Henrik shook his head.

“The only thing I can think of is envy. Someone who wants something from us.”

“There are no old family feuds that we should be aware of? Problems with the auction house?”

A cruise ship blew its horn and pulled away from Langelinie Pier nearby. It looked like an iceberg breaking free from the icecap and gliding away.

Henrik blinked. A burst blood vessel in one of his eyes made the white look pink.

“You’ve obviously heard about our… difficulties at the auction house a few years back,” Henrik said. “The accusations came out of nowhere, and the police didn’t find any grounds to take it to court, but people believe what they want to believe. Malin and I gave interview after interview to explain ourselves and clear the air, but it didn’t do much good. People just bashed our lifestyle instead, our decor, our parenting.”

Jeppe nodded. He was already familiar with the anatomy of a public shitstorm, thanks to his friendship with Johannes. But it’s a long way from a shitstorm to a kidnapping.

Henrik was talking himself up into a heated state.

“A well-known so-called family counselor even said on prime-time TV that we were unfit to be parents because we co-sleep with our kids.”

“Your oldest son did mention that you sleep together in one big bed. A family bed, I think he called it…?”

“And?” Henrik said with a shrug. “Why would kids benefit from sleeping by themselves in their own rooms? Can you explain that to me?”

“It’s just unusual for older kids—teenagers—to sleep with their parents.”

“What are you trying to insinuate?” Henrik eyed him angrily.

What did Jeppe know about raising teenagers anyway, or any kids for that matter? Not a goddamn thing.

ESTHER FOUND THE bottle of port in her glass-front cabinet, poured ground coffee into the French press, and set out some cantucci biscotti on a Royal Copenhagen blue fluted plate. Jeppe was expected at 5:00 p.m. and even though it felt a bit silly to have coffee and cookies this late before dinner, it had become a bit of a tradition when he visited.

“I’m not feeling so good.”

Esther looked up from the steaming kettle in her hand.

“How do you mean, Gregers?” she asked.

“I don’t really know.” He opened and closed his mouth several times. “It’s like everything is flipped the other way, the wrong way. Isn’t the kitchen table usually over there, or have you moved it?”

“What do you mean? You can’t move the kitchen table. It’s attached to the wall.…” Esther noticed how rapid and shallow his breathing was, like a baby bird’s. “All right, here’s what we’re going to do. Tomorrow morning, first thing, I’m calling your doctor, and I’ll insist that they fit you in right away. We need to get you looked at. Okay?”