‘What are you talking about? Why would I want that?’ she says, reaching out for Sigrid, who backs away.

‘You’re having a real kid. You don’t have to play house with me and Leo anymore.’

‘But, sweetheart . . .’

The words bounce off Sigrid’s back as she turns around and disappears into the hallway. Karen is still standing in the middle of the kitchen, stunned, when the front door slams shut.

Just then, her phone rings.

She doesn’t realise she has picked up and said a confused ‘Yes, hello’, until she hears the voice on the other end.

‘Is this Detective Inspector Karen Eiken Hornby?’

The woman on the other end sounds as though she’s consulting a business card when she pronounces her name and title.

‘Yes, this is she.’

A short hesitation, then a deep breath.

‘This is Greta Hansen. We spoke on the phone yesterday. I don’t know if you remember?’

‘Of course I do. Hi, Greta.’

She grabs the kitchen counter. Holds onto it hard.

‘Did you remember something new?’ she says, forcing herself to stay calm.

‘I think so. But . . .’

Very carefully, as though the slightest sound might spook Greta Hansen, Karen lets go of the counter and sits down at the kitchen table.

‘Tell me,’ she says, rooting through her handbag on the floor for a pen and notebook.

‘Well, it was that picture you sent me. Of that man . . .’

Her voice fades away again, and Karen forces down her irritation. Any sign of impatience now could ruin everything.

‘Did you recognise him?’ she asks neutrally.

‘Not straight away. It was probably more the name. Or maybe the combination of the two. I’m not sure . . .’

Karen waits for her to go on.

‘Anyway, it did ring a vague bell. I thought about it all day at work, and I know I shouldn’t . . . I mean, we’re not allowed to look up patient records for no reason, but . . . well, in the end, I did look him up. And it was him. I remember him now.’

‘I’m not sure I follow, Greta. Are you telling me you’ve met Gundar Freske?’

‘Yes, at the hospital. He came in with his mother. She’s in a wheelchair, I remember that. Or was, I should say; I saw in her file that she died a few weeks later. In hindsight, I do understand why he was so angry . . .’

‘What happened, Greta? Start from the beginning, please. And try to be as detailed as you can.’

Apparently, something about Karen’s tone makes Greta Hansen focus and snap into her healthcare assistant persona. In a professional, steady voice, she tells her about 22 June last year, a Saturday, when Gundar Freske and his mother came into the Thysted A & E.

And were not helped.