After seeing Billy’s car on the news, she had immediately connected to the police intranet. Skimmed the report, read sections aloud to Leo.

One-car accident, driver seriously injured, taken to Thysted.

William Hadar Kristofer Formby, born 23.04.1994. Family informed by Station Sergeant Berglund.

‘I hope there’s someone other than his parents. I doubt they’ll be rushing to the hospital,’ Leo had said.

‘Really? Why?’

‘They don’t accept that he’s gay; evangelical as fuck. Apparently kicked him out the moment he came out of the closet.’

That had made Karen remember a comment Kore had made about Billy Formby leaving home early and turning up in the clubs in Dunker long before he was of age. What else had she managed to pick up about the platinum-blond, stick-thin young man with the sooty eyelids and painted nails? Hadn’t he told her he’d dreamed of being a flight attendant but had worked in cafés and restaurants both on land and onboard the ferries instead? Something about back problems, unless she misremembered. And hadn’t it been Eirik who suggested KGB hire him as their receptionist and general fixer? A successful hire, Kore had told her; Billy had turned out to both reliable and engaged and had eventually seemed like the natural choice when Luna was coming to town for a few weeks and needed an assistant.

But in his parents’ eyes, he wasn’t good enough.

No, Leo’s not who’s keeping her from sleeping. It’s Billy.

She slowly leans over, reaches out, and holds her hand over Leo’s back, feels the heat of the magnetic field between them. Wrestles with the urge to wake him.

It’s only five, let him sleep.

Instead, she slips out of bed and tiptoes into the bathroom.

With her wet hair dripping down her back, she walks down to the kitchen, quickly wolfs down a sandwich and knocks back a glass of orange juice standing by the kitchen counter. Then she gets into her car.

How is it possible? Karen Eiken Hornby wonders to herself a couple of hours later as she slams the phone down with a bang that makes everyone else in the office turn.

‘They were very clear,’ Johannes Berglund had told her. ‘I spoke to the father on the phone myself and told him what had happened. Stressed that he is in critical condition and that they should hurry. But according to him, Billy Formby is no longer their son.’

‘Heartless fucking arseholes,’ Karen mutters and leans back in her chair.

‘Well, in fairness, that’s not where most of us keep our hearts,’ Evald Johannisen’s dry voice says behind her. ‘So, what was that about?’

‘The guy who drove his car into the side of the mountain yesterday, Billy Formby. He’s in critical condition at Thysted and his parents refuse to go see him because he’s gay.’

‘Crikey.’