“She had trouble walking. Maybe she tripped? Eight hours after I talked to her about Malthe, she dies. Yet another damned coincidence, more unfortunate circumstances.”

The elevator doors opened, and light from the Dreyer-Hoff family’s apartment poured into it. Henrik was waiting for them with his arms outstretched. Anette tried to reach for his hand, but found herself yet again enduring a hug from the grateful father. He rested his chin on her shoulder and closed his eyes, much too close and too intimate. After a few seconds he gave her a manly pat on the back, released his grasp, and held her at arm’s length, his hands on her shoulders.

“I hope your employer appreciates you. In my eyes you deserve a distinguished service medal.”

“Thank you.” Anette nodded awkwardly. “We’re all happy that Oscar is safe.”

He held on to her for another agonizing moment, then let her go.

“Can I offer you a cup of coffee? We brought the kids home and are letting them enjoy one last day off from school. They’re just having breakfast.”

Victor and Essie were sitting at the kitchen counter, each with a plate of scrambled eggs and toast. The sun had come out and was shining on the water down below, letting dappled light dance across the walls of the apartment and onto their faces.

Anette smiled at them.

“Hi, guys. Does it feel good to be back home?” she asked.

“It’s okay.” Victor shrugged, and Essie nodded shyly.

Henrik affectionately took hold of the back of his son’s neck and said, “Vic, why don’t you guys take your food into the living room and put on a movie? And I’ll talk to the police in the meantime.”

“Okay, Dad.”

The kids got up and carried their plates in the direction of the pink sofa at the other end of the apartment. Henrik leaned against the kitchen counter.

“Tell me, is Oscar considered a suspect in his teacher’s murder?” he asked casually, as if the topic were quite harmless. He appeared to have forgotten about the coffee.

Jeppe sat down on a barstool and laid his hands on the counter in front of him, opening them like a poker player with nothing to hide.

“What makes you ask?” Jeppe said.

“Well, you yourselves were the ones who just found him half-dead of hunger and thirst on a deserted island. Oscar’s the victim here, not the culprit.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.” Henrik crossed his arms in front of his chest. “The fact that someone killed that poor teacher doesn’t have anything to do with my son.”

A tense note had crept into his voice. Anette could see that he was working hard not to get riled up.