storms of the mind and that the tiny slash of white toward the bottom left of the picture apparently represents hope. Sometimes I enjoy the picture and lose myself in the chaotic, hypnotic blur of its swirling brushstrokes, but I feel fundamentally annoyed at the suggestion that this image has an underlying objective meaning that should be apparent to its observer.

I follow a long, dark line running from the center of the painting toward the far-right corner and though I keep my head entirely still, I can’t hold the tears back now, and I don’t fight them either. I was afraid in Leah’s apartment, with Anton. I have an irrational sensation of being watched, and feel the compulsion to rush through the apartment, peering into cupboards and under beds, though I know I’m alone, like I usually am. Still, the fine hairs on my arms stand up at the thought of being watched by someone I can’t see, someone I couldn’t expose.

If my clients could see me now, what would they think? Anxious and high-strung, unsure of what to do or what to think – nothing like the calm, soothing presence they depend on. I check my emails, but there is nothing new. I try to Google Anton, but as I don’t know his last name I get nowhere. I dial the number of the Majorstuen police station. After a series of automated questions, I’m put through to an operator.

‘Crime department, Silvia Espensen speaking.’

‘Hi, this is Dr Kristina Moss. I’m a doctor of psychology and a practicing psychotherapist at Homansbyen Terapisenter calling about one of my clients who I believe may have come to harm.’

‘Can I take a name?’

‘Leah Iverson.’ I spell her name out, unusual in Norway, the –on ending making her obviously Swedish.

‘Why do you think something may have happened to her?’

‘Well, she has missed a session with me, which is very out of character. And she was highly distressed the previous week. She has a history of mental health challenges and an abusive ex-husband.’

‘Can I take the name of the ex-husband?’

‘Anton.’

‘Anton?’