Anette knew she was heading down a path that led toward the abyss. All the same, she sensed that she would never be truly happy again if she didn’t explore this path. That life would feel forever mediocre if she didn’t give passion a chance.

Before she had time to change her mind, she responded to Mads:

Okay.

“ARE WE GOING in there?” Thomas Larsen spit contemptuously on the parking lot gravel.

“Don’t worry, Larsen, for a waste dump this place is surprisingly presentable.” Jeppe looked at ARC’s shiny metal facade, where climbing wall grips extended all the way up toward the blue sky above. It still seemed bizarre to him to combine an incineration plant with a recreational facility. “Kasper Skytte still hasn’t answered my call, so now we’ll just chance it and see if he’s here.”

They walked toward the entrance and waited for the sliding glass door to open. A burly male receptionist got up as they approached the counter. Jeppe showed him his laminated ID badge.

“We’re here to talk to Kasper Skytte. Is he in yet?”

“Let me check.” The receptionist looked it up on a screen. “No, it doesn’t look like it. Would you like to leave him a message?”

“What about Margit Smith?” Jeppe asked, before he had time to think.

“The CEO?” The receptionist smiled, as if the detectives had just shown up unannounced at a five-star hotel wanting to talk to Madonna. “She’s in a course all week.” He glanced at the screen again. “Our other two process engineers are here. Maybe one of them could be of assistance?”

“The ones who work with Kasper Skytte?”

“Jim Knudsen and Gitte Mejlhede. They’re on the sixth floor. Do you want me to call up and see if they’ll have time to see you?”

“Oh, they will!” Jeppe smiled at the receptionist, who picked up his phone and conducted a brief conversation.

“Okay.” He slapped two visitors’ badges on the counter. “The elevator is over there. Sixth floor.”

“Thank you.”

On the sixth floor, the open office layout was deserted apart from a group of desks by the window, where two people were waiting for them. A man, who sat looking down at the table, and a woman, who watched them approach with her head held high and her cheeks flushed. She looked like someone who had started her day with either a brisk walk or a quarrel.

“Gitte Mejlhede? I’m Jeppe Kørner from the Copenhagen Police. Thank you for agreeing to talk to us without notice.”

She stood up and shook each of their extended hands in turn, her colleague making do with a nod from his seat at the desk.

“Neither of us was at work when the body was found,” she explained. “And we’ve both talked to someone from the police already.”