‘As a child, I loved seeing it,’ Karen says. ‘Back then, I thought it looked like a castle. But, well, it’s still . . . imposing.’

William Tryste chuckles.

‘No need to be tactful. Unlike my forebear, we get what people meant when they named the thing “The Complex”.’

‘Must be expensive to heat,’ Karl says, looking around the enormous hallway.

‘We only use a quarter of the living space. Half the ground floor and as much again on the first floor is plenty for our little family, the rest is closed off. The Groths do pay well, no complaints there, but keeping all of this warm would probably require three times my salary. Shall we go in? My wife is waiting in the living room.’

They enter the hallway, where a wide staircase with a leather banister leads up to a landing and then splits into two smaller, steeper staircases.

‘We live in the southern part of the house,’ William Tryste explains, pointing to the staircase on the left. ‘Our bedrooms and bathrooms are up there. Please, come this way!’

He leads them past the stairs and a door revealing a glimpse of what appears to be a study. Karen spots the kitchen at the other end of a long butler’s pantry as well as another set of stairs, going down this time.

‘In all honesty, we’ve annexed the part of the house that used to house the servants in the good old days,’ Tryste explains. ‘That staircase over there leads down to the laundry room, food cellar and the old wine cellar. I have some truly fine specimens down there, but I assume I can’t tempt you, since you’re on the job and all.’

‘I’m afraid not,’ Karl replies. ‘So it’s not all about whiskey then? Not even for the head of a distillery?’

‘No, I have all kinds of vices,’ William Tryste says with a laugh and opens the door to a long, narrow living room. ‘May I introduce my wife, Helena, and these are Detective Inspectors Karen Eiken Hornby and Karl Björken.’

A middle-aged woman with long dark hair in a ponytail gets up from one of the armchairs. They shake hands and Karen notes that Helena Tryste doesn’t exude any of the natural confidence her husband has been so abundantly blessed with. Instead, there is a hint of uncertainty, almost shyness about her when their eyes meet.

‘Welcome,’ she says with a tight smile. ‘Can I offer you anything? Coffee, tea?’

Karen quickly declines without waiting to hear what Karl might want. She knows from their last encounter that while William Tryste’s verbosity may be charming, it’s also time-consuming and she doesn’t want to drag this visit out any more than necessary.

‘Thank you, but we’re not staying long,’ she says.