“They have everything to do with Malthe’s death. And with Lis’s, by the way.”

Anette bent over, bracing herself on her knees while she caught her breath.

“Hey, are you okay?” Jeppe asked.

She stood back up and looked like she was debating how much she wanted to share with him. For a second she looked… meek, his hard-boiled partner, sensitive and wide-eyed in the darkness. But just as he thought she was going to fill him in, she clenched her hand into a fist and punched him, hard, on the upper arm.

“All good. Just a little tired. Where are we going?”

“It’s just down the road from here.”

“You want us to go there now? Unannounced?” she protested.

Jeppe started walking.

“Essie didn’t come home from school today. Her parents don’t know where she is. I’m concerned.”

“Do you have your service weapon with you?” Anette asked, following him.

He pulled his jacket aside and revealed his Heckler & Koch.

“Don’t you?” he asked.

She made a noncommittal sound, which Jeppe assumed meant no. He hesitated, then shook his head at her. She still hadn’t told him where she’d been all day, but that was going to have to wait.

“It’s that way.” He pointed.

They walked side by side without speaking through the spring evening. With each step, the tension mounted like a bow being readied to shoot. A bow, that is, that cannot see its target in the dark.

A few minutes later they arrived at their destination.

“We’ll ring the bell and ask if we can take a look around,” Jeppe said, and pushed the doorbell. No answer. He pounded hard on the door and heard the sound echoing through the stairwell. They waited. Then he took hold of the door handle and shook it. The door yielded slightly but didn’t open. He looked at Anette, who nodded faintly. Two steps back and one well-placed kick, and it flew open, revealing a dark stairwell.

They went in and tentatively headed up the stairs, faint music trickling down to greet them. Jeppe pulled his gun out of its holster as he climbed, with Anette right on his heels. On the first-floor landing the door was ajar, revealing bright light and lazy piano notes. Jeppe stayed beside the door and knocked with his arm outstretched.

No reaction.

He knocked again and waited. Finally he pushed the door and watched as it slid open with a prolonged creak, leaned in, and peered over the threshold.

“No one’s here,” he whispered over his shoulder, raising the gun in front of him. Cautiously he walked in.