‘Not much. His story matches his parents’. Gabriel was drunk, there was a dispute involving the fireworks and after that he didn’t see him again, or so he claims. Not until this morning after some poor cleaner found the body.’

‘Unfortunately, I don’t have a lot to offer, either,’ Karl says. ‘What you told me is exactly what the daughter, Madeleine, and her husband, Elias, said. The only thing I can add is that Elias said several people went all the way up to the body when they found him. At least five or six people, he reckoned. I find it a bit odd that they felt the need to get that close. It was perfectly obvious from several feet away that his throat had been cut.’

‘OK, so who was it?’

‘Elias himself, Jens Groth, Ingemar Bergvall and at least a couple of guys from “the floor”, as he put it.’

‘Right, so they lined up for a peek at the crime scene. Sören Larsen’s not going to be pleased. Let’s just hope they didn’t poke the corpse.’

‘Apparently some idiot suggested CPR, but at least Bergvall had enough sense to nix that. From what I was told, he was the one who took charge and told Jens to call the police.’

‘Is that it?’

‘Yep, their version of events is pretty much identical to everyone else’s,’ Karl replies. ‘It’s almost like they’ve compared stories.’

‘Sure – or maybe it’s just what actually happened.’

‘Aside from the tiny detail that someone must have slit the poor sod’s throat. Surely someone saw or heard something? Even with all the bubbly and fireworks and whatnot.’

‘We’ll find out tomorrow what Byle and his gang managed to get out of the other guests. And we have to talk to William Tryste and his wife.’

*

They park outside the police station in Lysvik and are let in just as the Kvellsposten car pulls up behind Karen’s Ford. The constable who lets them in instantly grasps the situation and shuts the door in the face of the fastest reporter. A moment later, there is a sharp, persistent ringing as the reporter leans on the doorbell.

‘Byle’s not here,’ their colleague says loudly to make himself heard over the racket. ‘No one else is, either, everyone’s up at Groth’s.’

‘We’re not staying. But we don’t want a media escort to Rindler’s. Is there another exit?’

Karl shoots Karen a surprised look but bites his tongue when she frowns warningly. The more people who think she’s staying at Rindler’s, the better.

‘Sure, take the lift down and exit through the garage. The ramp comes out on Lotsgatan, just a stone’s throw from the hotel. You should get going; I’m legally required to let anyone who rings the bell in.’