‘. . . and my car,’ Thorstein Byle finishes the sentence for her. ‘I parked up by the rubbish heap. Some of the footprints are likely mine, too. I’m afraid I didn’t pay any mind to where I put my feet . . .’

He trails off, sounding despondent. Chairs creak and eyes are lowered to coffee mugs and water glasses. Clearly, having their superior admit to blundering makes them all uncomfortable.

‘But thanks to Thorstein’s efforts to quickly establish and guard the perimeter, the crime scene remained as uncompromised as the situation allowed,’ Karen says with emphasis and notes a small twitch at the corner of Byle’s mouth.

‘What’s more,’ she continues, ‘Fredrik Stuub’s home was also secured early on. That has turned out to be particularly valuable, as we discovered that the house was searched, presumably by the perpetrator. Before or after the murder, we don’t know yet. Nor do we know what the burglar was looking for, or what may be missing. On that, too, we’re waiting for answers from the forensic investigation. What I can tell you is that Thorstein and I went to the house yesterday and that Fredrik Stuub’s laptop was still there. It’s on its way to Dunker as we speak.’

‘So I guess that wasn’t what the killer was after,’ Ella Svanemark puts in. ‘But why didn’t the technicians take it?’

Karen contemplates how much to reveal.

‘It was hidden in a secret compartment in the kitchen. Thorstein found it.’

There is scattered laughter around the table and Karen hears Röse say something about ‘southerners’.

She checks her watch.

‘Well, as you can tell, we have a lot of work to do. Your job will be to go door to door and check various information and alibis. Thorstein will be giving you your individual assignments and you still report to him. Your local knowledge, experience and contacts will be of crucial importance to this investigation. We will solve this together.’

Something has changed in the small room. Granted, Röse still looks sceptical, but the others seem to have at least temporarily forgotten that the woman in front of them is not only a southerner but an agent of the hateful police headquarters in Dunker. Sadly, that small victory is instantly undone when Röse pipes up once more.

‘And what about you?’ he demands insolently. ‘What are you going to be doing?’

Karen pulls herself up and fixes him with a firm stare. Turns her head slightly to let the light from the window bring out the piercing blue and golden rims of her irises as she gives Robert Röse the look that has been known to make harder men than him back down.

‘I will be determining how to proceed,’ she says. ‘I will lead and delegate. In short, I’m in charge. And you may address me as Detective Inspector Eiken Hornby. Or ma’am – your choice.’

Chapter 21

21