She drives slowly along the high street, which winds its way from the harbour all the way through the village. The provincial doctor’s office has long since moved from the yellow wooden house on the square to a modern clinic, which turns out to be located in one of the village’s two modern blocks, in the same building as Social Services, the Fishery Commission, the Planning Committee and, on the top floor, the Provincial Board. The local police station is across the street. Karen parks outside and turns with a sigh to Kneought Brodal, who is impatiently tugging at his seat belt.

*

Thorstein Byle lives up to all her expectations. A tall, balding, weather-beaten man in his sixties with a firm handshake and ice-blue eyes that dart irresolutely between Karen and Kneought Brodal’s imposing form as he lets them into the clinic’s waiting room. Behind him, a slightly dumpy, greying man approaches. He is casually dressed in a blazer and is carrying a coffee pot.

‘Welcome! Sven Andersén, provincial doctor,’ he says with a smile and holds out his hand.

Karen introduces herself and, after a moment’s hesitation, Kneought Brodal as well, since he doesn’t seem inclined to speak.

They pass the reception where someone has tried to get in the Christmas spirit by decking the counter with hypo-allergenic plastic juniper garlands and continue into a small kitchenette. Four mugs and a plate of biscuits have been set out on a table with a red-and-white-chequered tablecloth and the chairs scrape against the linoleum floor as they pull them out and sit down in silence.

‘Right, so how do you want to go about this?’ Thorstein Byle says after a while and pushes the plate toward Karen, who takes a biscuit even though she would prefer to pass.

‘Well, Kneought here is going to perform the autopsy and establish the cause of death,’ she says with a nod to the coroner. ‘I will be heading up the investigation, assuming the results of the autopsy indicate we need one. From what I understand, the body will be taken to Ravenby for the autopsy tomorrow?’

‘Yes, that’s right.’ Sven Andersén nods. ‘It will be collected tomorrow morning and we’re scheduled for eleven o’clock at the Centre for Forensic Medicine. I say we, because I’m hoping to participate. With your permission, of course.’

Sven Andersén pours them each a cup of coffee while directing a querying look at Kneought Brodal, who after a few seconds delay appears to finally snap back in.

‘Oh, right, yes, of course you can, if you want to,’ he mumbles while reaching forward and grabbing a fistful of biscuits.

‘You and I will be working very closely together,’ Karen says, turning to Thorstein Byle. ‘It’ll be a while before we get reinforcements from the CID, so I’m counting on your help. How many officers do you have up here?’