‘I will not have you come into my house in the middle of the night and then have the gall to—’

‘Which part of what we’re telling you don’t you understand?’ Karen cuts him off. ‘A woman is being held prisoner and you’re showing absolutely no interest in even trying to save her before it’s too late. How about some Christian charity? Or maybe you have something to hide?’

They stare at each other. Three seconds. Four.

Then Yngve Formby slowly takes his hand from the stack of printed photographs.

‘Do as they say, Idun. Have a look at the pictures and then tell them we know nothing about this.’

Idun Formby tentatively reaches out and pulls the photographs closer. Turns them over, leans forward and studies the top one. She mechanically picks up each picture in turn, then puts it aside. Her bowed head makes it impossible to gauge her reactions. What she can’t hide is the trembling of her hands; the one holding the pictures and the other that has closed tightly around the cross around her neck.

Then she shakes her head.

‘I don’t know,’ she says with a quick, sidelong glance at her husband.

‘What do you mean?’ Karen urges her on. ‘Do you have some idea of where the pictures might have been taken, but you’re not sure? Tell us what you’re thinking, anything might be of help to us.’

Idun Formby opens her mouth to say something but then closes it again. Her eyes dart indecisively between Karen, Karl, and her husband, who is sitting stiff-backed next to her without meeting her eyes. Then she bows her head again and says in a quiet but steady voice,

‘No, I don’t know where she is. That’s what I meant.’

Chapter 55

55

‘Well, what the hell did you want us to do? Search their house without a warrant? The prosecutor on duty said no, as you’re well aware, and Vegen would have done the same if she had been at work. The Formbys are not under any kind of suspicion. Being an arsehole isn’t a crime, sadly.’

Karen says nothing. Karl’s right.

Nor will it do any good to continue to curse the fact that the people who identify as religious are always the ones who feel the greatest need to change God’s creation. Be it women or homosexuals or whatever else chafes against their pompous world view.

And yet, she can’t keep her mouth shut.

‘How the fuck can you say God created human beings and at the same time feel certain mistakes were made that it’s up to them to fix? Appointing themselves both judge and executioner. That, if anything, must be blasphemy, no?’

‘I didn’t think you were religious.’

‘I’m just saying, if there’s a God, she’s probably pretty fucking pissed off by now.’

*