Karen hears Karl’s pen rasp against the notepad.

‘The Church of the Covenant youth camp,’ Karen repeats. ‘And where is that?’

‘Well, it doesn’t exist anymore.’

‘What do you mean it doesn’t exist?’

‘The Church of the Covenant. It was dissolved some years ago, and the congregation was scattered to the four winds, had to join other churches. Some of us—’

‘The youth camp,’ Karen breaks in as calmly and gently as she is able.

‘Well, the parents were allowed to visit one day every summer. No more than that, because it was important that the children weren’t disturbed.’

‘Are you saying Billy attended this camp?’

‘Yes. Three or four summers, I think, and once in the spring, too. That was the last time. There were people there then that were supposed to help him get over his . . . well, there were a few other boys, too, who needed . . . correcting.’

‘Correcting?’

‘Yes, that’s how they put it. Personally, I thought their methods were maybe a bit . . . But then it was shut down anyway when the Church was dissolved. It was in the papers and everything . . .’

Karen tries not to let the many unfinished sentences throw her off.

‘And you believe the pictures might have been taken at this camp?’

‘At least, it’s the same wallpaper. Brash, you know, the kind that was popular in the seventies. I remember thinking it was odd that the Church of the Covenant hadn’t changed them. They didn’t really go with our, you know . . . But it would have been expensive to install new wallpaper, I suppose, because it was a big place, a lot of houses . . .’

‘And where exactly was this camp?’

Karl has picked up his own phone now and is waiting, ready to go.

‘Somewhere on Frisel. Near the marshes, I think. I don’t remember what it was called, it was so long ago, and Yngve did the driving, of course, so I didn’t give much thought to exactly where we—’

‘And what happened to the camp?’ Karen interrupts. ‘Do you know who runs it now?’

This time she’s unable to completely hide her impatience, and Idun Formby’s tone mirrors her own when she replies.

‘I have no idea,’ she says curtly. ‘But the houses are still there, I assume. If that is where the pictures were, in fact, taken.’

‘How sure are you?’ Karen says. ‘That you’re remembering it right, I mean.’

‘Well, I don’t know, I can’t be completely sure, of course, but . . .’

Idun Formby trails off yet again. Then they hear her take a deep breath.

‘No,’ she says in a steady voice. ‘I remember what that place looked like.’

And as if her sudden certainty has made her feel uncomfortable, she adds:

‘But I don’t know which of all those houses, there must have been at least twenty . . . That’s all I know.’