Without asking if they can get them anything, Yngve and Idun Formby sit down at either end of a hard sofa. He first, she only after a quick glance at her husband.

Then Yngve Formby motions towards two chairs across from the sofa.

‘Please,’ he says.

When he leans back and his robe parts slightly, Karen realises he’s fully dressed underneath. At least, she can see both grey trousers and a white dress shirt. It makes sense, she thinks, he wouldn’t receive us in his pyjamas any more than his wife would; the robe is just there to let us know how inappropriate the hour is.

Yngve Formby confirms that theory.

‘So? What’s so important it can’t wait a few hours?’ he says with a hint of scorn in his voice.

Irritation sweeps away the last traces of her weariness and Karen opens her mouth to reply. But out of the corner of her eye, she sees Karl raise his hand as a reminder of their agreement, so she leans back in the uncomfortable chair while he instead leans forward and rests his forearms on his knees.

‘Yes, I really am sorry to have to drag the two of you out of bed in the middle of the night like this,’ he says. ‘But I’m afraid we do need to talk to you.’

Yngve Formby crosses his arms and legs.

‘If this is about William there’s really no point,’ he says. ‘We know he has been in an accident, and of course those things are never pleasant, but we have no contact with him. We’ve already made that clear to your colleague who called yesterday. Or the day before yesterday, I should say,’ he adds with an arch glance at his watch.

‘This isn’t about the car accident,’ Karl replies calmly. ‘At least, that’s not the main reason we’re here. I’m afraid it’s worse.’

A quick gasp is heard from the side of the sofa where Idun is sitting with her knees modestly pressed together.

‘Is he dead?’ she says and is rewarded with a stern look from her husband.

‘William is no longer part of this family,’ he says. ‘Not part of our life.’

The words sound as much as a reminder to his wife as a clarification for the police.

‘But he was,’ Karl says. ‘And that’s why we’re here. We believe that before the accident, Billy – William – kidnapped a woman who is now being held hostage at an unknown location.’

‘A woman?’

Yngve Formby’s voice suddenly loses its tone of cold hostility. His surprise seems considerable and genuine. And apparently the word ‘woman’ – not ‘kidnapped’ – is what now makes his querying eyes dart from his wife to Karl Björken and back several times.

‘Yes,’ Karl confirms. ‘And we have reason to think you know who this woman is.’

‘How would we kn—’