Just then, her phone rings. Karen eases up on the accelerator and pushes the earbud of the hands-free into her ear without checking the display. Convinced it’s her mother calling, she answers with her first name. But there is no trace of motherly warmth in the voice on the other end and it wastes no time on unnecessary pleasantries.

‘This is Brodal. Where are you?’

Karen glances over at the sign she’s just passing and replies without thinking.

‘I just passed the Ferring exit. Why? Don’t tell me you’re already there?’

She instantly regrets not getting up an hour earlier.

‘Well, you’re going to have to turn around. I can’t get my bloody car started and I need a ride. What’s that damn racket?’

Karen turns down the radio and curses under her breath.

‘What about Larsen?’ she suggests. ‘He’s on his way up, too, you know.’

‘He’s already in Thorsvik. Do you know where I live?’

‘Somewhere in Lemdal, right?’

‘Fyrviksgatan 18, on the corner of Sandevägen. I’ll be waiting outside.’

‘All right, I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,’ she says through clenched teeth and turns the radio back up.

On the radio, Jagger howls about making grown men cry.

Chapter 7

7

The suspension creaks and the car sways when Kneought Brodal climbs into the passenger seat next to Karen, grunting loudly. Muttering gruffly, he tugs at the seat belt, and Karen hesitates for a moment before leaning over to help him adjust the length. She can’t remember who was last in the passenger seat, but whoever it was, they can’t have been more than half his size. In the end, she manages to fasten the seat belt around the coroner’s considerable girth.

‘OK, here we go,’ she says and hears the obsequious cheeriness in her voice.

Kneought Brodal makes no reply.

She keeps at it for twenty minutes before giving up. Karen normally has no trouble handling Brodal. Almost ten years of curt, snippy answers to questions about cases involving deadly crimes, have made her impervious to his terrible mood. There’s nothing personal about the way he treats people; the coroner treats everyone, from the lowliest constable to the commissioner himself, like idiots. The only person Kneought Brodal seems to mildly enjoy discussing things with is the head of Forensic Services, Sören Larsen. No, she usually has no trouble with Brodal, but being trapped in a car with him for several hours is a different kettle of fish entirely.

After a few initial questions about how much he has been told about the suspected murder of the retired schoolteacher, Karen concludes he knows no more than she does and wishes he knew even less, because then – as he informs her grimly – he would be able to enjoy his Boxing Day lamb and bog myrtle snaps instead of running around the back of beyond.