He gestures towards the big open space that occupies one full section of the L-shaped building. The red-brick walls look original, but thick, springy, black vinyl covers the concrete floor. Someone must have mopped it after the party, Karen muses, noting the sheen. At the other end of the space she can just about make out the stage running the length of the back wall and the bar underneath the tall windows on the left. From earlier visits, she knows the other half of the building houses the actual recording studio and a few soundproofed rooms.

‘Here, preferably,’ she says.

She’s over the worst of it. It’s not like a few months ago, when she couldn’t handle closed doors or windows. The memory of being trapped underground with no hope of surviving has slowly but surely loosened its grip on her. But she still feels uneasy and has no desire to shut herself into one of the small, padded cells for hours on end.

‘Why don’t we go over there,’ she says and starts moving towards one of the big sofas.

Two men are sitting at the other end of the room. One has a stack of papers on his lap and the other is talking so animatedly he hasn’t noticed them coming in. Karen vaguely recognises the one with the papers as one of the people at the party. She raises her hand in greeting and gets a nod back before she sits down. The other one quickly turns around and says something she can’t make out; clearly the room is big enough for her conversations to be private.

‘What can I get you? A beer?’

Karen raises her eyebrows and looks at Kore.

‘I’m not here to have fun.’

‘OK, coffee then?’

‘No thanks, but I’d love a cup of tea, if you have one.’

‘Tea?’ he says with surprise. ‘Sure, I’ll check with Billy or Jenny and see what they can scrounge up. I assume Luna left some,’ he adds absently, as though his mind has already moved on.

‘Thank you,’ she says, already regretting her request at the prospect of what will almost certainly be a cup of bland herbal tea. ‘Is that the list of everyone who was here on Saturday?’

She nods at a folded sheet of paper in Kore’s hand.

Kore, who now seems absorbed by his phone, looks up. Stressed, she muses, and no wonder.

‘What? Oh, right. Yes, this is everyone who was at the recording sessions plus a few others who came to the party. I’ve double-checked with both Gordon and Brynn.’

She takes the list from him and skims the names.

Kore Traavad, producer

Brynn Englund, CEO, project owner

Gordon Englund, technician

Leo Friis, guitar

Brian Tiel, guitar

Jan Hoeg, bass

Ruth McNaughton, percussion

Harald Jenssen, keyboards

Dee-Dee Griffon, vocals

Billy Formby, personal assistant

Jenny Englund, reception

Eirik From