Smelly, Anita Kollbar had called it. An understatement, Karen thinks as the reek of stale cigarette smoke hits her nostrils. Other than that, the flat looks surprisingly tidy, she notes with a glance into the kitchen with its gleaming counter. They follow Freske’s arduous progress into the living room. It, too, looks clean and tidy, aside from the overflowing ashtray on the coffee table and the smell, which is even stronger in here.

She notes a sagging armchair where a deep dent in the seat cushion reveals exactly where Freske’s behind is normally planted, and instead takes a seat on the edge of the sofa. Karl remains standing with his back to the huge TV enthroned on a low media unit across from the armchair. They have agreed that she will lead the conversation while he observes.

Freske has rolled right up to the coffee table and now reaches out for the pack of cigarettes sitting on it. When he can’t reach it, Karen leans forward and pushes it closer, but she leaves the ashtray where it is.

‘Looks tough,’ she says and gestures towards the wheelchair. ‘Have you been in it long?’

‘Why?’

‘It looks a bit small to me. Maybe you ought to switch to a bigger size.’

Gundar Freske says nothing, but there’s a sudden flash of uncertainty in his eyes. Karen decides to change the topic. She pulls the corners of her mouth up into a smile.

‘Well, like I said, we’re sorry to have to bother you again. But we’re wondering if you could help us out with some information about one of the victims. Loa Marklund,’ she adds after a brief pause.

Freske takes a drag and shakes his head dismissively before exhaling.

‘I know nothing about her,’ he says. ‘Or the others. Like I already told you.’

‘But Loa lived right next door,’ Karen says and nods in the direction of the TV. ‘You were very close neighbours, after all. Are you really sure there’s nothing you can tell us?’

Silence.

‘Why she filed four complaints against you with New Builds, for instance. Cigarette smoking, unless I’m misinformed.’

‘Smoking’s allowed here.’

‘Of course, so long as it doesn’t bother the other residents. Like if you were to stand out on the balcony, say, puffing away.’

Karen looks towards the closed door. Through the glass, she can make out two wicker chairs and a small table with an ashtray on it.

‘Isn’t it hard for you to get out there? With such a high threshold, I mean. You could probably ask your landlord to remove it.’

‘I wasn’t the one who used to smoke out there, it was my mother. She’s gone now, as I’m sure you know.’

‘Yes, my condolences. Last July, right? What did she die of, your mother?’

‘COPD. Why?’

Karen hears Karl attempt to turn a snort of laughter into a clearing of the throat.