“What does that have to do with this?”

“I know it sounds a little nuts,” she said, “but as your colleagues told you on the phone, I think Anna Kiel was in my apartment today.”

Schäfer rubbed his chin with two fingers as he looked at her. Even though his regular morning routine included a thorough shave, his stubble was already visible by this time of day, and the scratching sound was audible.

“I’ve gotta say that I find that highly unlikely.” He had been aiming for empathetic, but the words that came out of his mouth had more of a patronizing sound to them.

“But likely enough that you sent a forensics guy over here as soon as you received the call. Surely it’s not standard procedure to start dusting for fingerprints so quickly after an illegal entry. Especially when nothing was missing.”

Schäfer shrugged and gave her a look that said Touché. “But then again, you’re not talking about any old random person here, and I thought it’d be better to be on the safe side,” he said. “But why in the world would Anna Kiel break into your apartment?”

“I don’t know, but she was here today, and she took a picture from my balcony and posted it on Instagram. Check out the username!” Heloise Kaldan held her phone up to Schäfer, who took it and looked at the picture.

He stood up and walked over to the doorway into the living room.

“And this couldn’t be an old photo of yours that someone just copied?” He looked alternately down at the phone and over at the balcony.

“No, I’ve never seen this picture before.”

Schäfer clicked on the profile of the person who had uploaded the picture. There was only the one post. No other pictures or any information about the user besides the profile name. Zero followers, zero following.

“You wouldn’t believe how much harassment takes place through social media these days,” he said. “Have you had anyone over to your place who might have taken the picture and who’s just messing with you? It could easily be a photo one of your friends took last week or even last year.”

“No. The only friends who ever come here to the apartment are people I trust.”

“What about a romantic interest, perhaps? Or a bitter ex-boyfriend trying to scare you.”

“No, I can’t imagine that.” An uncertainty crept into Heloise’s voice.

“You’re a reporter, right?” Schäfer asked, glancing at her.

“Yes, I work for Demokratisk Dagblad.”

“Yeah, I thought I had seen your name in the paper. You’re a pretty good writer.”

“Thanks,” she said with a shrug.

“Those papers over there.” Schäfer nodded at the stack on the coffee table in the living room. “Are you working on a story about Mossing? Is that why you’re seeing ghosts?”