With Christian under control Gösta could concentrate on what he’d been trying to wash away. On the wall above the boys’ beds someone had written: You don’t deserve them.

The red paint had dripped down from the letters, which looked as if they’d been written in blood. The same impression was made by the paint on the children’s bed. Gösta now understood the extent of the shock that Sanna must have had when she came into the room. And he also understood Christian’s reaction. His face was now expressionless as he stared at the words on the wall, but he was muttering to himself. Gösta moved a little closer to hear what he was saying.

‘I don’t deserve them. I don’t deserve them.’

Gösta cautiously took him by the arm. ‘Go and put on some clothes, Christian, and then we’ll talk.’ Gently but firmly Gösta ushered him out the door and over to the room that he had noticed belonged to Christian and Sanna.

Christian followed obediently, but then he just sat down on the bed, without making any attempt to get dressed. Gösta looked around until he found a bathrobe hanging from a hook behind the door. He handed the robe to Christian, who put it on, his movements listless and slow.

‘I need to have another look at Sanna and the children. Then we’ll go down to the kitchen and talk.’

Christian nodded. His eyes were vacant and glassy. Gösta left him sitting on the bed and went back to find Martin, who was still in the children’s room.

‘What the hell is going on here?’ Gösta asked.

Martin shook his head. ‘This is sick. Whoever did this must be insane. And what does it mean? “You don’t deserve them.” Deserve what? The children?’

‘That’s what we need to find out. Patrik and Paula should be here any minute. Could you go downstairs and let them in? And phone for a doctor too. I don’t think the kids are hurt, but the whole family has received a bad shock. It’s probably best to have a doctor look at them. I’m going to help Sanna get the paint washed off of the boys. She’s scrubbing so hard that she’s going to flay the skin off them.’

‘We need to get the crime techs out here too.’

‘Exactly. As soon as Patrik gets here, ask him to contact Torbjörn ASAP so they’ll send over a team. And we should try not to walk around in here any more than we have to.’

‘At least we managed to save the wall,’ said Martin.

‘Yes. That was damn lucky.’

They went downstairs together, and Gösta quickly managed to locate the door that led down to the basement. Only a bare bulb lit the stairs, so he descended cautiously. Like most people’s basements, the one belonging to the Thydell family was filled with all sorts of junk: cardboard boxes, discarded toys, containers labelled ‘Christmas decorations’, tools that didn’t look as if they were used very often, and a shelf holding painting equipment: cans, bottles, brushes, and rags. Gösta reached for a bottle half-filled with white spirit, but the moment his fingers closed around the bottle, he caught sight of something out of the corner of his eye. A rag was lying on the floor. Spattered with red paint.

He quickly scanned the tins of paint on the shelf. None of them held red paint. But Gösta was positive that the red colour on the rag was the same as he’d seen in the boys’ room. Whoever had painted those words on the wall must have brought the paint along and then come down here to wash up. He looked at the bottle he was holding. Shit. It might have fingerprints on it. But he needed the white spirit. The boys had to have the paint removed from their skin so they could get out of the bath. An empty cola bottle solved the problem. Without changing his grip on the bottle of white spirit, he poured the contents into the plastic bottle and then set it back on the shelf. If he was lucky, he hadn’t ruined all the prints. And the rag might also give them something to go on.

Carrying the cola bottle, Gösta went back upstairs. Patrik and Paula hadn’t yet arrived, but they couldn’t be far away.

Sanna was still stubbornly scrubbing her sons when he came into the bathroom. The boys were crying desperately. Gösta squatted down next to the tub and said gently:

‘You’re not going to get the paint off just by scrubbing with soap. We need to use white spirit.’ He held up the bottle that he’d brought from the basement. Sanna stopped what she was doing and stared at him. Gösta took a hand towel from a hook next to the sink and poured some of the fluid on to the cloth as Sanna watched. He held up the towel to show it to her and then took hold of the older boy’s arm. There was no use trying to calm them down right now. He just had to work fast.

‘See? The paint comes right off.’ Even though the boy was wriggling like a worm, Gösta managed to wipe off a good deal of the paint. ‘This is what we need to do.’

He realized that he was speaking to Sanna as if she were a child, but it seemed to work because she was starting to look less and less distraught.

‘Okay. So he’s done now.’ Gösta put down the towel and picked up the handheld shower to rinse the solvent off the boy’s body. The child began wildly kicking when Gösta lifted him out of the tub, but Sanna reacted by swiftly wrapping her son in a bathrobe. She pulled him on to her lap and rocked him as she held him close.

‘Okay, little guy. Now it’s your turn.’

The younger boy seemed to understand that if he let the policeman wash him off, he’d be allowed out of the bathtub and could sit on his mother’s lap. He abruptly stopped crying and sat perfectly still as Gösta poured more white spirit on the towel and then began wiping off the paint. Soon he too was only a faint shade of pink, and he was allowed to sit on Sanna’s lap, wrapped from head to toe in a big bath towel.

From downstairs Gösta could now hear voices and then footsteps approaching. Patrik appeared in the doorway.

‘What happened?’ he asked, out of breath. ‘Is everybody okay? Martin said the children didn’t seem to be hurt.’ Patrik’s eyes were fixed on the bathtub filled with crimson water.

‘The kids are fine. Just a little shocked. Like their parents.’ Gösta stood up and went out into the hall with Patrik. Briefly he told his colleague what had happened.

‘This is crazy. Who would do such a thing?’

‘Martin and I said the same thing. Something isn’t right, and that’s putting it mildly. I think Christian knows more than he’s telling us.’ He repeated what he’d heard Christian mumbling.

‘I agree,’ said Patrik. ‘I’ve had that feeling for a while now. Where is he?’

‘In the bedroom. We need to see if he’s in okay shape so we can have a talk with him.’

‘I reckon it’s high time we did just that.’

Patrik’s mobile rang. He took it out of his pocket and answered. Then he gave a start.

‘What did you say? Can you repeat that?’ He glanced at Gösta, a look of dismay on his face. Gösta tried in vain to hear what the other person was saying. ‘Okay. Understood. We’re over at the Thydell home. Something has happened here too, but we’ll deal with it.’

He ended the call.

‘Kenneth Bengtsson has been taken to the Uddevalla hospital. He was out running this morning, and someone had set a trap for him. A cord that tripped him so he fell headlong on to a bed of broken glass.’

‘Good God,’ whispered Gösta. And for the second time that morning, he said, ‘What the hell is going on here?’

Erik stared at his mobile phone. Kenneth was on his way to the hospital. Dutiful as ever, he had persuaded the ambulance medics to ring the office to say that he couldn’t make it to work.

Somebody had set a trap that he was bound to encounter on his run. Erik didn’t even consider the possibility that it could be a mistake, a practical joke that had gone too far. Kenneth always took the same route every morning. Everyone in the area knew that, and anyone else could have found out. So there was no doubt that somebody wanted to harm Kenneth. Which meant that he too was in danger.