Not soot. Mould. Baudoinia compniacensis. A fungus. A mould which, while black, is nowhere near as dangerous as black mould, from what Karen has been able to make out. No adverse effects on the health of humans or animals have been recorded, one site had informed her. Unlikely to be a health hazard another one had proclaimed.

With a shudder, she thinks about what the internet showed her when she searched for some of the other words in Fredrik Stuub’s document; interleukins, neurodegenerative, acetylcholine, neurofibrillary tangle . . . Could Fredrik Stuub really have been trying to prove that there was a connection?

Could he have been right?

Chapter 65

65

Kneought Brodal picks up after the sixth ring. Impersonally, giving his title and both his first and last name, even though he can obviously see it’s her calling. As soon as she hears the hostile tone, she can tell this isn’t going to be an easy conversation.

After patiently listening to the coroner’s tirade about how his Christmas was ruined and then his New Year’s, too, and then sitting through a lengthy outburst about how murderous Noorlings have apparently found a way to ruin his Twelfth Night as well, she manages to get a word in.

‘No, no need to worry. No new murders. At least not yet. That’s not why I’m calling.’

A slurping sound on the other end. Evidently, Brodal is taking the opportunity to moisten his throat in preparation for another jeremiad. The brief pause gives Karen enough time to gently approach the real reason she is calling.

‘Have you had a moment to look at those documents I sent over?’ she says, bracing herself for the answer while listening to the harsh clatter of china as Kneought Brodal puts his cup down.

‘What bloody documents? Would you mind being a bit more specific, my inbox is full of all kinds of crap.’

‘It’s a few documents from Fredrik Stuub’s computer that I can’t make heads or tails of. I could really use your expertise. A lot of medical research terms.’

‘Oh, that. No, I haven’t had a chance yet. But it’s hardly medicine. More like biochemistry, unless I miss my guess.’

So you did look at it, she thinks to herself.

‘No,’ he says as though he could hear her optimistic thought, ‘I haven’t read it. I opened it to see what it was about and then I closed it and marked it as unread. That’s what I do with all my emails in order to triage all the idiotic questions I get.’

‘Fine, but this could be important,’ Karen says. ‘And urgent.’

She pauses for a few seconds to think, decides on the strategy she think will yield the fastest results and continues, ‘The thing is, I think I’ve found a connection between Fredrik Stuub’s research and his murder. And probably Gabriel’s, too,’ she adds, as a sweetener.