‘That’s probably what people think, but no. Gabriel never laid so much as a finger on me. Or the children.’

‘So why, then?’

They wait while she seems to search for the right words.

‘He was . . . impossible,’ she says eventually and sniffs.

‘Impossible?’ Karl asks.

‘Yes, impossible. He lived in some kind of fantasy world, dreaming about having money and power. Without ever having to work for it, of course.’

‘But he did work at the distillery, didn’t he?’

‘Yes, he had to make enough to pay the mortgage, but other than that his entire life was about finding ways to make a quick buck. His job up at Groth’s was just a necessary evil.’

She looks down at the table, hesitates and seems to steel herself.

‘He stole from them,’ she says and looks up quickly to gauge their reactions.

Karen nods and Katja looks surprised.

‘You knew?’

‘Yes, that much we’ve puzzled out.’

‘I don’t think it was a lot. But he did steal from the warehouse and sold it to some of the bars down on Heimö and Frisel. He didn’t dare try it up here.’

‘Tell us about his connections with the OP.’

Another sigh. Heavier this time.

‘That’s the reason I wanted to get divorced,’ Katja Stuub says, and the moment the words leave her lips, the tension seems to drain out of her. ‘I suppose he was some kind of hanger-on, no more than that, but he was working on becoming a prospective member.’

She says the words mockingly, as though to protect herself from their significance. And just as Karl opens his mouth to tell her to go on, Katja continues of her own accord.

‘He fawned over them, especially the big boys, Kenny, Allan, Odd and whatever their names are. I think he did some small jobs for them, provided alibis, threatened people . . . Oh, and he went and bought himself a Harley, of course, even though we couldn’t afford it. But he was an idiot,’ she adds, ‘thinking he could run his own schemes on the side.’

‘Stealing from Groth’s?’

Katja nods.

‘That was his own little racket and I know he worried about the guys finding out. But that was Gabriel in a nutshell, always looking for new ways to con people. His employer, the insurance company, the bookmaker at the dog races, the tax authorities . . .’

‘And the OP,’ Karen finishes her list.

‘It scared the living daylights out of me when I realised what he was up to. They would never tolerate something like that, even I know that. We quarrelled about his links with them from the day we started dating. I’m just not the kind of person who . . .’

She falters and seems to be searching for the right words again.

‘Look, I know it sounds classist, but we weren’t a very good match. Turns out Mum and Dad were right.’