‘And the other guests? You said something about a big New Year’s bash?’

‘More like an office party. They’re checked into the hotel by the golf course about half a mile from here. If you can call it a hotel, more like a boarded-up B & B, if you ask me. I have people over there, too, making sure no one slips away.’

‘How many are we?’

‘I have seven guys in the field. People, I mean. Two of them are women.’

‘How did you get that many?’

‘I called the station down in Thorsvik for backup and they sent three guys. I couldn’t have got it done it without them, the flu has made it up here now, too.’

‘Great,’ Karen says, ‘top-notch work, Thorstein, just like last time. Shall we go inside?’

Having decided to hold off on talking to their hosts, they walk through the lobby and past the large copper stills directly to William Tryste’s giant office. Two uniformed officers are seated at the conference table when they enter, but they instantly spring to attention when they spot their superiors, wiping their mouths and saluting while discreetly trying to chew and swallow the food in their mouths.

‘At ease,’ she tells them and notes one of them eyeing her wellies and ripped jeans before sitting back down.

Byle hadn’t exaggerated, she discovers. If these are the leftovers from the New Year’s office party, Groth’s must have pulled out all the stops. Large platters of charcuteries, cheeses, pâtés and shellfish cover most of the conference table. At one end there are baskets full of different types of bread and bottles of mineral water and low-alcohol beer sit next to two giant coffee urns.

Karen heaps a mountain of food on a plate and picks up two bottles of mineral water while Thorstein Byle takes a seat on the leather sofa at the far end of the room. When she joins him, he nods at the two constables, who are still chewing their food in silence, their minds seemingly elsewhere.

‘Are you OK with them in here or would you like me to ask them to leave?’

‘I don’t think they’d be able to hear us from all the way over there, even if they were awake,’ Karen says and spreads butter on a slice of black bread.

She pops a piece of lamb pâté into her mouth and pours herself a glass of mineral water. Then she pulls out her notepad and puts it down next to her plate on the glass coffee table.

‘All right, let’s have it,’ she says.