He hadn't expected a reply, nor did he get one. In the ensuing silence he went on, 'Do you know anything about what goes on inside a young boy's head when he comes up against somebody like you? Do you know what goes to pieces, what you steal from him?'

Only a slight twitch in Kaj's face showed that he'd heard him. Without taking his eyes off the man, Patrik took a sheet of paper and pushed it slowly across the table. At first Kaj refused to look down, but then he slowly lowered his gaze to the sheet of paper and began to read. With an incredulous expression on his face he looked at Patrik, who merely nodded grimly.

'Yes, that's precisely what it looks like it is. A suicide note. Sebastian Ryden took his life this morning. His stepfather found him hanging in the garage. I was there when they cut him down.'

'You're lying.' Kaj's hand shook as he picked up the letter. But Patrik could see that he knew it was true.

'Wouldn't it feel good to stop lying?' Patrik asked him softly. 'You must have cared for Sebastian, I'm sure of that – so do it for his sake. You can see what he wrote. He wanted it to end. You can end it.'

His tone was treacherously sympathetic. Patrik glanced quickly at Martin, who sat ready with his pen poised over his notebook. The tape recorder was humming like a little bumblebee in the room as well, but Martin was in the habit of always taking his own notes.

Kaj smoothed out the letter with his fingers and opened his mouth to say something. Martin held his pen, ready to start writing.

At that very instant Annika tore open the door.

'There's been an accident outside, hurry!'

Then she ran off down the hall. After a second of shocked silence, Patrik and Martin ran after her.

At the last moment Patrik remembered to lock the door. They'd have to resume with Kaj later. He only hoped that the moment hadn't passed them by.

Mellberg couldn't deny that he felt a bit worried. It had only been a couple of days, of course, but he didn't sense that they had any real father-son contact yet. Sure, maybe he should be a little more patient, but he really didn't think he was getting the appreciation he deserved. The respect due a father. The unconditional love that all parents spoke of, perhaps combined with a little healthy fear. The boy seemed absolutely indifferent. He loafed about on Mellberg's sofa all day long, eating enormous quantities of crisps and playing his video games. Mellberg couldn't understand where he'd got such a slacker attitude. It must be from his mother. Mellberg could remember being a bundle of energy as a youth. Even with the best effort he couldn't actually recall the achievements in sports he must have made – in fact he couldn't summon up a single memory of himself in any sort of sports context – but he ascribed that failing to the toll of time. His image of himself as a youth was definitely that of a muscular boy with a spring in his step.

He looked at the clock. Not yet noon. His fingers drummed impatiently on the desktop. Maybe he ought to go home instead and spend a little quality time with Simon. It would probably make the boy happy. When Mellberg thought about it, he realized that his son was probably just shy. Inside he was undoubtedly longing for his pappa, who had been absent for so long, to come and drag him out of his shell. That must be it. Mellberg sighed with relief. It was lucky that he understood kids, otherwise he probably would have given up by now and let the boy sit there on the sofa feeling miserable. But Simon would soon find how lucky he was in the father lottery.

With great enthusiasm Mellberg pulled on his jacket, thinking about what they might dream up as a suitable father-son activity. Unfortunately there wasn't much for two real men to do in this Godforsaken hole. If they'd been in Göteborg he could have taken his son on his first visit to a strip club, or taught him about roulette. As it was, he didn't quite know what they should do. Oh well, he'd think of something.

As he passed Hedström's door he thought that it was damned unpleasant about what happened to his daughter. It was another sign that you never knew when something might occur, and it was best to enjoy your children while there was still time. With that in mind he convinced himself that nobody would blame him for going home early today.

Whistling, he walked towards the reception, but stopped short when he saw doors flying open and his men running towards the front entrance. Something was going on, and as usual nobody had bothered to tell him.

'What's going on?' he shouted to Gösta, who wasn't as fast as the others and was bringing up the rear.

'Somebody's been run over right outside.'

'Oh shit,' said Mellberg, and he also started running as best he could.

Right outside the entrance he stopped. A big black mini-van stood in the middle of the street. A man who was probably the driver was wandering about holding his head. The air bag had deployed on the driver's side, and he looked uninjured but confused. In front of the vehicle a heap lay in the street. Patrik and Annika were kneeling next to it, while Martin tried to calm the driver. Ernst stood a bit to the side, with his long arms hanging down and his face as white as a sheet. Gösta joined him, and Mellberg saw them talking quietly with each other. Gösta's worried expression bothered Mellberg. He got an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach.

'Did anyone call an ambulance?' he asked, and Annika answered yes. Awkward and unsure what to do next, he went over to Ernst and Gösta. 'What happened? Do you know?'

An ominous silence from both of them told him that he wasn't going to like the answer. He saw that Ernst was blinking nervously, so Mellberg fixed his gaze on him.

'Well, is anyone going to answer, or do I have to drag it out of you?'

'It was an accident,' said Ernst in a shrill voice.

'Could you give me some details about this "accident"?' Mellberg asked, still glaring at his subordinate.

'I was just going to ask him some questions, and he flipped out. He was a total fucking psycho, that guy. I couldn't help it, could I?' Ernst raised his voice belligerently in a desperate attempt to take control of the situation that had so suddenly slipped out of his hands.

The ominous feeling in Mellberg's stomach grew. He looked at the heap lying in the street.

'Who is it lying under that vehicle, Ernst? Tell me.' He was whispering, almost snarling the words, and that more than anything else told Ernst what deep shit he was in.

Taking a deep breath he whispered, 'Morgan. Morgan Wiberg.'

'What the fuck are you saying?' roared Mellberg so loud that both Ernst and Gösta shrank back, and Patrik and Annika turned round.

'Did you know about this, Hedström?' asked Mellberg.

Patrik shook his head grimly. 'No, I didn't give any instructions for Morgan to be brought in for questioning.'

'So-o-o, you thought you'd show off a little.' Mellberg had lowered his voice to a treacherously calm tone.

'You said that we should look at the idiot first. And unlike certain colleagues,' Ernst nodded in Patrik's direction, 'I have complete confidence in your opinion and always listen to what you say.'

In a normal situation flattery would have been the proper path to take, but this time Ernst had made such a mess of things that not even compliments could make Mellberg favourably disposed towards him.

'Did I specifically say that Morgan should be brought in? Well, did I say that?'

Ernst seemed to hesitate for a moment, and then whispered, 'No.'

'All right then,' Mellberg yelled. 'Now where the hell is the fucking ambulance? Are they taking a coffee break on the way, or what?'

He felt his frustration flying in all directions, and it didn't help when Hedström said calmly, 'I don't think they need to hurry. He hasn't breathed since we got here. I think death was instantaneous.'