‘Also, our single malt is starting to draw attention internationally and we were able to offer them the opportunity to sample some of our more exclusive barrels,’ Björn Groth continues. ‘Long story short, they were very happy with their visit and it set us to thinking maybe we should invest in something that will benefit all of Noorö.’

Karen forces out another smile. William Tryste’s gushing praise for the distillery had been annoying, but at least it had felt like it came from a place of genuine interest in whiskey production. Björn Groth’s bombastic bragging is gauche. He could probably just as easily have decided to build an amusement park, she reflects.

She decides to bring the conversation back to the reason she’s there. She can find out the exact details of the Groths’ expansion plans later, should they turn out to be relevant.

‘Great,’ she says. ‘I’d love to hear more about that some other time, but let’s go back to yesterday.’

‘Yes, of course, what would you like to know?’

*

Increasingly discouraged, Karen notes down the Groths’ account of the previous night. Yes, it had been a lovely party from start to finish, aside from an incident involving one of the female guests, who had overindulged and been taken home by her husband no later than half past eight. And yes, of course almost everyone had been inebriated to some extent, not least Gabriel Stuub, who had been three sheets to the wind. There had been an unpleasant altercation just before midnight when Gabriel insisted on setting off the fireworks and Jens Groth and the foreman of the mash house, Ingemar Bergvall, had been forced to intervene. Gabriel had lost his temper, yelling and cursing at his employer, but in the end, he’d staggered away with a can of lager in his hand. Neither Björn nor Laura had any idea where he had gone after that. Everyone’s attention had been on the fireworks.

The rockets soaring up from the plateau next to the edge of the cliff and exploding over the sea had been a spectacular sight to behold. They had served champagne and drunk a toast to an exciting year ahead. Soon thereafter, Laura had retired, while the others had gone back up to the warehouse, where the party continued. A while later, when Björn realised no one had seen Gabriel, he had worried there might be unexploded fireworks lying around. But Ingemar Bergvall had assured him all the fireworks had been set off as planned and told him Gabriel had probably staggered back to his room and passed out. And no one had seen him after that.

‘To be completely honest, I was grateful he’d left. It wasn’t the first time Gabriel had had too much to drink at an office party.’

‘Are you telling me he had a drinking problem?’