“All right. The last known contact with Malthe Sæther is still the phone call with his girlfriend, Josephine, at five p.m. on Friday,” Jeppe began with an inward sigh. “As far as we know, he was at home at that time, and he told her that one of his students was having trouble and needed his help. It could be the same student the choral director mentioned, the one who was involved in online bullying. And let me add that the same choral director doesn’t have any alibi for the time when the killing occurred.”

“But hardly even a shadow of a motive, either,” Anette interjected. “So where did Malthe go after the phone call with his girlfriend? We know he was killed sometime during a four-hour window starting at ten p.m. Friday and that he then probably lay in a trash can until he turned up in the silo on Monday morning. His phone is gone, but the information we received from the phone company shows no calls or text messages after the call with his girlfriend. The last registered contact with his cell phone took place at 7:08 p.m. and was picked up by an LTE mast on Bartholinsgade. That may indicate that he was heading northeast. So we just need to locate all the students he had who live northeast of his apartment on Vendersgade.”

“We know that he was going to meet someone connected to one of his students,” Jeppe said. “That doesn’t necessarily mean he was meeting the student. It could have been a family member.”

Larsen raised his index finger, unintentionally making himself look like a Baptist minister.

“Isn’t it still most likely that Malthe Sæther met with Oscar, who for some reason strangled his teacher, threw him in the trash, and then ran off to Fort Prøvestenen? The murder coinciding with Oscar’s disappearance can’t just be random, can it?”

“Amen!” Anette said.

“But why?” Jeppe argued. “And spare me the usual ‘he’s crazy’ logic. We all know it takes a motive to murder someone.”

Anette waved her hand dismissively.

“They could have been lovers or had some other kind of relationship that couldn’t stand the light of day. There are a lot of possibilities. We just have to be patient and ask Oscar when he’s healthy enough to be questioned.”

Patient? Jeppe didn’t have any patience left. Not for comatose suspects, teachers wearing makeup, or withdrawn teenage girls.

He got up and went over to the window to cool off. It didn’t work.

“Damn it, surely one of you must have something we can use!”

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Anette asked, her chair creaking. “Can we agree that I just singlehandedly found our main suspect in a fucking sea fortress?! What have you achieved in the last day or so?”

“This isn’t a pissing contest, Werner. Relax!”

“You relax!”

Larsen cleared his throat.