‘No more than usual,’ she replies. ‘Fredrik wasn’t the cheerful type. Always fretting about one thing or another. But then, that’s bound to happen, when you don’t have faith in the Lord.’

Just then, Erling Arve returns with a tray of rattling teacups. After setting it down on the table, he takes a seat in the armchair next to Gertrud’s.

‘We’re talking about Fredrik. I was telling them he always found something to be upset about. Didn’t he?’

Erling Arve nods, leans forward and starts handing out cups and saucers.

‘I suppose you could say that. But I’m sure some people would tell you he just cared deeply about things.’

‘Like what things, for example?’ Karen asks and takes the cup she’s handed.

‘Certainly not the church,’ Gertrud says with a hard edge of disapproval in her voice. ‘But other than that, all kinds of things, big and small. The environment, of course, pollution and such, the fish dying. And what happened up in Gudheim. Fredrik was very upset about that.’

‘Gudheim?’ Karen says. ‘What happened there?’

Gertrud waves her hand dismissively, as though she can’t bear to talk about it, and the priest puts a reassuring hand on her arm. Karen looks at Byle who answers for her.

‘The ship setting,’ he says. ‘Apparently someone’s been amusing themselves by drilling holes in several of the stones. Kids, probably. And it’s hardly the first time the place has been vandalised. Last spring, a group of local lads tried to tip one of the stones, drunk out of their wits, of course. Some tourists stopped them. And we’ve had a fair amount of graffiti, unless I’m misremembering.’

There’s a difference between tagging and drilling holes in two-thousand-year-old stones, Karen reflects, set in the ground in the shape of a ship around a burial or cremation site. It would have required an impact drill.

‘If we could get back to Christmas Eve,’ she says. ‘How long did Fredrik stay?’

Gertrud Stuub seems to ponder the question.

‘I’m not sure exactly, but it was probably three, half past three, no later than that, when they left. Like I said, it was lunch. Gabriel wanted to get home early with the children, he said, but I know it was the liquor that beckoned. He can’t get enough of it. And he offered to give Fredrik a ride. Probably didn’t want him wandering about alone with dusk falling, old man that he was.’

At this point, Gertrud is overcome at the memory of her brother’s very last walk and she lets out a sob and seems to deflate in her armchair. There is a clattering of china as everyone fumbles for their teacups.

‘Can you keep going?’ Karen asks after a few minutes, looking Gertrud in the eyes.

She wipes her nose and nods.