‘So you’re saying he left the kids home alone, popped up to kill his grandfather, picked the kids up and drove to the ferry? Or are you suggesting he drove up to the rubbish dump and left the kids in the car while he walked down to the quarry and beat his grandfather to death?’

Thorstein Byle sounds as sceptical as Karen feels; she stares out the window without answering. She briefly considers telling Byle about something she saw as they left the warehouse, but then decides not to. Byle probably missed it.

She hadn’t seen it herself on the way in. But while they were talking to Jens Groth, the sun moved, revealing a faint shadow on the wall by the door. Black spray paint that someone had done their best to remove. She’d noticed it when she turned around to shake Jens Groth’s hand – and when he caught her looking, he’d made a clumsy attempt to block her view. But she’d seen it.

The number one and a per cent sign.

Odin Predators. Or the One Percenters.

Karen curses inwardly and turns the key in the ignition.

Chapter 26

26

‘I was wondering how long it would be before you came back. You’re looking for this, aren’t you?’

Ingeborg Eiken is holding a tartan scarf in one hand and the door handle in the other.

‘Yes, perfect, thank you. I must have left it last night. Where did you find it?’

‘Exactly where you put it, I’m assuming. Neatly hidden behind the wellies in the hallway.’

Karen accepts the scarf without argument. Arguing with her aunt is never a good idea. Especially when she’s right.

‘Any chance of a coffee?’ she asks instead.

Fifteen minutes later, the coffee pot is on the table, along with two cups and a low birch-bark basket with what remains of the Christmas baked goods: lingonberry squares, saffron scratch biscuits and two balls of flaky puff pastry.

‘I hope I’m not disturbing, turning up announced like this,’ Karen says. ‘Maybe this isn’t a good time?’

‘Don’t be silly.’

‘Are those apple turnovers?’ Karen says, longingly eyeing the puff pastry. ‘I haven’t had one of those since—’

She breaks off and turns to her aunt, who has leaned back with her hands folded over her blue cotton apron and is making no move to pour the coffee.

‘So, Karen,’ she says. ‘Would you mind telling me why you’re here? And don’t give me any foolishness about your scarf, or that you were just in the mood for apple turnovers.’

Mirroring her aunt’s body language, Karen leans back with a sigh.

‘OK,’ she says. ‘I need your help.’