Thorstein Byle watches the tail lights of William Tryste’s car disappear as the lights from an approaching police vehicle turns the snowy scene blue. Then he turns around and studies the German shepherd, which is sitting on the ground, panting, with her owner’s firm grip on her collar. The dog hasn’t taken her eyes off the body in the snow for so much as a second.

They waste no time on changing vehicles, just drive on in Tryste’s company car with the Groth logo painted on both front doors. Karen’s hands are ice-cold, but she’s awake, Karl realises when they turn back onto the motorway a few minutes later.

‘How are you?’ he asks when she opens her eyes. ‘Are you in pain?’

Her eyes dart around the dark car and Karl is caught off guard when she tries to sit up. He fails to grab her arms when they begin to flail and he pulls back when she hits him in the face.

‘I need to get out,’ she says in a strangled voice. ‘I can’t breathe.’

Karl notices that her chest is heaving far too violently, hears her short, gasping breaths, sees her fingers clawing at the door, fumbling for the handle.

‘Turn the fucking lights on!’ he shouts at Cornelis.

Then he rolls down the window, letting in a blast of frigid air. Watches the panic slowly drain out of her. Then Karl Björken gently puts his arm around Karen’s shoulders.

Chapter 85

85

Leo Friis wakes up and winces at the sharp light from the bedside lamp. The sound of breathing coming from the other side of the bed is calm and regular, but the duvet is bunched up at the foot of the bed and the forehead under the long, dark fringe looks damp with sweat. He checks the clock radio. Quarter past seven. In an hour, he’ll be able to turn the light off. If she wakes up then, it won’t be completely dark.

It’s better now, he reflects. The bedside lamp is enough, she doesn’t need the overhead light, too, and it’s enough to keep the window open a crack, so the room isn’t as frigid as it was every night back when she first came home and during the weeks that followed.