Erica could see people moving about inside, and she was relieved to find that she’d guessed right. They were up. She rang the bell and soon she heard footsteps coming downstairs. A woman who had to be Sanna’s sister opened the door.

‘Hi,’ said Erica, introducing herself. ‘I was wondering if Sanna is up yet. I need to have a few words with her.’

Agneta gave her a quizzical look, but didn’t offer any objections.

‘Sure, Sanna and the little monsters are awake. Come on in.’

Erica stepped inside and hung up her jacket. She followed Sanna’s sister up a steep flight of stairs to another hallway. Then they turned left and entered a big open space that served as kitchen, dining room, and living room.

Sanna and the boys were eating breakfast with the cousins, a boy and a girl who looked a few years older than both of Sanna’s sons.

‘I’m sorry for interrupting your breakfast,’ said Erica, looking at Christian’s wife. ‘I just need to ask you about one thing.’

At first Sanna made no motion to get up. She was holding a spoon halfway to her mouth, looking as if thoughts were whirling through her head. But then she put down the spoon and stood up.

‘Why don’t you go downstairs and sit on the veranda so you can talk in peace,’ said Agneta.

Erica followed Sanna down the stairs, through a few more rooms, and into a glass-enclosed veranda that looked out on the lawn and the small centre of Hamburgsund.

‘How are you and the boys doing?’ Erica asked as they sat down.

‘All right, I suppose.’ Sanna looked pale and haggard, as if she hadn’t had much sleep. ‘The boys keep asking about their father, and I don’t know what to tell them. I also don’t know whether I should try to get them to talk about what happened or not. I was thinking of phoning Child Psychiatric Services today, to ask for advice.’

‘That sounds like a good idea,’ said Erica. ‘But kids are tough. They can handle more than we think.’

‘You may be right.’ Sanna stared into space, her expression blank. Then she turned to Erica and said:

‘What was it you wanted to talk about?’

Like so many times before, Erica wasn’t sure how to begin. She had no authority to be here, no mandate to ask questions. All she had was her curiosity. And her concern. For a moment she pondered what to say. Then she leaned down and took the drawings out of her purse.

Sven-Olov Rönn was up at dawn. That was something he was enormously proud of, and he seized every opportunity to mention it. ‘There’s no use lying in bed, practising for the nursing home,’ he liked to say with satisfaction, and then he’d explain that he was always up by six at the latest. His daughter-in-law sometimes teased him about the fact that every night he went to bed by nine. ‘And you don’t call that practising for the nursing home?’ she’d ask with a smile. But he chose to ignore those kinds of remarks. He always made good use of his daytime hours.

After a solid breakfast of oatmeal, Sven-Olov sat down in his favourite armchair and took his time reading the newspaper as the dark slowly faded outside the window. By the time he finished, it was usually light enough for him to make his morning survey. It had become a ritual over the years.

He got up, fetched the binoculars hanging on a hook, and sat down in front of the window. His house stood on the slope across from the boathouses, with the church behind him, and he had an excellent view of Fjällbacka’s harbour approach. He raised the binoculars to his eyes and began his inspection, moving from left to right. First the neighbours. Yes, they were up too. These days not many people lived here in the wintertime, but he was lucky enough to have one of the few permanent residents in the area as his neighbour. And as a bonus, the man’s wife liked to walk around in nothing but her underwear in the morning. She was about fifty, but had a damned nice figure, he noted as he moved the binoculars to continue his survey.

Empty houses, one empty house after another. Some were completely dark, others had lights with timers, so here and there he saw lights on. He sighed as he always did. It was terrible how things had changed. He could still remember when all of the houses were occupied and filled with activity year round. By now the summer visitors had bought up almost everything, and they didn’t bother to spend more than three months a year in Fjällbacka. Then they would return to the cities with a flattering suntan, which they enjoyed talking about at parties and dinners well into the autumn: ‘Oh, yes, we were at our house in Fjällbacka all summer. Just imagine living there all year round. What peace and quiet that would be. We could really unwind.’ But of course they didn’t mean a word of it. They wouldn’t last twenty-four hours out here in the winter, when everything was closed up and quiet, and it was way too cold to be lying on the rocks, trying to bask in the sun.

The binoculars moved on, crossing Ingrid Bergman Square, which was deserted. Sven-Olov had heard that the people in charge of Fjällbacka’s website had installed a camera so it was possible to log on to the computer and see what was happening in town. Anybody who does that must not have enough to do, he thought. Because there certainly wasn’t much to see.

He swung the binoculars onward, letting them glide over Södra Hamngatan, past Järnboden, and over towards Brandparken. For a moment he paused at the coast guard boat, admiring it as he always did. Simply magnificent. He’d loved boats all his life, and the MinLouis always gleamed so beautifully when she was in dock. Then he followed the path towards Badholmen. Memories from his youth always came back to him whenever he saw the wooden buildings with the high fence, which was where people changed their clothes. Men on one side, women on the other. When he was a boy, he and his pals were always trying to find a way to peek in at the ladies. Though rarely with any success.

Now he could see the rocks and the trampoline that the kids used so much in the summer. Then the tower, looking a bit worn these days. He hoped that they would fix it up and not just tear it down. In a way it was an essential part of Fjällbacka.

Sven-Olov moved past the tower to look out over the water towards Valön. Then he gave a start, and moved the binoculars back a bit. What on earth? He adjusted the focus and then squinted his eyes in an attempt to see more clearly. If he wasn’t mistaken, something was hanging from the tower. Something dark, swaying slightly in the wind. Again he squinted his eyes. Maybe some kids had been up to no good and decided to hang a doll or something from the tower. He couldn’t really see what it was.

His curiosity got the better of him. He put on his coat and stuck his feet in a pair of shoes, attaching snow cleats to the soles. Then he went outside. He’d forgotten to put sand on the top step, and he held on tight to the railing so he wouldn’t land on his backside. Down on the road it was easier, and he headed off as fast as he dared in the direction of Badholmen.

The whole town seemed asleep as he passed Ingrid Bergman Square. He wondered whether he should flag down a car if he saw one drive by, but decided not to. It was silly to cause a commotion if it turned out to be nothing.

As Sven-Olov came closer, he slowed down even more. He usually tried to take a long walk at least a couple of times a week, so he was still in fairly good condition. Even so, he was breathing hard by the time he reached the buildings at Badholmen.

He stopped for a moment to catch his breath. At least he pretended that was the reason for stopping. The truth was that he’d had a bad feeling ever since he saw that dark silhouette in his binoculars. He hesitated, but then took a deep breath and stepped through the entrance to the swimming area. He couldn’t bring himself to look up at the diving tower yet. Instead, he stared at his feet, setting them down carefully on the rocks so he wouldn’t fall and then not be able to get up. But when there were only a few yards left to the tower, he raised his head and slowly let his eyes move upwards.