Patrik decided to try again. ‘And you have no idea why anyone would do this? Or why someone would send you threatening letters for a year and half? No suspicions at all?’

‘Why the hell aren’t you listening to what I’m saying?’

The outburst came out of the blue, and Patrik actually jumped. Christian had shouted so loudly that Paula called from upstairs:

‘Is everything okay?’

‘We’re fine,’ Patrik called in reply, hoping he was right. Christian looked on the verge of collapse. His face was bright red, and he was vigorously scratching the palm of his hand.

‘I don’t know anything,’ Christian repeated, as if he were trying desperately not to shout. He was scratching so hard that he was leaving marks on his skin.

Patrik waited for Christian to relax a bit, and for the colour of his face to return more or less to normal. When he stopped scratching, he looked in surprise at the marks on the palm of his hand, as if he couldn’t understand where they’d come from.

‘Is there anywhere you and your family could stay until we find out more?’ asked Patrik.

‘Sanna and the boys could go to her sister’s house in Hamburgsund and stay there for a while.’

‘What about you?’

‘I’m staying here.’ Christian sounded as if he’d made up his mind.

‘That doesn’t seem like a good idea,’ said Patrik, his voice equally firm. ‘We can’t offer you police protection 24/7. I’d rather you stayed at a different location where you would feel safer.’

‘I’m staying here.’

Christian’s tone of voice indicated there was no room for discussion.

‘All right,’ said Patrik reluctantly. ‘Make sure that your family leaves as soon as possible. We’ll try to keep an eye on the house as best we can, but we don’t have the resources to -’

‘I don’t need police protection,’ Christian interrupted him. ‘I’ll be fine.’

Patrik fixed his eyes on him. ‘A seriously disturbed person is on the loose. This individual has already committed one murder, possibly two, and seems determined to make sure that you and Kenneth, and maybe Erik, end up dead too. This is not a game. You don’t seem to understand that.’ He spoke slowly, clearly enunciating every word to make sure his message got through.

‘I assure you that I fully understand how serious this is. But I’m staying here.’

‘If you change your mind, you know where to find me. And as I said, I don’t believe you for a minute when you say that you know nothing about this. I hope you realize what you’re putting at risk by not speaking up. No matter what it is you’re keeping back, we’ll find out what it is sooner or later. It’s just a matter of whether we find out before or after somebody else gets hurt.’

‘How’s Kenneth?’ muttered Christian, avoiding looking Patrik in the eye.

‘All I know is that he was injured. Nothing more.’

‘What happened?’

‘Someone stretched a cord across the path and spread a thick layer of broken glass on the ground. So maybe now you’ll understand why I’m asking for your cooperation.’

Christian didn’t reply. He turned away and looked out of the window. His face was as pale as the snow outside, and his jaws were clenched. But his voice was cold and devoid of any emotion as he repeated, his eyes fixed on some distant spot:

‘I know nothing. I. Know. Nothing.’

‘Does it hurt?’ Martin looked at the man’s bandaged arms resting on top of the blanket. Kenneth nodded.

‘Are you up to answering a few questions?’ Gösta pulled over a chair and motioned for Martin to do the same.

‘Seeing as how you’ve already sat down, it seems you assume that I’m up for it,’ said Kenneth with a faint smile.

Martin couldn’t take his eyes off the bandages. It must have hurt like hell, falling on to all that glass and then having the pieces removed.

He cast an uncertain glance at Gösta. Sometimes it felt as if he’d never have enough experience to know how to proceed in the situations that he landed in as a police officer. Should he just plunge in and start asking questions? Or should he show respect for his older colleague and let him steer the conversation? It was such a balancing act. He was always the youngest, always the one sent off to do one thing or another. He too would have preferred to stay at Christian’s house, which was what Gösta had been muttering about all the way out to Uddevalla. He would have liked to interview Christian and his wife, to talk with Torbjörn and his team when they arrived; to have been in the thick of things.

He was disappointed that Patrik usually chose to work with Paula, even though Martin had joined the station a couple of years before she arrived. Of course she had experience from working in Stockholm, while he had spent his entire brief career on the Tanumshede police force. But was that necessarily such a negative thing? He knew the area, he was familiar with all the resident troublemakers, he knew how people thought and how a small town operated. In fact, he had even gone to school with a couple of the worst offenders, while they were complete unknowns to Paula. And after the rumours about her personal life had spread through the district like wildfire, many people had started eyeing her with suspicion. Martin himself had nothing against those who chose to live with a partner of the same sex, but many of the people they dealt with on a daily basis were not as understanding. So it seemed a little odd that Patrik kept on choosing Paula to work with him. All Martin wanted was to get a certain amount of respect from his colleagues. He wished they would stop treating him like some young whippersnapper. He really wasn’t all that young any more. And now he was a father too.

‘I’m sorry?’ Martin was so immersed in his own gloomy thoughts that he’d missed what Gösta had said to him.

‘I was just saying that maybe you’d like to start.’

Martin stared at Gösta in surprise. Was he a mind-reader? But he seized the opportunity and asked:

‘Could you tell us in your own words what happened?’

Kenneth reached for a glass of water standing on the table next to his bed before he realized that he couldn’t use his hands.

‘Wait, let me do it.’ Martin picked up the glass and helped him take a drink through a straw. Then Kenneth leaned back against the pillows. In a calm and matter-of-fact voice, he recounted what had happened to him, starting with tying his shoes before going out for his usual morning run.

‘What time did you leave the house?’ Martin had taken out a notebook and pen.

‘Six forty-five,’ replied Kenneth, and Martin wrote down the time without hesitation. It was his impression that if Kenneth said it was six forty-five, then that was the time. Without a doubt.

‘Do you always go running at the same time each morning?’ Gösta leaned back with his arms crossed.

‘Yes, give or take ten minutes or so.’

‘And you didn’t consider not… I mean, given that…’ Martin stammered.

‘You didn’t consider skipping your run, given that your wife died yesterday?’ Gösta interjected, without sounding unkind. And without turning the question into an accusation.

Kenneth didn’t respond immediately. He swallowed hard and then said in a low voice:

‘If there was ever a morning when I needed to go running, it was today.’

‘I understand,’ said Gösta. ‘Do you always take the same route?’

‘Yes, except sometimes on the weekend, when I do it twice. I suppose I’m a bit of a stick-in-the-mud. I don’t like surprises, adventures, or things that change.’ He fell silent. Gösta and Martin both knew what he was thinking about and didn’t say a word.

Kenneth cleared his throat and turned away so they wouldn’t see the tears welling up in his eyes. He cleared his throat again so he’d be able to speak without faltering.

‘As I said, I like routines. I’ve been running the same route now for over ten years.’