The words just pour out of her while she replays a memory of a pale and nauseated Eleanor Eiken asking her daughter to fetch her pills from the bathroom.

What the fuck were they called? Pap . . . something . . .

‘You’ve never mentioned this before.’

Karl still sounds suspicious, so she lays it on thicker.

‘Well, it’s pretty recent. At least this level of it. I used to just get a stomach ache after eating sometimes and didn’t know why. But it has been getting worse so when I was in for my JRFT, I asked the doctor.’

‘So, gallstones. And you’re sure?’

‘Well, either that or bile duct stones. I have a referral to find out which, but the doctor seemed pretty sure. Especially since Mum has had the same thing.’

She realises she’s talking slightly too fast now, slightly too much, so she stops. Pushes down any thought of what the eventual consequences will be. This is how she lives her life: minute to minute, one day at a time, she gets by with half-truths and outright lies. Skipping from one to the next as though they were ice floes, always conscious of the fact that they won’t hold for much longer.

‘Why didn’t you say so yesterday when I sent you home?’ Karl wants to know.

‘I wasn’t sure if it was that or something else, too. But I’m taking the pills I was prescribed now and feel much better. Papaverine,’ she adds.

Nailed it.

‘OK, well, that all sounds fine, I guess. But are you sure you feel well enough to come in tomorrow?’

‘Absolutely. Look, my stomach hurts and I might feel sick, but it’s neither dangerous nor contagious, so I can definitely do the interview tomorrow. What time do you want me there?’

The feeling of scoring yet another professional victory lasts for exactly thirty seconds after they hang up. Then reality catches up and knocks the air out of her. With a whimper, she leans over the coffee table and puts her head on her arms.

What the fuck am I doing?

The sound of his voice makes her realise Leo didn’t storm off to the annex, he just went out for a cigarette. And came back in without her noticing. And now, he’s standing in the doorway, looking at her, and he probably heard her entire conversation with Karl.

Without lifting her head up, she registers that he sounds more genuinely taken aback than angry.

‘What the fuck are you doing, Karen?’

Chapter 29

29

‘What the fuck are you people doing?’

This time, the question is warranted. Everyone knows it and stares mutely at the floor. Even Head of Police Viggo Haugen looks uncomfortable, bordering on scared, when Prosecutor Dineke Vegen slams her hand down on the table. Women who use swear words is one of his pet peeves. Especially when hierarchical realities prevent him from objecting.