“We don’t know yet. There weren’t any marks on it, everything looked normal. It was stashed underneath a ramp leading down to one of the boat docks.”

She opened and then closed her mouth.

“That’s where our boat is moored,” she said.

“You have a boat?”

“Just a little daysailer. It’s Henrik’s.”

“Does Oscar know how to take it out on his own?”

She hesitated.

“I don’t think so,” she said. “Maybe.”

“Would you ask Henrik to check and see if the boat is in its slip? Right away.”

She hesitated for so long that Jeppe was about to repeat his question.

“Of course. I’ll call him.”

Malin called up her husband and spoke in a quiet, staccato voice, no soft words among all the hard ones. After two minutes, she hung up abruptly.

“He’s going to check now.”

She walked over to the pink sofas, sat down, and tugged on the hem of her blouse. It was a habit Jeppe associated with women who felt insecure about their weight, but maybe it was something else that made her fidgety. He sat down on the sofa across from her and pulled out his notebook.

“What does it look like?”

“The boat? A twenty-footer, wood, painted white, named Frida, after my mother.”

He jotted it down without looking up.

“It’s Henrik’s pet project,” she continued. “I’m not a boating fan. But he loves new toys—cars, racing bikes, and since last year, a boat, too.”

Jeppe smiled at the description. Men and their gadgets.

Her phone beeped. She skimmed the message and set her phone down on the table, screen down.

“The boat’s gone, and the keys aren’t hanging on their hook. Although they could very easily be in a pocket or a bag somewhere. We’re not exactly organized at our place. Things do go missing sometimes.”

“Please look carefully and let us know if you find them.” Jeppe paused and watched her nod slowly. “So you had something you wanted to show me?”

“Yes.” She tugged on the hem of her blouse again, leaned down to pick up her purse from the floor, and pulled out a plastic folder. She held it for a moment before passing it over the coffee table. “Henrik doesn’t think we should confuse matters, but…”

Jeppe took the folder and read through the clear plastic.

A pig like you doesn’t deserve to live. A pig like you needs to look over his shoulder. That’s not an empty threat. I’m going to shoot you Monday on your way home from work!

“The infamous threatening letters, I presume? So you did have them after all.”

Malin ignored that.

“How long does it usually take before a demand for a ransom is made?” she asked.