Jenny hesitated. She could see the weed smoke billowing out into the stairwell. The last thing she wanted was to invite a policeman into her inner sanctum. Apparently she hesitated for too long, because he began to explain.

“It’s about Oscar Dreyer-Hoff, your nephew. As you probably know, he has been missing since Friday.”

“Have you found him?” Her voice sounded shrill even to her, but she couldn’t control it.

“Unfortunately not. There’s no news.”

Jenny steeled herself, took a step back, and opened the door. “Come in!”

The policeman entered the atelier, stopped a few feet inside the door, and looked around. Jenny saw the mess and dust through his eyes; the blacked-out windows, and the generally shabby condition of the place.

“Let me just air the place out a little.” She scooted around him and opened the window to the courtyard, letting the light stream in and the smoke out. She smiled apologetically. “It’s good for the creativity.”

He nodded politely and refrained from commenting, then pointed to her old armchair.

“Do you mind if I sit down?”

“Oh, please do. Can I offer you something? Instant coffee?”

“No, thank you.”

He took a notebook out of his pocket. Casually brought his ankle up to rest on his other knee, and used his calf as a table of sorts as he thumbed through the pages. It made him look elegant, almost like a French intellectual, and quite handsome in a way. It was something to do with his sensitive eyes and the way he turned the pages. Maybe she was just a little stoned.

“I understand from your sister, Malin, that you don’t know where Oscar is, either. I presume that hasn’t changed?”

“The whole family is falling apart,” Jenny said, shaking her head. “It’s so awful.”

“Of course. We’re still searching high and low for him.” He clicked his ballpoint pen ready. “The reason I’ve come is that Oscar’s teacher, Malthe Sæther, was found dead yesterday morning.”

“Dead?” She felt the floor disappear underneath her.

“Murdered, I’m afraid. Did you know him?”

She released the breath she had been holding for the last many seconds.

“No, I don’t know any of Oscar’s teachers.”

“Has Oscar told you anything about his Danish teacher? He and Mr. Sæther seemed to be close.”

“I can’t remember having ever heard that name.” Jenny looked down at her hands.

The policeman turned the page even though he hadn’t written anything yet.

“Are you close in your family?”

She tried to focus on the question, but her mouth was so dry it was hard to speak.