‘Well, if she hasn’t been in touch by now, something must have gone wrong,’ she says. ‘It’s been a long time since she left. Maybe you should have waited down in Lysvik, to make sure she really did board that ferry . . .’

Tryste takes a few steps forward. Karen holds her ground.

‘Maybe you can’t make your wife do whatever you want after all. Helena might be at the police station right now, telling them everything she knows. Have you considered that?’

‘Up,’ he says, his voice like ice.

He bends down and tries to grab Karen’s arm, but she tucks and rolls, and he misses. Fumbling in the air, he looks as if he’s about to topple over, but then he regains his balance. She scrambles up onto her feet but it’s too late, she doesn’t have the strength to stop him. The force of the rifle butt against her jaw sends her staggering. With Karen in a one-arm choke and the rifle in his other hand, he drags her toward the opening.

William Tryste is tall and his arm is like a vice. Karen’s flailing attempts to twist free have no effect whatsoever. Instead, she can feel her throat being squeezed shut. Desperately, she fumbles behind her, trying to reach the only thing that can save her, but when Tryste starts kicking at the boards to make the opening larger, the arm around her neck tenses up and she can feel the blood throbbing in her face.

Knowing it’s almost over, she makes one last attempt to reach her back pocket . . .

*

It could have ended very differently. If William Tryste hadn’t managed to break a few boards just then. If he hadn’t been forced to adjust his hold on her to pull her through the opening. If that hadn’t allowed her the one gasping breath she needed to stay conscious. If she hadn’t managed to turn the long corkscrew around to get the tip facing the right way. If her arm had been too short, or the angle wrong, or his reflexes too quick.

She knows she has failed when there’s no scream. She didn’t feel any resistance from skin or cartilage. She didn’t hear the faint crunching sound that was swallowed by the wind.

She doesn’t understand until the arm around her throat goes limp and Tryste collapses. Panting, she gets up and turns around.

He’s lying on his side, one arm still twitching. As though making one last attempt to reach the corkscrew sticking out of his eye.

Chapter 84

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