“If there’s anything I’ve learned over twenty-eight years of police work, it’s how to read people,” Schäfer said, as if he could read her too. “And they usually live down to my expectations.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that people rarely diverge from the stereotypes. The happy hooker, the honest politician, the gold medalist who doesn’t use performance-enhancing drugs? Forget about it. They don’t exist.”

“What about the objective journalist?”

“Objectivity doesn’t exist, particularly not among journalists,” Schäfer said, suppressing a grin. “For that, you are all—forgive me for saying this—too self-absorbed. Don’t get me wrong, I have no doubt that you believe that your pursuit of the truth is impartial. But when a murder suspect starts sending you personalized messages, it’s not her role in the case that interests you the most, it’s yours. And don’t tell me that you don’t get off on seeing your byline in the newspaper.”

“Is there something wrong with that?” Heloise crossed her arms.

“No, not in the least, but it is ego driven.”

“And when you throw a criminal behind bars, you do it exclusively for the sake of maintaining order in society? It doesn’t do anything for your ego?”

“Yeah, sure, it makes me feel like I’m a hell of a guy,” he nodded. “My point is really just that most of us meet the expectations other people have of us. And there’s a reason very few people trust journalists. You almost always have your own agendas.”

Heloise pushed the plate aside.

“Ellen Mossing didn’t seem to have any reservations,” she said, standing up. “Would you like another beer? Or a cup of coffee?”

Schäfer shook his head.

“Ellen Mossing?” he asked. “You talked to her?”

“Yes, today. I had just left her house when the picture appeared on Instagram.”

“Well, I’ll be damned!?” Schäfer said, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands behind his head. “I’m amazed she let you in. Johannes Mossing has been a complete nightmare to work with.”

“In what way?”

“In every way.”

“Well, he wasn’t particularly excited to see me either, I’ll tell you that much.”

“What did you and Mrs. Mossing talk about?”

“Not that much. We didn’t get very far in our conversation before Johannes Mossing came home and had the housekeeper show me out to my car.”

“That sounds more like him,” Schäfer said with a nod.

“Why hasn’t he been cooperative? That seems so odd. Surely he’s just as interested in getting his son’s killer convicted as you are, right?”

Schäfer didn’t answer the question. He pointed instead to the two letters on the table in front of him. “Do you have a couple of freezer bags I could put these in?”