Her conversation with Karl at the restaurant intrudes on her thoughts. He hadn’t asked any more questions, just listened as she told him. No details, nothing about the before or after, just the facts. She’d had a husband, she’d had a son and both were gone now. No racing heart, no dizziness, she was still in one piece, even though she had spoken their names out loud. I’m still here, she thinks and glances up at the ceiling in the cramped room. I’m going to conduct an interview in a room with flickering fluorescent lights, and my head is still above water.

‘No, thank you, what I want is to know why I’m here,’ Björn Groth replies and takes a seat on one of the chairs. ‘I’ve already told you everything I know.’

He runs both his hands through his thick mane, as though to reassure himself it’s still there.

‘Not quite everything, I’m afraid,’ Karen says. ‘Are you sure you don’t want a lawyer present?’

‘Get to it. I have nothing to hide.’

Karen waits while Karl starts the recording equipment, then says:

‘Interview with Björn Groth, in connection with the murders of Fredrik Stuub and Gabriel Stuub. The date is Saturday 2 January, the time 3.04 p.m. Present are Björn Groth, lead investigator Detective Inspector Karen Eiken Hornby and Detective Inspector Karl Björken.’

‘Let me cut to the chase,’ Karen says. ‘The last time we spoke, you said you didn’t know Fredrik Stuub. Is this still your claim?’

‘Yes, it’s my claim,’ Björn Groth replies stiffly. ‘Why?’

‘OK, let me rephrase my question. Were you ever in contact with Fredrik Stuub? At any time, in any form, for whatever purpose?’

‘We’ve obviously crossed paths over the years, it’s a small island. Exchanged a few words about the weather and such, I suppose, but nothing beyond that. What is this about?’

A hint of uncertainty has seeped into his tone, barely perceptible, but Karen knows Karl has caught it, too. Without taking her eyes off Groth, she can see him leaning forward out of the corner of her eye and she lets him ask the question.

‘Then how come Fredrik Stuub emailed you?’

He slides a printout of Stuub’s email across the table while reciting the words in it verbatim, from memory.

‘“I have information that can put an end to your expansion plans. Contact me asap.” Not exactly a few words about the weather and such.’

The transformation is instantaneous. The man in front of them seems to deflate before their eyes. Once more, he looks down at his ink-stained fingertips, his head bowed. He says nothing.

‘What did Fredrik Stuub know that could put an end to your expansion plans?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Nothing? And you want us to believe that?’

‘Believe whatever you want.’