“It was folded in the middle and it had To M and H written on the outside. Plus it is typed. See!”

Jeppe turned the paper over and showed it to Anette. She pulled down her sleeve to cover her fingers, just as he had done, took it, and carefully examined the words.

“Could it be”—Malin took a shallow breath—“a ransom demand? It’s about killing.”

“It seems to be some kind of a quote.” Anette looked at Jeppe and knew he was thinking the same thing. Most kidnappers’ messages were concrete, not descriptive and lyrical. “Who’s Basil Hallward?”

“No idea,” Malin replied quickly. “We’ve never heard the name before.”

Anette detected a dismissive note to her voice, as if she thought the police were asking the wrong questions.

“We’ve received threats before, maybe two years ago? We notified the police. You must have a record of it.”

Anette nodded.

“Did those letters resemble this one?”

Malin hesitated and then said, “As far as I remember they were all different, some of them written by hand, others on a computer. But all brief.”

“Do you still have them?”

“No.” Henrik interrupted before his wife had a chance to answer. “The point is that someone has it out for our family. And now they’ve taken Oscar!”

On the last sentence his voice wavered. He lowered his head, and his shoulders began to tremble. Malin put a hand on his leg and patted him impatiently. To Anette the gesture didn’t seem very affectionate.

“Did the police find out who sent the letters back then?” Jeppe asked.

“No.”

“Okay, we’ll find the report and take a look at it. Our forensics experts will investigate this letter for potential clues, and then we’ll compare it to the earlier ones if we have copies of them on file.”

While Jeppe explained, Anette took pictures of the letter with her cell phone, then got up to find her bag and pulled out a brown envelope, slid in the letter, and sealed it. She noticed that Henrik had lifted his head and put his arm around his wife again.

“Were there any signs of forced entry?” she asked.

“We have an alarm, but it wasn’t triggered,” Henrik answered, shaking his head. “But that’s not so surprising, is it? They probably rang the bell, and Oscar let the kidnappers in.”

“When was the last time he was seen and by whom?” Jeppe turned a page in his notebook.

“When he finished school at two forty-five yesterday afternoon,” Malin responded. “He goes to Zahles School, a private high school near Nørreport subway station. Iben told us that they waved goodbye to each other in front of the school and that Oscar then walked home.”

“When did the rest of you get home?”