He took a deep breath and began.

'Sara was buried today. Did you know that?'

He and Gösta were sitting on one side of the table with Lilian facing them. She shook her head.

'Would you have wanted to be there?'

She merely shrugged and gave them a strange, sphinx-like smile.

'What do you think Charlotte feels about you now?' He kept changing the subject in the hope of striking a nerve that would make her react. But so far she had been almost inhumanly indifferent.

'I'm her mother,' Lilian replied calmly. 'She can never change that.'

'Do you think she would want to?'

'Maybe. But what she wants won't change anything.'

'Do you think she'd want to know why you did what you did?' Gösta interjected. He was staring at Lilian intently, looking for a crack in what seemed to be impenetrable armour.

Lilian didn't answer, but instead studied her nails impassively.

'We have the evidence, Lilian, you know that. We went over that earlier. We don't doubt for a second that you murdered two people and are guilty of the attempted murder of a third. The arsenic poisoning of Lennart and Stig will bring you many, many years in prison. So it won't cost you a thing to talk about Sara's murder. Killing your husband is nothing new; I could think of a thousand reasons to do it, but why your granddaughter? Why Sara? Did she provoke you? Did you get mad at her and then couldn't stop yourself? Did she have one of her outbursts and you were trying to calm her down with a bath and things got out of hand? Tell us!'

But just as in earlier interrogations they got no answers from Lilian. She simply smiled indulgently.

'We have the evidence!' Patrik repeated, now with increasing irritation. 'The samples from Lennart showed high levels of arsenic, and Stig's likewise. We've even been able to demonstrate that the arsenic poisoning occurred during the past six months, and in ever increasing doses. We found the arsenic in an old container of rat poison that you kept down in the cellar. Sara had traces in her lungs of the ashes that you kept in your bedroom. You smeared a small child with the same ashes to throw us off the track, and you also put Sara's jacket in Morgan's cabin to try to shift the blame on him. The fact that Kaj turned out to be a paedophile was a stroke of luck for you. But we also have Morgan's testimony on tape, saying that he saw Sara go back in the house. And that contradicts what you told us. We know that you were the one who murdered Sara. Help us now, help your daughter to move on. Tell us why! And my daughter, what reason did you have for taking her out of the pram? Was it me you were trying to get at? Talk to me!'

Lilian was drawing little circles on the table with her index finger. She'd heard Patrik's entreaties several times before, and they were just as futile this time.

Patrik felt himself beginning to lose his temper. He realized that it would be best to stop before he did something stupid. He jumped to his feet, reeled off the necessary information to conclude the interrogation, and walked over to the door. In the doorway he turned round.

'What you're doing now is unforgivable. You have the power to give your daughter some meagre peace of mind, but you choose not to do so. It's not only unforgivable, it's inhuman.'

He asked Gösta to take Lilian back to her cell. He couldn't look at her another second. For an instant he'd thought he was gazing directly into the depths of evil.

'Damned women's lib types we keep having shoved down our throats,' Mellberg muttered. 'Now we're going to be encumbered with them at work as well. I don't get the point of that damned quota system. Maybe I was naive, but I thought I'd be able to choose my own staff. But no, instead they're going to send me a dame who probably hasn't even learned to button her uniform. Am I right?'

Simon didn't answer but kept his eyes fixed on his plate.

It felt odd to be eating lunch at home, but it was another link in the father-and-son project that Mellberg had initiated. He had even made an effort to slice some vegetables, which previously had never even made an appearance in his refrigerator. But he noticed with annoyance that Simon hadn't touched either the cucumber or the tomatoes. Instead he was concentrating on the macaroni and meatballs, which he covered with enormous quantities of ketchup. Oh well, ketchup was tomatoes too, Mellberg supposed, so that would have to do.

He decided to change the subject. It just aggravated his blood pressure to keep thinking about their new colleague. Instead he focused on his son's plans for the future.

'So, have you thought about what sort of job you want? If you don't think that studying at the Gymnasium is for you, I can help you find some sort of work. Not everyone can be the studious type, and if you're half as practically inclined as your father…' Mellberg chuckled.

A less experienced parent might have been concerned about his son's lack of initiative regarding his own future, but Mellberg was filled with confidence. Surely Simon was just going through a temporary period of depression; there was nothing to worry about. He pondered whether he wanted the boy to be a lawyer or a doctor. A lawyer, he decided. Doctors no longer made as much money. But until he could get him onto that career track the important thing was to back off and cut the boy some slack. If he got a taste of life's hard knocks he would eventually listen to reason. Of course Simon's mother had informed him that the boy had failed in almost every subject, and it was clear that might place some obstacles in his path. But Mellberg was thinking positive. The whole problem was no doubt due to lack of support at home, because the intelligence must be there; otherwise Mother Nature would have played an especially malicious trick on them.

Simon was chewing listlessly on a meatball and didn't seem particularly inclined to answer his father's question.

'So, what do you say about a job?' Mellbergsaid again, getting a bit more annoyed. Here he was making an effort to forge a bond between them, and Simon couldn't even take the trouble to reply.

Still chewing, Simon said after a while, 'No, I don't think so.'

'What do you mean, you don't think so?' said Mellberg indignantly. 'Then what do you think? That you can live here under my roof and eat my food and just sit and goof off all day long? Is that what you think?'

Simon didn't even blink. 'No, I'll probably go back and live with my mum.'

The announcement hit Mellberg like a kick in the head. Somewhere near his heart he felt a weird, almost stabbing pain.

'Back to your mum?' Mellberg repeated, as if he couldn't believe his ears. It was an option he hadn't even considered.

'But I thought you didn't like living there? You said you hated "that damned bitch," when you arrived.'

'Oh, Mum's all right,' said Simon, looking out of the window.

'And I'm not?' said Mellberg in a grumpy voice. He couldn't hide the disappointment that had crept in. He regretted being so hard on the boy. Maybe it wasn't really necessary for the kid to start working right away. There would be plenty of time for drudgery in his life; taking it easy for a while wasn't going to ruin his chances.

Mellberg hurried to declare his new point of view, but it didn't have the effect he expected.

'Oh, that's not it. Mum will probably make me get a job too. But it's my mates, you know. I have lots of mates back home, and here I don't know a soul and…' He let the sentence die out.

'But what about all the great things we've done together,' said Mellberg. 'Father and son, you know. I thought you were enjoying finally being with your old pop. Getting to know me.'

Mellberg was groping for a convincing argument. He couldn't imagine why only two weeks earlier he'd felt such panic, waiting for his son to arrive. Sure, he'd been angry with him occasionally, but still. For the first time, he had actually had a feeling of anticipation when he put the key in the door after work. And now all that was about to disappear.