But she has not gone running. And it’s not muscle strength they’re going to be testing on Friday; she’s going to be forced to sit on a stationary bike with electrodes stuck to her sweaty body.

They can’t put me on desk duty, can they? she wonders. They know why I haven’t been able to do proper cardio since last autumn. First my knee and then snow and slippery roads . . . An image of the stationary bike gathering dust in her basement flashes before her eyes and she quickly thinks about something else. Allows her mind to brush against the thought of the free mammogram the Doggerland Police Authority now offers all its female employees and which she, for the first time, as decided to take up. She’s going to pull her head out of the sand and endure the damn breast press. That barely noticeable tightness she’d felt in her breast in the shower the other week . . . something hard, elusive. Something she hadn’t felt there before.

No point thinking about it right now. Think about the firearms test instead. At least she’s not worried about that.

She lets her anxiety out in small chunks, jumping quickly from one worry to the next so none can fester. The roof that needs to be replaced, the latest poll ahead of the parliamentary election in the autumn, the goddamn mammography, yet another school shooting in the US, yet another terrorist attack in France.

Her reflection in the mirror this morning.

Instead of swiftly working through her morning routine, she’d stood there, toothbrush in hand, staring at the pasty face in front of her. A grimace had revealed that her crow’s feet had deepened since the last time she paid them any attention, and something along her jawline seemed to have given up. And she knows meeting Luna the day before was what had caused the sudden wave of self-doubt. That ethereal, white-clad creature who had everyone wrapped around her finger.

Everyone except a grumpy detective inspector from Langevik.

And then the fight with Leo. Had it even been a fight? He’d followed her out to her car. Tried to talk her into staying. Wondered why she was in such a mood.

‘Why can’t she shake hands like a normal person?’ Karen had snapped.

‘She never does,’ Leo had replied, adding: ‘A lot of singers are concerned about germs. Besides, apparently she converted to Buddhism a few years ago.’

She doesn’t seem particularly concerned about germs when she’s climbing all over you, though, does she? Karen had thought, but thankfully she had kept her mouth shut. Had just watched Leo put the new keys in his pocket and thought that it would probably be a good long while before he had any use for them.