But now, looking in the mirror, she saw a new body. The nursing and many months of maternity leave had sucked off the excess pounds, with the result that at the age of forty-six she was in better shape than ever before. Still with meat on her bones, but firmer and stronger. And prettier. It surprised her how good it felt. In the shower, she allowed her hands to pay attention to the body they were lathering up for once, and felt a strong sense of well-being touching the firm skin over her abdomen. She dried off in front of the full-length mirror and dressed with her back half turned so she could appraise her butt. Having considered her body a tool for most of her life, rather than something decorative, there was something heady about feeling attractive.

“Your phone’s ringing!” Svend called from the kitchen, and Anette hurriedly pulled up her pants and ran to answer it.

Gudrun sat at the little dining table, now strapped into her high chair, throwing fruit yogurt at her father, who received the bombardment with a smile. He had always had a calm temperament, but since becoming a father, his patience had extended as a wad of chewing gum in the sun. Anette shuffled across the room, buttoning her pants, and grabbed the phone, which lay buzzing on the kitchen table next to Svend’s freshly baked sourdough rolls.

“Werner here!” She realized that she had managed to step in a glob of yogurt and cursed under her breath.

“Sorry to have to disturb your weekend, but we have a situation. Well, a possible situation anyway. I’ve just spoken with Kørner.” It was PC’s voice. Anette’s Saturday mood began to tank, plummeting down toward her mixed-berry-covered toes. The commissioner—who never went by anything other than “PC,” even though her name was Irene Dam—was deeply professional and would never have called on a Saturday if the “possible situation” wasn’t very likely real. Anette saw their planned family outing fade into uncertainty.

“What happened?”

“We have a missing young man, or to be more precise, a fifteen-year-old boy, Oscar Dreyer-Hoff. Last seen when he got out of school yesterday afternoon at a quarter to three. His parents thought he spent the night at a classmate’s house, but that turns out not to have been the case. They didn’t realize it until he didn’t come home this morning as agreed.”

“Why are we getting involved?” Anette asked, looking around for something to wipe her foot. “It’s pretty common for a fifteen-year-old to be missing for a day or two if he wants to go to a party his parents won’t let him attend or whatever. If we’re getting involved, there must be an indication of something fishy?”

“The family received a letter.”