There was a loud tss as he popped the top of the can open.

Heloise hesitated for a moment. Then she said, “I’m here because I’m writing a story about Anna Kiel.”

Vallø nodded. His facial expression didn’t change. He still seemed open and accommodating.

Heloise squinted and regarded him skeptically.

“Why do I get the sense that that doesn’t surprise you?”

“Probably because you’re right: it doesn’t surprise me. Any journalist worth a damn would be interested in Anna’s story.”

“But you knew that I would contact you?”

“Well, I’m definitely not surprised.”

“Why not?”

“I just told you.”

“Yes, any journalist worth a damn, you said. But now I’m asking you: did you know that I was going to contact you?”

He took a drink of his beer and wiped the foam from his mouth with the back of his hand before setting the can down again.

“No, but I figured you might.”

“Why?”

“Because she wants to talk to you.”

“Anna?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know that?”

He smiled but didn’t respond.

“Why me?” Heloise asked.

“I can’t answer that.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

Kenneth chuckled. “Does that really matter?”

Heloise set her utensils down and pushed her plate away a little. “So, you were friends, you and Anna?”

“We’re still friends. Best friends.”

“You’re friends with a murderer?” Heloise raised one eyebrow.

“Anna’s not a murderer. She’s … misunderstood.”

“She’s a murderer.”

“Semantics.”

“No, it’s not a question of semantics. It’s not subject to interpretation, and it doesn’t matter what angle you look at it from. Anna Kiel murdered Christoffer Mossing in cold blood. She’s a murderer. Period.”

“I think you’ll see it differently one day.”

“Have you talked to the police?”

“Sure. Several times. Erik Schäfer—good man.”

“What did he ask you about?”

“About the nature of Anna’s and my relationship, about when I last saw her, if I had financed her getaway, that kind of thing.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“Did you finance her getaway?”

“Oh, please.” He smiled charitably. “Do you really think I would help a wanted murderer—wasn’t that what you called her?—to escape arrest?”

“Yes.”

He stifled a smile. “And do you really think I would tell anyone if that were the case?”

Heloise folded her hands in her lap. “So, you’re in contact with her?”

He didn’t say anything, just smiled a warm, subtle smile as he looked down at the lunch table, as if he were trying to decide what to choose from the bowls.

“Well, next time you talk to her, tell her that if she needs me, she should give me a call. I can’t take any more of these cryptic letters she’s been sending me. I assume you also know that she’s been sending me letters?”

He smiled. “Why do you say that?”

“What?”