“You’re impossible, you know that?” She nudged him affectionately. “It expired several months ago, and if we’re going to visit my mom in October, you need to get that taken care of now. Otherwise we’re not going anywhere. Or rather, you won’t be going.”

Erik Schäfer’s mother-in-law—a mountain of a woman, full of love and joie de vivre—was turning seventy-five, and the whole family was going to gather at Jalousie Beach on Saint Lucia for her birthday. He and Connie did their best to visit Connie’s hometown at least once a year, and every time they were there, Schäfer secretly started planning for his retirement, which was still a good ten to fifteen years away. It was the only place he had ever really been able to unplug. Or, to be more precise, it was where he happily poured gasoline over whatever the plug was supplying power to and burned that shit to the ground.

“I’ll do it today, honey, I promise,” he said.

“Thanks, baby.”

He started toasting bagels and put plates, Gruyère, and honey out on the table while humming an old Dire Straits tune.

He sat down as his cell phone rang in his pocket.

“Y’ello?” he said, pressing the phone to his left ear with his shoulder as he began buttering a bagel for his breakfast.

“Good morning. I’m calling from Forensics,” a woman’s voice said.

“Well, hello. Top of the morning to you,” Schäfer said with exaggerated cheerfulness, glancing at the clock on the wall over the stove. It was 8:17. “You’re certainly up and at it early this morning.”

“You said it was urgent.”

“Yeah, well, I say that all the time, and it rarely makes a difference with you guys.”

If the woman took offense at his comment, she didn’t let it show. Instead she got down to business. “We ran the tests you requested.”

“And?”

“And there were no hits for Anna Kiel among the fingerprints that were lifted from the apartment on Olfert Fischers Gade.”

“Damn it.” Schäfer made a fist.

Connie came over and kissed him on the back of the head, communicating with a gesture that she was going to take a quick shower. He winked at her and put his hand on her left buttock and gave it a gentle squeeze.

The woman on the phone continued, “So there’s no evidence to suggest she was in the apartment. On the other hand, the results are back from Forensic Genetics, and the DNA in the secretion in the envelopes’ glue is a match.”

“With Anna Kiel?”

“Yes.”

“On both envelopes?”

“Yes.”

Schäfer chuckled in satisfaction.

“That’s good news.” He took a bite of his bagel. “Okay, so we have a DNA match but nothing from the fingerprints,” he summarized, smacking his lips and breathing heavily through his nose.

“Both yes and no.”

“I’m sorry?”