‘Yes, thanks. That would be nice.’ He followed Gaby as she led the way, her high heels clacking down the long corridor. The kitchen was decorated in colours as pale as the rest of the place, but the cups she took from the cupboard were a shocking pink, and there didn’t seem to be any others to choose from.

‘Latte? Cappuccino? Espresso?’ Gaby pointed at a gigantic coffee machine that dominated the counter. Christian paused to consider.

‘I’ll have a latte, please.’

‘Coming right up.’ She reached for his cup and began pressing buttons. When the coffee machine had stopped huffing and puffing, she motioned for Christian to follow her.

‘We’ll go to my office. There are too many people running around here.’ She nodded pointedly at a young woman in her thirties who had come into the kitchen. Judging by the woman’s alarmed expression, Christian thought Gaby must keep a tight rein on her employees.

‘Have a seat.’ Gaby’s office was right next door to the kitchen. It was neat and pleasant but impersonal. No photographs of family members, no odd little knickknacks. Nothing that would give any hint as to who Gaby really was, and Christian suspected that was exactly the way she wanted it.

‘You were great this morning!’ She sat down behind the desk, beaming at him.

He nodded, fully aware that she’d noticed his nervousness. He wondered if she had any pangs of conscience about the way she’d thrown him to the media, leaving him defenceless for what was to come.

‘You have such a presence.’ Her teeth flashed a dazzling white as she smiled at him. Too white, an unnatural white.

He clutched the pink coffee cup in his sweaty hands.

‘We’re going to try to get you a few more TV spots,’ Gaby prattled on. ‘Carin, at nine thirty in the evening, Malou on Channel 4, maybe some kind of game show. I think you -’

‘I’m not doing any more TV shows.’

Gaby stared at him. ‘Sorry? I must have heard wrong. Did you just say that you’re not doing any more TV?’

‘That’s right. You saw what happened this morning. I’m not going to subject myself to that again.’

‘But TV sells books.’ Gaby’s nostrils flared. ‘Just that one short interview this morning is going to really spark sales of your book.’ She was impatiently tapping her long fingernails on the desktop.

‘I’m sure that’s true, but it doesn’t matter. I’m not doing anything like that again.’ And he really meant what he said. He didn’t want to appear in the spotlight any more. He couldn’t. Even that one interview was too much; it had been enough to provoke a reaction. Maybe he could still keep fate at bay if he put a stop to it. But he had to do it now.

‘I must say, you’re not being very cooperative. I can’t sell your book or get readers to notice it if you won’t help me. And that means taking part in the promotional efforts.’ Gaby’s voice was ice cold.

Christian felt a buzzing start up inside his head. He stared at Gaby’s pink nails against the light-coloured desktop, and he tried to stop the roar that kept getting louder and louder. He began scratching the palm of his left hand. He felt a prickling under his skin. Like an in visible eczema that got worse the more he touched it.

‘I’m not doing anything like that again,’ he repeated. He didn’t dare meet her eye. The slight nervousness he’d felt before coming to this meeting had now turned to panic. She couldn’t force him. Or could she? What exactly did it say in the contract that he’d signed? He hadn’t really read it, he’d been so thrilled about getting his book accepted for publication.

Gaby’s voice cut through the roaring sound. ‘We expect you to show up, Christian. I expect you to show up.’ Her annoyance provided more impetus for the prickling and itching sensation inside of him. He scratched even harder at the palm of his hand, until he felt it sting. When he glanced down, he saw bloody streaks left by his fingernails. He looked up.

‘I need to go home now.’

Gaby studied him with a frown on her face. ‘How are you doing, actually?’ The furrow on her brow deepened when she saw the blood on the palm of his hand. ‘Christian…’ She seemed at a loss for what to say, and he couldn’t take it any longer. The thoughts were buzzing louder and louder, saying things that he didn’t want to hear. All the question marks, all the connections, everything merged together until the itching under his skin was the only thing he noticed.

He jumped up and ran out of the room.

Patrik stared at the phone. It would take quite a while to get a complete report on the body that they’d found under the ice, but he was counting on receiving confirmation very soon that it really was Magnus Kjellner. Rumours were no doubt already flying through Fjällbacka, and he didn’t want Cia to hear about it from anyone other than the police.

But so far his phone had remained silent.

‘Nothing yet?’ Annika stuck her head in the door, giving him an enquiring look.

Patrik shook his head. ‘Nope. But I’m expecting to hear from Pedersen any minute.’

‘Let’s hope you do,’ said Annika. The second she turned to go back to the reception area, the phone rang. Patrik grabbed the receiver.

‘Hedström.’ He listened, motioning for Annika to wait. It was Tord Pedersen from the forensics lab on the line. ‘Yes… Okay… I understand… Thanks.’ He put down the phone and exhaled loudly. ‘Pedersen confirmed that it’s Magnus Kjellner. He won’t be able to give us a time of death until after the post-mortem, but he can say with certainty that Kjellner was the victim of a violent assault. His body has a number of stab wounds on it.’

‘Poor Cia.’

Patrik nodded. His heart felt heavy as he thought about the task ahead of him. Even so, he wanted to tell her himself. He owed it to her after all the times she’d come to the police station, each time looking a little sadder, a little more haggard, but still holding out hope. Now there was no longer any hope, and the only thing he could offer her was the certain knowledge that her husband was dead.

‘I’d better go over there and have a talk with Cia right away,’ he said, standing up. ‘Before somebody else tells her.’

‘Are you going alone?’

‘No, I’ll take Paula with me.’

He went to his colleague’s office and knocked on the open door.

‘Is it him?’ As usual, Paula got right to the point.

‘Yes. I’m going to have a talk with his wife. Could you come along?’

‘Sure. Of course,’ she said, pulling on her jacket and following Patrik, who was already moving towards the front door.

In the reception area they were stopped by Mellberg.

‘Have you heard anything?’ he wanted to know.

‘Yes. Pedersen has confirmed that the victim is Magnus Kjellner.’ Patrik turned away to head for the police car parked outside the station, but Mellberg wasn’t ready to let him go.

‘So he drowned, right? I knew he killed himself. Probably some sort of woman trouble, or maybe he lost a bundle playing poker on the Internet. I just knew it.’

‘It doesn’t appear to be a suicide.’ Patrik weighed his words carefully. From bitter experience he knew that Mellberg did whatever he liked with information he obtained, and it could easily lead to disastrous results.

‘Bloody hell! You mean it was murder?’

‘We don’t really know very much at this point.’ Patrik’s voice had taken on an admonitory tone. ‘The only thing Pedersen could tell me was that Magnus Kjellner had suffered extensive wounds.’

‘Bloody hell,’ Mellberg said again. ‘That means this investigation is going to get a lot of attention. We need to pick up the pace. We need to put everything that has already been done, or not done, under the microscope. I haven’t really been involved very much so far, but now we need to focus all of the station’s resources on the case.’

Patrik and Paula exchanged glances. As usual, Mellberg was oblivious to their lack of confidence in his leadership abilities. He went on enthusiastically: