‘He’s my next call. Then I’ll call Smeed and ask him to set up a meeting with Dineke Vegen tomorrow morning. Or do you want to tell him yourself? The New Builds’ connection was entirely your idea, after all. Besides, you were the one who found Gundar Freske.’

‘Thanks, I’d as soon not talk to him this late at night. Probably wouldn’t help me sleep. But I do want us to keep an eye on Freske until the prosecutor gives us permission to pick him up.’

‘Of course. I’ll put a car outside the building tonight, so that son of a bitch doesn’t get any fancy ideas. One out back, too, just to be on the safe side.’

Then he had hesitated briefly.

‘How are things otherwise?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, what did the doctor say? You had an appointment yesterday. No new gallstones jumping around? Or maybe something else . . . ?’

This time, she had been the one to hesitate.

I’m going to have to tell him sooner or later.

‘Let’s talk about it some other time,’ she’d finally said.

‘Yes, let’s do that, Karen. I’ll text you when we’re meeting tomorrow.’

After hanging up, she had just sat there, phone in hand, brow furrowed.

*

Now, stretched out on the sofa with one leg flung over the back, the thoughts return. Can it really be possible? That Karl’s a good detective and more friend than colleague is one thing. But for him to have figured out what’s going on with her is something else entirely.

Besides, if he didn’t buy her story about gallstones, shouldn’t he be worrying about it being something really serious? But there hadn’t been a trace of worry in Karl’s voice. Just something . . . insinuating, a hint of mockery, as though he wanted her to know she couldn’t expect to pull the wool over his eyes that easily.

Well, as the father of three, that’s probably true, she quickly realises. Maybe a woman throwing up in the morning stirs up certain memories. Her age probably wouldn’t have Karl dismiss the idea out of hand, either; his wife Ingrid must have been well over forty when their latest was born.

Sooner or later I’m going to have to tell both him and Smeed, she thinks and reaches for her cup of tea. But not today.

The clatter of plates and the rush of running water has stopped. She can hear Sigrid talking on the phone with someone. Karen strains her ears to listen but only catches the occasional word. Her voice sounds different than when she was bantering with Leo, more grown-up, but at the same time soft and yielding. Must be Keris, Karen muses and her theory is confirmed when the door to the kitchen is slowly pushed shut.