He began to weep quietly, his tears slowly making a little puddle on the table. Then the sobs came, rising up from his chest and pouring out until his whole body was shaking. Christian raised his head. He had to make the images go away, make her go away. Otherwise he would burst and fall apart. He let his head sink heavily back on to the table, letting his cheek strike the surface full force. He felt the wood against his skin, and he raised his head again and again, pounding it against the hard tabletop. Compared with the itching and the burning inside his body, the pain almost felt good. But it did nothing to get rid of the images. She stood there just as clearly, large as life, right in front of him. She smiled and held out her hand towards him, so close that she could have touched him if only she reached a bit further.

Was that a sound from upstairs? Abruptly he stopped moving, with his head only centimetres from the table, as if someone had suddenly pressed the pause button on the film of his life. He listened, not moving a muscle. Yes, he did hear something overhead. It sounded like faint footsteps.

Christian slowly sat up. His entire body was tensed, on high alert. Then he got up from his chair and as quietly as possible made his way to the stairs. Holding on to the banister, he started up, keeping close to the wall where the creaking would be less. Out of the corner of his eye he saw something fluttering, quickly slipping past upstairs in the hall. Or was he imagining things? It was gone now, and the house was again silent.

A step creaked underfoot, and he held his breath. If she was up there, she would know that he was coming. Was she waiting for him? He felt a strange calm settle over him. His family was gone now. She couldn’t harm them any more. He was the only one here; it was between the two of them, just as it had been from the beginning.

A child whimpered. Was it really a child? He heard it again, but now it was more like one of the many sounds that an old house makes. Christian slowly climbed a few more steps to reach the next floor. The hallway was empty. The only sound was his own breathing.

The door to the boys’ room stood open. It was a mess inside. The techs from the police had made things even worse, with black spots from the fingerprint powder now covering the whole room. He sat down in the middle of the floor, facing the words written on the wall. At first glance, the paint still looked like blood. You don’t deserve them.

He knew that she was right. He didn’t deserve them. Christian kept on staring at the words, letting the message sink into his consciousness. He needed to put everything right. Only he could make everything right. In silence he read the words again. He was the one she was after. And he knew where she wanted him to go. He would give her what she wanted.

‘This is going to be a short meeting.’ Patrik reached for a paper towel from the kitchen roll on the counter to wipe his forehead. He was sweating like crazy. He must be in much worse shape than he thought. ‘Here’s the situation: Kenneth Bengtsson is in the hospital. Gösta and Martin will tell us more about that in a minute.’ He gave them a nod. ‘And someone broke into Christian Thydell’s house last night. Whoever it was didn’t physically harm anyone, but they wrote a message in red paint on the wall in the children’s room. Obviously, the whole family is in shock. We have to assume that we’re dealing with someone who has a screw loose, and that means they’re dangerous.’

‘Of course I would have liked to come along this morning when you were called out.’ Mellberg cleared his throat. ‘Unfortunately, I was not informed about what was happening.’

Patrik chose to ignore him and went on, turning to look at Annika.

‘Have you found out anything more about Christian’s background?’

Annika hesitated. ‘Possibly, but I’d like to double-check a few things first.’

‘Do that,’ said Patrik, and then turned to Gösta and Martin. ‘What did you find out when you talked to Kenneth? And how is he, by the way?’

Martin glanced at Gösta, who motioned for him to start.

‘His injuries aren’t life-threatening, but according to his doctors, it’s pure luck that he’s still alive. The pieces of glass really cut up his arms and legs badly. If any of the glass had punctured a major artery, he would have died out there on the jogging trail.’

‘The question is: what did the perpetrator intend? Did he, or she, merely want to injure Kenneth? Or was it attempted murder?’

No one even tried to answer Patrik’s question, so Martin continued:

‘Kenneth said that it was generally known that he took the same route every morning, and at exactly the same time. So in that sense, we can treat everyone in Fjällbacka as suspects.’

‘But we shouldn’t assume that whoever did this is from here. It could be someone who happens to be visiting,’ Gösta interjected.

‘How would a visitor to the area know about Kenneth’s morning routines? Doesn’t it seem more likely that the perpetrator lives here?’ asked Martin.

Patrik thought for a moment. ‘Well, I don’t think we can rule out someone who doesn’t live here. They may have been here just long enough to watch Kenneth for a few days and confirm that he’s a creature of habit.’ Then he added, ‘What did Kenneth have to say about it? Does he have any idea what might be behind the attack?’

Gösta and Martin exchanged glances again, but this time Gösta did the talking.

‘He says that he doesn’t have a clue, but both Martin and I got the impression that he’s lying. He knows something, but for some reason he’s keeping it to himself. He did use the word “she” about the perpetrator.’

‘He did?’ A deep furrow appeared between Patrik’s eyebrows. ‘I got the same feeling when I talked to Christian – that he’s hiding something. In Christian’s case, his entire family seems to be in danger. And Kenneth is convinced that his wife was murdered, even though we haven’t yet determined whether that’s true or not. So why aren’t they cooperating with us?’

‘Christian didn’t say anything either?’ Gösta carefully pulled apart the two sections of a Ballerina biscuit and licked off the filling. He slipped the vanilla half to Ernst, who lay at his feet under the table.

‘No, I couldn’t get anything out of him,’ said Patrik. ‘He was clearly in a state of shock. But he steadfastly maintains that he doesn’t know who is doing these things, or why, and so far there’s nothing to contradict him. Only a gut feeling I have, just like you had with Kenneth. And he stubbornly insists on staying in the house. Thankfully, he sent Sanna and the kids to stay with her sister Agneta in Hamburgsund. Hopefully they’ll be safe there.’

‘Did the techs find anything of interest? You told them about the rag, didn’t you? And the bottle?’ asked Gösta.

‘They were there quite a long time, at any rate. And yes, they took the items you found in the basement. Torbjörn said to tell you “good job”, by the way. But as usual it’s going to take a while before we have any concrete results. I plan to ring Pedersen again and ask him to hurry things up a bit. I couldn’t get hold of him this morning. Hopefully they can get a move on with this investigation so that we’ll have the post-mortem reports very soon. Considering how things are starting to escalate, we can’t afford to waste any more time.’

‘Let me know if you want me to phone him instead. Just to give the request a little more weight,’ said Mellberg.

‘Thanks, but I’ll try and do it myself. It’ll be difficult, but I’ll do my best.’

‘All right. Just so you know that I’m here to help. In any way I can,’ said Mellberg.

‘Paula, what did Christian’s wife say?’ Patrik asked, turning to his colleague. They had driven back together from Fjällbacka, but he hadn’t had time to ask about Sanna. His mobile had been ringing non-stop.