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Sung-min looked at the bulldog lying in a basket in the corner of the kitchen. It only moved its head, and the only sound it made was a pant.

‘I took over the farm from my father a couple of years back, but the wife refuses to live out here in the forest, so she’s still in the block of flats in Manglerud.’

Sung-min nodded at the dog. ‘Bitch?’

‘Yes. She had a habit of attacking cars, thought of them as bulls, maybe. Anyway, she got caught on one and broke her back. But she still makes a sound if anyone comes...’

‘Yes, we heard it. And makes a sound when she smells dead animals, I understand.’

‘Yeah, as I told Hansen.’

‘Hansen?’

‘The officer who called.’

‘Hansen, yeah. But she’s not making any noise now.’

‘No, it’s only when the wind is coming from the south-east she smells it.’ Weng pointed out into the darkness.

‘Would you mind if my dog and I had a little search?’

‘You’ve a dog with you?’

‘He’s in the car. A Labrador.’

‘Be my guest.’

‘So,’ Prim said and waited until he was sure he had her full attention. ‘This slug looks pretty innocent, doesn’t it? Beautiful, even. Its colour makes you want to suck on it, it almost looks like candy. But I would strongly advise against that. You see, both slug and slime are packed with rat lungworm, so we definitely won’t be using it as any kind of dressing.’ Prim laughed. As usual, she did not laugh along, only smiled.

‘As soon as the worm enters your body, it begins to follow the bloodstream. And where does it want to go?’ Prim tapped his forefinger against his forehead. ‘Here. To the brain. Because it loves brain. Sure, yes, I understand that the brain is nutritious and a nice place for eggs to hatch. But the brain isn’t particularly good.’ He looked down at his plate and smacked his lips disapprovingly. ‘What do you think?’

Kasparov tugged hard at the leash. There was no longer any track where they were walking. It had become cloudy earlier in the day, and now the only light came from the beam of Sung-min’s torch. It stopped on a wall of tree trunks and low-hanging branches which he had to bend down to negotiate. He had lost any sense of where they were or how far they had walked. He heard Kasparov panting below the carpet of ferns, but couldn’t see him and had the feeling of being pulled by an invisible force into increasingly deep darkness. This could have waited. It could have. So why? Because he alone wanted to get the credit for finding Bertine? No. No, it wasn’t as banal as that. He had just always been like this — when he was wondering about something he had to find out about it at once, to wait was unbearable.

But now he was having second thoughts. Not only did he risk messing up a crime scene should he stumble over a body here in the darkness, it was also the fact he was afraid. Yes, he could admit it. Right now he was that little boy who was scared of the dark, who had arrived in Norway not knowing what he was afraid of, but had a feeling that other people, his adoptive parents, his teachers, the other children in the street, they knew. They knew something he didn’t know about himself, about his past, about what had happened. He never found out what that was, if indeed there was anything. His adoptive parents had no dramatic story to relate about his biological parents or how he had been adopted. But ever since, he had been consumed with a need to know. Know everything. Know something they, the others, did not.

The leash slackened. Kasparov had stopped.

Sung-min felt the beating of his heart as he pointed the torch at the ground and pushed the fern leaves aside.

Kasparov had his muzzle to the ground, and the light found what he was sniffing at.

Sung-min crouched down and picked it up. At first he thought it was an empty crisp packet, but then he recognised it and understood why Kasparov had stopped. It was a Hillman Pets bag, an anti-parasitic powder that Sung-min had bought in a pet shop once when Kasparov had roundworm. There was a flavour added to the powder which dogs liked so much that Kasparov only had to catch sight of a bag of the stuff and he would wag his tail so wildly that Sung-min thought he was going to take off. Sung-min crumpled it and put in his pocket.

‘Will we go home, Kasparov? Supper time?’

Kasparov looked up at him as if he understood the words and thought his owner insane. He turned, Sung-min felt a hard tug and knew he didn’t have a prayer, they were going deeper in to where he no longer wanted to go.