‘According to Torkelssen, she was extremely chatty, so he had a hard time separating the wheat from the chaff. Probably lonely and happy to have someone to talk to. Told him she was waiting for a glaucoma surgery and that she had contracted another UTI, and that it wouldn’t kill her daughter to stop by a bit more often if she’s so worried about her. Astrid and Cornelis are going over there first thing tomorrow to dig a bit deeper into what the old lady did or didn’t see.’

‘Urinary tract infections can make old people confused,’ Karen replies sceptically. ‘And glaucoma on top of that . . .’

‘I’m so glad you were able to stop by and raise my spirits,’ Karl says and starts walking towards the door. ‘Well, it’s time for me to head home. Ingrid was clear about that.’

Karen smiles. Karl’s wife, Ingrid Björken, has endured a few trying years. Their first child turned out to be twin boys and were followed less than two years later by a welcome but unplanned girl, and the parental leave Karl had promised to go on kept being postponed. But for now, the threat of divorce seems to have been retracted. On certain conditions.

‘Go, go,’ she says. ‘I’m just going to check my inbox and then I’m heading home, too, to see if this day will ever end.’

*

The email from the Head of Forensic Services, Sören Larsen, is succinct.

New information about the phone you asked me to check.

Call me! Sören

She does just that. He answers after four rings with the words:

‘Took you long enough. Don’t you check your emails?’

‘I had my JRFT today.’

‘Crikey. So you’re beat?’

‘Not at all! What’s the news? I thought you said the phone was in England. I didn’t realise you were planning to keep track of it.’

‘I wasn’t. We dropped it the minute you told us we could. But for some reason one of my guys didn’t hear, so he kept an eye on it and he found something. I figured you might want to—’

‘What? What did he find?’ Karen snaps.

‘Wow, you sound pissy. Starting to regret sending that email.’

‘Sorry, Sören. Long day, you know.’

‘Sure, anyway, the masts in Ravenby picked up the signal again. Two nights ago, to be specific.’

Karen squeezes her eyes shut. Hard. Rubs her wrists against her temples, trying to get things straight in her mind.

‘What are you saying? It’s back in the country?’

‘Seems like it.’

‘And since then? Has it moved again?’

‘Dead as a doornail. I checked myself.’

‘Right, OK, well, good, now I know. Thanks, Sören, and I’m sorry I sounded pissy.’

‘Don’t worry about it, I’ve grown used to it over the years. So, do you want us to keep pinging it?’