She quickly runs through the initial questions and Gabriel delivers his answers with a look of bored resignation. Thirty-five years old, two children, Loke and Lava, six and four years old, separated from his wife Katja since a few months ago. She has moved back in with her parents in Thorsvik down on Heimö. No, she’s not originally from Noorö. Why did she move out instead of him? Because this is all his, obviously. He inherited the land from his mother and built the house himself. Katja didn’t put a penny into it. He has no bloody idea what her plans are and he doesn’t give a toss so long as she doesn’t try to screw him out of seeing the kids. He wants every other weekend, no more, no less. Yes, he was informed about his grandfather’s death the day it happened, by both the Noorö Police and the local priest. Yes, as far as he knows, he’s Fredrik’s closest living descendant; no, he doesn’t know whether Fredrik left anything of value, they weren’t particularly close. Why not? Well, he supposes Fredrik didn’t consider him an ideal grandson.

‘And yet you did see him the day before he died?’ Karen says, fixing him with a firm stare below raised eyebrows.

Gabriel hesitates, as though he’s actually searching his memory.

‘Right, but that was bloody Christmas Eve, for crying out loud,’ he says, spreading his hands.

‘So you did see both Fredrik and Gertrud from time to time?’

‘Well, not normally, I mean; not on an everyday basis, but of course it happened on occasion. Mostly on the holidays. I mean, we’re bloody family and live just a few miles from each other.’

‘So you went to Gertrud’s house on Christmas Eve. Had she invited you?’

‘She called that morning and the kids were here, so . . . yeah, I popped over. Figured they should meet my side of the family, too, not just Katja’s. I was supposed to drive down to Thorsvik and drop them off with her the next day.’

‘And did you? Drop the children off with Katja, I mean?’

Gabriel Stuub takes a deep swig of his sports drink and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

‘Yep,’ he replies.

‘And what time was that? When you left home, I mean.’

‘I don’t know. Just after eight, maybe quarter past. I managed to catch the nine o’clock ferry, I know that, but I was in for it anyway.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Katja. Or her parents, actually. I’d promised to drop the kids off no later than nine and I was thirty minutes late.’

‘Has there been a lot of conflict? Since they were so upset, I mean?’

‘Why? What’s that got to do with anything?’

‘What do you do for a living?’