‘He wouldn’t have liked to hear you suggesting it,’ she said. ‘His honour would have been impugned – he was a Huss by blood, after all. No, he taught at the university in Ravenby. Chemistry or biology or something like that. He certainly didn’t teach the local nippers to read, that’s for sure.’

She laughs again and picks up the empty tray.

‘Let me know when you want to see the room. Would you like me to put everything on one tab?’

‘That would be great,’ Karen replies.

She’ll deal with Smeed later.

*

When she sits down on the bed in her room about an hour later, Karen notes that, as promised by Ellen, it appears to be comfortable, and the room is neat and clean. And shockingly ugly. In addition to the brown carpet, the medallion wallpaper and the avocado-green kettle, there is bric-a-brac on every available surface. Fake flowers, a couple of porcelain dogs on the minimal desk, something that looks like an old hunting horn next to a painting of an exceedingly brash sunset, so hideous she has to avert her eyes. The wall above the head of the bed is adorned with what used to be a virtually mandatory ornament in all Doggerian businesses: a heart flanked by an anchor and a cross, here cast in plaster with a pinkish tint. Faith, hope and love. Right now, Karen doesn’t feel much of any of those things. I should have gone to Rindler’s, she berates herself.

She stands up and walks the three steps over to the window. It’s already dark out, but the lights from the ferry terminal reveal that at least the room has a sea view. She pulls out her phone and dials her mother’s number. Eleanor answers after four rings, sounding cheerfully winded.

Karen doesn’t ask why.

After being updated on the situation at home – no, they’re absolutely fine, they ate the leftovers from yesterday; yes, everyone left, except Sigrid and Leo, of course. No, it’s no problem, Sigrid has a car and has promised to give them a ride to the airport. What was that, sweetheart? Oh yes, Harry sends his love. How are things going up there, will you be staying long? – Karen ends the call and pulls up Jounas Smeed’s number. Just as she’s about to dial it to report on the day’s progress and ask about the prospects of reinforcements, an incoming call makes her phone ring. Sören Larsen, the display reads and Karen feels a pang of guilt as she answers. It’s only half past six and she has already clocked off, and without letting Larsen know.

‘All right, Eiken,’ Sören Larsen says cheerfully, ‘where have you disappeared to?’

‘I’m in Lysvik. I just checked into a room above the pub on Skepparegatan. Where are you? Don’t tell me you’re still at Stuub’s?’