The small car park is full to capacity and about ten cars have lined up on what, during the other half of the year, is likely a lush lawn. Now, it’s a frozen patch of mud covered in several inches of snow. Karen leans forward and peers out of the windscreen. She has to strain her eyes to make anything out. Granted, the snow adds light, but the sky is grey and dusk is falling, though it won’t be fully dark for another hour. She sees three black-and-yellow police cars and, further up, Byle’s Volvo, but there’s no sign yet of Kneought Brodal, Sören Larsen or the white vans used by the crime scene technicians. She parks next to one of the police cars, reaches for the bag on the passenger seat and pulls out the muddy wellies. She’s going to pass on the cardigan for now, she decides, and zippers up her green suede jacket.

Pain radiates from her knee to her hip when she slowly trudges through the snow in the direction of the main building. Light is streaming out through the tall windows and she can see a handful of men in orange high-vis vests stomping their feet to stay warm. Thorstein Byle spots her the moment she steps into the light and comes to meet her.

‘Finally,’ he says. ‘Well, I obviously know you came as quickly as you could. Have you had anything to eat?’

Karen shakes his outstretched hand and then her head.

‘Half a slice of toast.’

‘There’s plenty of food inside, lots of leftovers from last night’s party. Maybe we should make sure you get something in you and I can fill you in while you eat.’

‘Where’s the body?’

‘About five hundred yards that way,’ he says, pointing. ‘The scene has been cordoned off and I have two men guarding it. There’s nothing we can do over there until the coroner and technicians arrive.’

Karen nods. Byle’s right and she’s definitely not about to try Sören Larsen’s patience further by crossing the cordon just to satisfy her own curiosity.

‘Sounds good,’ she says. ‘Has Sven Andersén been by?’

‘Not this time. The cause of death is pretty apparent, so I called you right away. Besides, Andersén is ill and I figured there was no harm in waiting for the coroner. Like I said, even I could tell the guy had his throat slit.’

‘Is there anywhere we can talk privately?’

‘Yes, the Groths have been very accommodating. We have full use of the room where we talked to William Tryste last time we were here.’

‘And where is everyone?’

‘Björn Groth lives with his wife in one of the wings and their son Jens and his wife have the other. They’re all in their respective homes. The daughter – Madeleine – and her husband live down the road in Gudheimby.’