‘A few minutes past,’ the doctor confirms with a nod and Byle continues.

‘Fredrik Stuub had fallen over the edge and his body lay on a protruding rock just above the water. Had he fallen just thirty feet further along the path, he would have ended up in the water and sunk like a stone. The boys from emergency services went down there with a gurney straight away and winched him up. They have a lot of experience from the mountains.’

Karen hesitates a moment before turning to Sven Andersén.

‘Was there no doubt he was dead at that point? Before they winched him out, I mean?’

‘None whatsoever,’ Andersén says emphatically. ‘His skull was crushed and brain matter was leaking out of it. I could tell the second I got there. They’d just pulled him out when I arrived.’

‘And how long had he been dead, according to your best judgement?’ Karen asks.

‘I would say two hours. Give or take half an hour. If he’d ended up in the water, it would have been harder to tell.’

‘OK,’ Karen says. ‘That means he died sometime between half past seven and half past eight. So not long before his sister found him.’

Silence falls around the table as no one feels a need to comment further on the summary. Kneought Brodal grabs another handful of biscuits and shoves two into his mouth in quick succession before speaking.

‘So what compelled you to tear us away from the joys of our Christmas tables?’ he slurs with his mouth still full. ‘Isn’t it possible the bloke just slipped and fell?’

‘Two things,’ Sven Andersén answers. ‘Do you want to take this or should I?’ he asks the regional commander.

‘Go ahead,’ Thorstein Byle says.

‘When he was brought to the clinic for a preliminary examination, I immediately noticed chafe marks on both wrists. The next thing that stood out was that his left shoe was missing, which, granted, might have been explained by the fall; they weren’t lace-up shoes, you see, but the kind with the elastic under the tongue. But I noticed his sock had come down past his heel, which had clear scuff marks on it as well.’

The others say nothing. They all know where Sven Andersén is going.

‘There were also marks on his clothes and on the back of the shoe he was still wearing,’ the doctor continues. ‘You’ll see for yourselves tomorrow, but my best guess is he was dragged on his back. Once I came to that conclusion, I ended my examination and called Thorstein.’

Byle nods.