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without the usual questions: Did he really like her? Was he serious?
    He was careful not to build up her expectations. He played coy and mysterious, keeping her guessing as to what depths of personality his nonchalance concealed.
    He awoke at half past five the next morning as planned. Got dressed, rummaged around discreetly in her drawers and cupboards, finding out about her before she began to stir. Divorced, as he already knew. No children. Probably a decent little office job in the local authority that just as likely sapped her of all her energy. She was fifty-two years old and at this point in her life more than ready for adventure.
    Before placing the tray of coffee and toast on the bed beside her, he drew back the curtains a chink so that she could catch his smile and all his freshness.
    Afterward, she cuddled up close to him. Tender and submissive, the dimples of her cheeks now deeper than before. She stroked his face and was about to kiss his scar when he lifted his chin and asked: “Should I check into the Hotel Palads, or would you like me to come back here tonight?”
    The answer was a formality. She snuggled affectionately closer and told him where she kept the key. And then he sauntered out to the van and drove away from his newfound residential bliss.

    The family he had selected would be able to pay the usual million-kroner ransom he demanded. They might need to sell off some stocks, though it was certainly not the best time to do so, but apart from that they were well consolidated financially. Obviously, the recession had made it harder to commit even reasonably lucrative crime, but as long as his victims were selected with prudence there would always be a way. He was certain this family possessed both the ability and the will to meet his demands, and to do so with discretion.
    He had been observing them for some time. He had visited their church and had spoken in confidence with the parents after prayer meetings. He knew how long they had been members of their community, how they had made their money, how many children they had and what they were called, and in broad outline the patterns of their daily life.
    The family lived outside Frederiks, twenty minutes southwest of Viborg. Five children aged between ten and eighteen. All still living at home, all active members of the Mother Church. The two eldest attended the gymnasium school in Viborg; their siblings were taught at home by their mother, a former teacher of the Tvind schools in her midforties, who for want of a better life had turned to God. It was she who wore the trousers at home. She who steered the troops and their religion. Her husband wastwenty years her senior and one of the area’s wealthiest businessmen. Though he donated half his income to the Mother Church, as all members were obliged to, there was plenty left over. A business such as his, hiring out agricultural machinery and equipment to local farmers, was never in jeopardy.
    The corn kept growing even when the banks went down the plughole.
    The only drawback about this particular family was that the second son, who seemed otherwise to be an excellent choice of victim, had begun attending karate lessons. Not that there was any reason to be nervous about any physical threat this slight young man might pose, but it might upset the timing.
    And timing was everything, once things got ugly.
    Apart from that, this second son and his middle sister, the fourth child of the family, had all the characteristics required for his mission to be successful. They were enterprising, the best-looking of the siblings, and also the most dominant. Almost certainly the apples of their mother’s eye. Good churchgoers but also rather unruly. The kind who ended up either as high priests or expelled from the Church altogether. Believers, and yet indomitably self-possessed. It was the perfect combination.
    A bit like he had once been himself, perhaps.

    He parked the van between the trees of the windbreak and