“Oscar is a shy fifteen-year-old boy who thinks everything is a little difficult—school, growing up, the world in general. He took the boat out into the harbor to get away from it all. It was stupid and dramatic, and if it weren’t for your partner here, the consequences would have been fatal.” Henrik nodded appreciatively to Anette.

“Has Oscar told you that that’s what happened? Is he conscious?”

“He just woke up, and my wife says he’s doing fairly well. But he hasn’t yet told us what happened; we worked that out on our own.”

“So you don’t know for a fact that he wasn’t kidnapped?” Jeppe asked, giving Henrik a questioning look.

“No.”

“Well, it’ll be exciting to hear Oscar’s take on things. We’ll be heading over to the hospital soon to talk to him.”

Jeppe leaned forward on his elbows. Anette knew his body language well enough to see that he was shifting gears.

“Where were you Friday night?” he asked.

“Home,” Henrik replied. “Didn’t we already discuss that?”

“You didn’t just pop into work at some point?” Jeppe asked.

“No.”

His answer was prompt, but Anette noticed his gaze flicker.

“All right.” Jeppe sat up straight again. “I understand you were employed in a different line of work before you founded Nordhjem, working for a company that supplied industrial equipment. Is that right?”

“That was a long time ago,” Henrik said, looking genuinely surprised. “Must be, what, six years ago now, but that’s right.”

“What was your job title?”

“I was sales manager.”

Jeppe nodded the way he did when he was moving in sideways on his victim: his head slightly cocked, his eyes directed toward some point on the floor.

“Is it correct,” he continued, “that during that same period you were also personal adviser to Margit Smith… who became CEO of ARC six months ago?”

Henrik nodded distrustfully.

“I have great connections… in the business community, among politicians, and yes, I also know Margit.… I’m sorry, I don’t mean to make things difficult, but I really don’t understand where this is going.”

Jeppe’s shoulders came up slightly, and Anette knew that meant he was searching for a crack in the veneer. She thought this would be a good time to step away.

“I’m sorry, I’m just going to borrow your restroom…”

She walked down the long hallway, careful to keep her footsteps soft. Essie was sitting on the sofa alone with her plate on her lap, eyes glued to the flat-screen.

Anette cleared her throat.

The frail girl practically jumped in shock and put both hands on her chest.

“I’m sorry if I frightened you. I was just looking for the restroom. Where’s Victor?”

The girl looked down at a drop of butter that had spilled on the sofa’s pink silk.

“In his room. He didn’t want to watch TV.”