Odd Eiken takes a sip of his pint, then leans back and studies her without responding. The warmth and elation she’d felt at seeing him again the other night is gone. The only thing she feels now is trepidation; this is clearly going to be exactly as difficult as she thought it would be. She decides to get straight to the point.

‘You know why I want to talk to you?’ she asks.

‘Well, I assume it’s not to reminisce about our youth,’ he replies. ‘Memories don’t seem to mean much to you anymore. Or blood ties, for that matter.’

‘If that were true, we’d be having this conversation down at the station, not in a pub.’

‘Bullshit!’ he snaps. ‘You think you can lean on me because we’re family, but you can forget it.’

Just then, Ellen Jensen comes over with Karen’s drink. She puts her pint of Spitfire and a bowl of peanuts down on the table and leaves without a word. Karen takes two deep swigs.

‘You’re right, Odd,’ she says. ‘At least in part. As you know, I’m investigating the murder of Fredrik Stuub, and there’s nothing to suggest there’s any connection with the OP. At least not at the moment. What there does seems to be is a connection between you and Gabriel Stuub.’

‘Is that so?’

‘Can you confirm it?’

‘Why would I?’

‘So Gabriel’s not a member of the OP? Is that what you’re telling me?’

‘Never heard of him.’

Karen sighs and takes another big sip of her ale. Then she leans forward and fixes her cousin with a firm stare.

‘Fine, Odd, then let’s do this. I’ll tell you what I think, and you let me know if I’m on the right track. And the reason you will is that you don’t want me to start making all kinds of trouble for you. One word from me and the island will be swarming with my colleagues. And they will bring in accountants and people from the economic crime unit to go over every last scrap of paper at your headquarters and your home and the homes of all the other members with a fine-tooth comb. Normally, they don’t have the resources to pay that kind of close attention, but if a murder’s involved . . .’

. . . it still wouldn’t amount to much of an intervention, she finishes inwardly. But a shadow of concern crosses Odd’s face before he can hide it behind a carefree smile.

‘And I assume your standing in the club won’t exactly improve when your mates find out that it was your cousin who made it all happen,’ she adds quickly.

‘Go on,’ he says tersely.

‘We know Gabriel steals from the Groth’s warehouse.’

‘Is that right? Well, I guess I would, too, if I worked there, but like I said, I’ve never heard of the bloke.’