‘We know that Kjellner left home just after eight in the morning. Cia had already left at seven thirty to drive to her job in Grebbestad. She works part-time in an estate agents office there. The children had to leave by seven to catch the bus to school.’ Patrik paused to take a sip of his coffee after Martin had refilled everyone’s cups. Paula took the opportunity to jump in with a question.

‘How do you know that Magnus Kjellner left just after eight?’

‘That’s when a neighbour saw him leaving the house.’

‘Did he drive off?’

‘No, Cia had taken the family’s only car, and according to her, Magnus usually walked.’

‘But he didn’t walk all the way to Tanum, did he?’ asked Martin.

‘No, he rode to work with a colleague of his, Ulf Rosander, who lives over by the mini-golf course. That was where he walked. But on that particular morning, he phoned Rosander to say he’d be late. And he never showed up.’

‘Do we know that?’ asked Mellberg. ‘Have we taken a proper look at this Rosander? After all, we have only his word that Magnus never turned up.’

‘Gösta went out to interview Rosander, and there’s nothing to indicate that he’s lying, either from what he said or the way he acted,’ said Patrik.

‘Maybe you haven’t pressured him enough,’ said Mellberg, writing something on his notepad. He glanced up and fixed his gaze on Patrik. ‘Let’s bring him in and grill him a little more.’

‘Isn’t that a bit drastic? People might hesitate to talk to the police in future if they hear that we’ve started hauling witnesses down to the station,’ Paula objected. ‘How about if you and Patrik drive out to his place in Fjällbacka? Of course, I know that you’re extremely busy at the moment, so I could go with Patrik instead, if you like.’ She gave Patrik a discreet wink.

‘Hmmm, that’s true. I do have quite a lot on my plate right now. That’s a good idea, Paula. You and Patrik can drive over there and have another chat with… Rosell.’

‘Rosander,’ Patrik corrected him.

‘Right. That’s what I said.’ Mellberg glared at Patrik. ‘At any rate, I want you and Paula to talk to him. I think that could be productive.’ He waved his hand impatiently. ‘So, what else? What more do we know?’

‘We’ve knocked on doors all along the route that Magnus used to take when he walked over to Rosander’s house. Nobody saw anything, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. People are always busy with their own morning routines,’ said Patrik.

‘It seems Magnus just disappeared in a puff of smoke the minute he stepped out the front door. Until we found him in the ice, that is.’ Martin had a resigned expression on his face as he looked at Patrik, who made an effort to sound more positive than he actually felt.

‘No one just disappears. Somewhere there are traces of what happened. We just have to find them.’

Patrik could hear the platitudes rolling a bit too glibly from his lips, but he had nothing else to offer.

‘What about his personal life? Have we dug deep enough? Pulled all the skeletons out of the wardrobe?’ Mellberg laughed at his own joke, but no one joined in.

‘Magnus and Cia’s closest friends are Erik Lind, Kenneth Bengtsson, and Christian Thydell. And their wives. We’ve talked to all of them, along with Magnus’s family members. But the only thing we’ve learned is that Magnus was a devoted father and a good friend. No gossip, no secrets, no rumours.’

‘Rubbish!’ Mellberg snorted. ‘Everybody has something to hide. It’s just a matter of digging it out. You clearly haven’t tried hard enough.’

‘Of course…’ Patrik began. But then he fell silent as he realized that Mellberg might actually be right, for a change. Maybe they hadn’t dug deep enough, maybe they hadn’t asked the right questions. ‘Of course we’ll do another round of interviews with his family and friends,’ he went on. He suddenly pictured Christian Thydell, and the letter that lay in the top drawer of his desk. But Patrik didn’t want to say anything about that yet, not until he had something more concrete to go on. So far it was just a gut feeling.

‘Okay then. Let’s do it over, and do it right!’ Mellberg stood up so fast that Ernst, who had been resting his head on his master’s knee, almost toppled over. The police chief was halfway out of the door when he turned and gave his subordinates a stern look as they sat around the table. ‘And let’s pick up the pace a bit too.’

Dark had fallen outside the train windows. He’d got up so early that morning that it now felt more like evening, even though his watch told him it was only late afternoon. In his pocket his mobile stubbornly buzzed again and again, but he ignored it. No matter who was trying to call, it was bound to be someone who wanted something from him. Someone trying to chase him down and make demands.

Christian stared out of the window. They had just passed Herrljunga. He’d left his car in Uddevalla. From there it was about a forty-five-minute drive home to Fjällbacka. He leaned his forehead on the pane and closed his eyes. The glass felt cold against his skin. The darkness outside seemed to be forcing its way inward, towards him. He gasped for breath, opened his eyes, and moved his head back. His forehead and the tip of his nose had left a visible print on the windowpane. He raised his hand and rubbed it off. He didn’t want to look at that, didn’t want to see any trace of himself.

When the train arrived in Uddevalla, he was so tired that he could barely see straight. He’d tried to doze off during the last hour of the trip, but images kept flickering through his mind, keeping him awake. He stopped at the McDonald’s on the road to Torp and bought a large coffee, which he quickly downed for the sake of the caffeine.

His mobile was buzzing again, but he didn’t feel like taking the phone out of his pocket, much less talking to whoever was so persistently trying to reach him. It was probably Sanna. She would be annoyed with him when he finally got home, but he didn’t care.

He could feel a prickling sensation in his body, and he shifted position in the driver’s seat. The headlamps from the car behind him were shining in his rear-view mirror, and he was temporarily blinded when he shifted his gaze to the road ahead. There was something about those headlamps – the steadily maintained distance, and the glare – that made him glance in the rear-view mirror again. It was the same car that had been behind him ever since he stopped in Torp. Or was it? He rubbed his eyes. He was no longer sure about anything.

The lights stayed with him as he turned off the motorway at the sign for Fjällbacka. Christian squinted, trying to make out what model car was following him. But it was too dark, and the headlamps were too bright. His hands were sweaty as he tightened his grip on the steering wheel. He was holding on so hard that his hands started to ache, and he briefly let go to flex his fingers.

He pictured her in his mind. She was wearing the blue dress, holding the child in her arms. The scent of strawberries, the taste of her lips. The feeling of the dress fabric against his skin. Her hair, long and brown.

Something jumped out in front of his car. Christian braked hard and for several seconds, the tyres lost contact with the road. The car slid towards the ditch, and he could feel that he’d lost control of the vehicle; he just let it happen. But a few centimetres from the edge, the car came to a halt. The white rump of a deer was clearly visible in the light of the headlamps, and he watched the animal leaping with fright across the field.

The engine was still running, but the sound was drowned out by the roar inside his head. In his rear-view mirror he noticed that the car behind him had also stopped, and he knew that he ought to get going. Away from those headlamps shining in the mirror.

A car door opened and someone got out of the other vehicle. Who was that coming towards him? It was so dark outside, and he couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman approaching. A few more steps and the dark figure would reach his door.