“A witness says Malthe Sæther rode his bicycle to Østerbro Friday night. The Dreyer-Hoff family lives in Østerbro. Does that mean he was going to meet Oscar?”

“Or maybe some other member of the family,” Larsen suggested without looking up from his screen.

“Who do you mean?”

“One sec. I just need to finish buying this.” Larsen got out a credit card and typed in his number. “I promised Mette I would buy a baby carrier from this organic baby store. It’s twenty-five percent off today.”

Jeppe sat down across from Larsen, wove his fingers together on the desk in front of him, and waited until he finally put his wallet away. An organic baby carrier?! Yet another of his colleagues about to be swallowed up into the self-important humdrum of baby life.

“It would explain a few things, wouldn’t it? If the father was involved in Malthe Sæther’s death.” Larsen flicked his hair out of his eyes. “His alibi is as waterproof as a sieve. It could easily be him.”

“But why?” Jeppe massaged the worry line between his eyebrows with his thumb. A shrill beep sounded in his right ear. “Let’s assume you’re right. Henrik tells his wife that he has something to take care of at work, but actually he drives somewhere and meets Malthe Sæther.”

“Maybe they actually meet at his office?!” Larsen interjected. “That’s in Østerbro, too.”

“Great, let’s say that. Henrik strangles him and throws him in the trash. What’s his motive?”

Larsen looked like a child who had just broken open a piñata.

“I think he killed him because of fraud!”

“Fraud?” Jeppe looked at him blankly.

“Yeah.” Larsen nodded. “I have a theory, or at least a hypothesis. It may seem a little complicated up front but give it a second. It’s really very simple. Are you ready?”

Jeppe nodded.

“I’ve been reviewing Nordhjem’s accounts from the last three years,” Larsen began. “To put it simply, the Dreyer-Hoff family is screwed. Since the scandal, the auction house has been veering toward bankruptcy. Henrik is raising money in all sorts of ways and dumping it into that sinking ship. Here’s an example.”

Larsen pulled a piece of paper from his monogrammed bag and placed it in front of Jeppe. It looked like an order form with three lines of technical-sounding equipment and a total price in the right-hand column that was in the seven digits.

“More baby gear?” Jeppe joked. “A bit on the pricey side, I’d say.”

Larsen ignored the teasing.

“I stumbled across a large payment to one of Nordhjem’s subsidiaries that I couldn’t explain, so I started digging. What you’re looking at there is the purchase of electrostatic precipitators for particle separation, ordered by ARC from the German vendor Mirnhof and Schalcke.”

“Where have I heard that name before?”