“Did Oscar see you and Victor together at the party? Was he a little in love with you?”

“Oscar and I are just friends. Anyway, it has nothing to do with Malthe’s death.”

Sara sensed that the blank look on Iben’s face was there to hide something.

“Oscar gave a presentation on plastic in the oceans at a subject-focus day at school two weeks ago. Do you remember it?”

“Of course.” Iben blinked. “He spoke at the opening. I painted one of the posters. Oscar’s really shy, so it was a huge struggle for him to speak in front of everyone. The parents were there, too.”

“Is it true that there was a debate after his presentation? Did someone criticize him?”

“Maybe.” Iben picked at her paddle.

“Can you remember who it was? Or what it was about?”

Iben shook her head. Sara resisted an impulse to shake the girl.

“Does Oscar attend meetings of the environmental group that you belong to?”

“He might have gone along once.” The girl blinked. A wariness lurked in the corner of her eyes.

“What about you?” Sara tried smiling. “How did you get interested in the climate crisis?”

Iben shrugged and tossed her paddle onto the table, yet again taking refuge behind an armor of unapproachability.

“I don’t feel like playing anymore. Can you find your own way out?”

“WHAT DO THE police think happened to Oscar?”

Kasper Skytte sounded as if he were trying to make the question seem casual. He was standing at the counter, pouring tea into two mugs. One of them was perilously close to the edge, but he obviously hadn’t noticed. The steam rose up around him and softened the smell of alcohol with notes of jasmine and chamomile.

Jeppe looked at his watch. It was a little past three in the afternoon, ostensibly only two hours since he had woken Kasper up, and yet the man was slurring his speech. He must have been drinking heavily to get this drunk so quickly.

They were standing in the Skytte family’s small kitchen, where the daylight never properly penetrated. The lights were on, but still the room was as gloomy as a winter night.

“I mean, do you think that he murdered his teacher?” Kasper put the mugs of tea on the little dining table and sat down.

“We’re still considering all possibilities.” Jeppe pulled his mug closer and turned it halfway around, so the chips on the lip were on the far side. There was old residue around the edge from something that looked like tannins, and he had to overcome his discomfort to be able to drink out of the mug. Being sensitive isn’t always convenient.

He flipped through to a blank page in his notebook and clicked his ballpoint pen.

“Yesterday morning at eight forty-five, Michael activated the dead-man button in the trash silo at ARC. Tell me what happened before that.”