‘Does Gabriel Stuub have any links to the OP?’

Jens Groth’s facial expression doesn’t change, his gaze remains steady, not so much as a flicker of an eyelid. Instead, he goes rigid, as though a bucket of liquid nitrogen has been poured over him. For a split second, Karen ghoulishly imagines the man in front pulverised by the slightest gust of wind.

‘OK,’ she says. ‘I’ll take that as a yes.’

Still no answer. Only a slight twitch of the fingers of one of his hands. Then the paralysis seems to subside and Jens Groth slowly shakes his head. A second later, he inhales sharply.

‘No!’

They study him in silence, waiting for more. In the end, he starts to speak again, now in a monotonous voice.

‘I don’t know whether Gabriel has anything to do with them or not, but I can tell you they make no trouble for us. Not ever. So, if there’s nothing else, I’ll be happy to walk you out . . .’

Jens Groth firmly puts both hands on his desk and stands up. Karen notes the pit stains on his shirt have doubled in size.

*

‘What do you make of that?’ Byle asks five minutes later while slowly pulling out his seat belt.

They’ve returned to the car and Karen has, without thinking and without asking her colleague, claimed the driver’s seat. He drove them here, now he has climbed into the passenger seat without protest. He buckles himself in with a click.

‘I think we should have another chat with young Mister Stuub,’ Karen replies with her eyes fixed on a spot somewhere beyond the grimy windscreen.

‘Yes, I suppose he’s our most likely suspect. He does have a motive of sorts as his grandfather’s heir, though he won’t be inheriting any significant sums.’

‘Any news on that?’

‘Not yet. His lawyer is on holiday, but he responded to my email and promised to try to get the information from his assistant. The real question is whether Gabriel could have killed him. According to the port authorities he was in fact on the nine o’clock ferry from Lysvik to Thorsvik that morning, like he claimed.’

The fact that all registration plates are now logged by the ferry company has at least given them a quick answer to that question. Presumably by working his local connections, Byle had an almost instantaneous reply to his emailed query.

‘Or at least his car was,’ Karen says. ‘We’ll have to request the CCTV footage and make sure it was really him driving. On the other hand, he could have killed his grandfather and still made it down to Lysvik on time. At least in theory.’