They got up and shook hands. Then Niclas's mobile rang. He took the call out in the corridor and a perplexed expression soon appeared on his face.

'The hospital? Now? Stay calm, we'll be right over.'

He turned to Charlotte, who was standing next to Patrik in the doorway.

'Stig has taken a turn for the worse. He's on his way to the hospital.'

Patrik gazed after them as they hurried off down the corridor. Hadn't they suffered enough?

Arne had taken refuge in the church. Asta's words were still whirling round in his head like an angry swarm of hornets. His whole world was falling apart, and the answers he'd hoped to find in the church had not yet materialized. Instead it was as if the stone walls were slowly closing in around him as he sat on the front pew. And didn't Jesus up there on the cross have a sneer on his lips that he'd never noticed before?

A sound behind him made him turn round. Some latecomer German tourists came in the door talking loudly and frenetically taking photographs. He had always been annoyed by tourists who came here at all seasons of the year, and this was the straw that broke the camel's back.

Arne stood up and screamed, with spittle spraying from his lips, 'Get out of here! At once! Out!'

Although they didn't understand a word of what he was saying, his tone left no room for doubt, and they slunk timidly out the door.

Pleased at having finally put his foot down, Arne sat back down on the pew, but Jesus's scornful smile promptly propelled him into a state of gloom again.

A glance at the pulpit infused him with new courage. It was time to do what he should have done long, long ago.

Life was so unfair. Hadn't he been forced to fight an uphill battle ever since he was born? He'd never got something for nothing. Nobody saw his true qualities. Ernst simply didn't understand what was wrong with everybody. What was the problem? Why were they always looking askance at him, whispering behind his back, stealing the opportunities that should have been his? That's how it had always been. Even in grade school they had ganged up on him. The girls had giggled and the boys had given him thrashings on the way home from school. Not even when his father fell and landed on a pitchfork did he get any sympathy. Instead he knew what the people in all the houses were saying with their tattling tongues. That his poor mother probably had something to do with it. They simply had no shame in what they said.

He'd always believed that things would be better as soon as he left school. When he got out in the real world. He had chosen to become a policeman because he would have a chance to show himself as the powerful man he was. But after twenty-five years on the force he had to admit that things hadn't quite gone the way he'd planned. Yet never before had he been in such deep shit as he was now. He just couldn't have imagined that Kaj would have had anything to do with such things. They played cards together, after all. Kaj was a great pal and one of the few people who actually wanted to hang out with him. And they'd heard stories about how unfounded accusations had destroyed the lives of innocent men. So when Ernst got a chance to do a mate a favour, of course he had done it. That was nothing to hold against him, was it? He'd had the best of intentions when he neglected to report that call from Göteborg, but nobody seemed to understand. And now everything had blown up in his face. Why did he always have such fucking bad luck? He was smart enough to realize that the boy's suicide yesterday was going to add insult to injury.

But as he sat there in his office, banished to solitude like a prisoner in Siberia, Ernst had a flash of genius. He knew precisely how he could turn the situation to his own advantage. He intended to become the hero of the day, and once and for all show that whippersnapper Hedström who was the most experienced cop on the force. Hedström had probably noticed how he'd rolled his eyes at the meeting, when Mellberg had pointed out that they probably ought to take a closer look at the village idiot. But one man's meat is another man's poison. If Hedström couldn't put two and two together to solve the murder, then Ernst would just have to jump in and do it for him. It was obvious to anyone that Morgan was the guilty party, and the fact that the girl's jacket was found at his home removed any remaining doubt.

What appealed to Ernst most was the brilliant simplicity of his plan. He would bring Morgan in for questioning, get him to confess in no time, and thereby arrest the murderer. At the same time he could show Mellberg that he, Ernst, certainly did listen to what a superior said, while Hedström was not only incompetent but also insubordinate. After that he would surely be taken into the chief's good graces again.

He got up and walked to the door, displaying more energy than usual. Now it was up to him to do some high-quality police work. He looked up and down the corridor to make sure that nobody was watching as he slipped out, but the coast was clear.

GÖTEBORG 1957

Mary felt nothing as she stood there in the pouring rain. Neither hatred nor joy. Only a cold emptiness that filled her whole body, from the outermost layer of skin down to the white bones of her skeleton.

Her mother was sobbing next to her. She was more stylish than usual. The black funeral dress looked good on her. No one could ignore the dramatic effect of her beauty. With a trembling hand she let a single red rose fall onto her husband's coffin and then threw herself sobbing into Per-Erik's arms. Just behind him stood his wife, sympathy written all over the plain features of her face, thanks to her total ignorance of how often her husband had slept with the woman who was now wetting his lapels with her tears.

Mary watched with an aching heart, wishing her mother had chosen instead to seek solace in her embrace. Dismissed once again. Rejected once again. Doubt descended on her with full force, but she forced herself to push it away. She couldn't start questioning everything now; if she did she would go under.

The rain was cold against her cheeks, but her face betrayed no emotion. With stiff legs she walked the few steps up to the hole in the ground and tried to make her fingers hold out the rose in her hand. The monster stirred inside her, coaxing her, making her raise her arm and hold the rose over the shiny black coffin down there in the hole. Then she saw her fingers as if in slow motion let go of the spiny stalk, and with unbearable slowness the flower floated down towards the hard surface. She thought she heard a loud echo when it struck the wood, but no one else seemed to react, so the sound must have been all in her head.

She stood there for what seemed like an eternity before she felt a light touch on her elbow. Per-Erik's wife smiled gently to her and nodded that it was time to go. Before them walked the rest of the funeral cortege, led by Agnes and Per-Erik. He had his arm around Mother's shoulders and she was leaning against him.

Mary glanced at the woman next to her and wondered scornfully how she could be so stupid and naive not to see the aura of sexual tension surrounding the couple in front of her. Mary was only thirteen, but she could see it as clearly as the falling rain. Well, that stupid woman would soon find out what reality looked like.

Sometimes she felt so much older than thirteen. She regarded the foolishness of humanity with a contempt that far exceeded that of a normal thirteen-year-old – but then she'd had an excellent teacher. Mother had taught her that everyone was only interested in tending to their own desires, and that a person had to take care of getting what she wanted in life. Nothing should ever stand in the way, Mother had intoned, and Mary had been a splendid student. Now she felt wise and experienced and ready to be given the respect she deserved from Mother. After all, she had proven how far her love reached. Hadn't she made the ultimate sacrifice for her mother? Now she would get that love back with interest, she knew it. She would never again have to sit in the dark cellar and watch the monster grow.