Particularly because this wasn’t the first time serious flaws were revealed in the Doggerian police’s routines. That they lag behind their neighbours in both the east and the west in a number of important ways – resources, training, education – is something they’re all painfully aware of. The Doggerian police may be both capable and fully able to exploit the advantages of the country’s small size and their local expertise when it comes to investigating drunken manslaughter or knowing who’s selling what kind of shit to whom, but in other areas both insight and instinct seem to be sorely lacking.

After ten years, Karen still sometimes catches herself thinking she moved back in more ways than one when she returned to her home country after her years in London. The first few years had felt like time travel. The professional climate and the language used by her male colleagues and bosses had left her astonished at how much her fellow islanders had managed to avoid keeping up with the wider world. The pervasive view of gender equality within the police could be summarised exactly the way Jounas Smeed had put it: ‘Sure, whatever, that’s all fine and good. In theory.’

On the other hand, she had found herself thinking more and more often, her colleagues here might simply be less adept at hiding their shortcomings and concealing their prejudice. Or at least less interested.

Eventually, she had come to realise that, surprisingly, Doggerian law was relatively progressive; there were political forces that wanted to prove to the world that Doggerland was no longer a country cousin, but a modern nation undergoing rapid change.

Among the general public, however, people still pride themselves on not being like their stuck-up relatives in the UK, Scandinavia, and anywhere else. Your average Doggerian, at least in the older generation, still seems to think the law is more of a set of recommendations. Which is exactly why the old people have no problem with the younger generation or the politicians who want to create change and move forward.

Just leave them to it.

It’s as though the whole country’s out of step, Karen had concluded.

Anita Kollbar opens the door before Karen has even made it to the top of the stone front steps.

‘Welcome,’ she says. ‘I set out some sandwich things; it’s lunchtime after all and I figured you might not have had time to eat. Would you like some tea or coffee?’

‘Tea, please,’ Karen responds quickly.

Granted, she hasn’t felt sick since this morning, but the mere thought of the smell of coffee makes her stomach lurch.

She studies the woman who is now slowly, and extremely gingerly, walking ahead of her towards the kitchen, and marvels at her thoughtfulness, given what happened to her. The injuries Anita Kollbar sustained should, according to the doctor’s report, have only a limited impact on her future life, physically as well as mentally.