‘I’m thinking about you, of course, sweetheart,’ Magnus had answered, leaning forward to give her a kiss.

Sometimes Cia had noticed the shadow even when there was no outward sign of it. Each time she had quickly dismissed the whole thing, since it occurred so seldom, and she had nothing more to go on.

But ever since yesterday, she hadn’t been able to get it out of her mind. The shadow. Was that the reason Magnus was no longer alive? Where had it come from? Why hadn’t he ever said anything to her? She had thought they told each other everything, that she knew everything about him, just as he knew everything about her. What if she was mistaken? What if she actually knew nothing about her husband?

In her mind the shadow kept getting bigger. She pictured his face. Not the happy, warm, and loving man that she’d been lucky enough to wake up next to each morning for the past twenty years. Instead, she saw his face as it had looked in the video. Desperate and contorted.

Cia covered her face with her hands and wept. She wasn’t sure about anything any more. It felt as if Magnus had died a second time, and she didn’t think she could survive losing him again.

Patrik rang the bell, and after a moment the door opened. A short, skinny old man peered out.

‘Yes?’

‘Patrik Hedström. From the Tanum police force. And this is my colleague, Paula Morales.’

The man studied their faces.

‘That’s a long way to come. How can I be of service?’ he said lightly, although there was a guarded edge to his voice.

‘Are you Ragnar Lissander?’

‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘We’d like to come inside and have a few words with you. Preferably with your wife as well, if she’s at home,’ said Patrik. Even though he spoke politely, it was clear that he wasn’t prepared to take no for an answer.

The man seemed to hesitate for a moment. Then he stepped aside and let them in.

‘My wife is a bit under the weather, so she’s having a rest. I’ll go and find out if she can come downstairs for a moment.’

‘That would be good,’ said Patrik, uncertain whether Ragnar Lissander expected them to stand in the front hall while he went upstairs.

‘Go in and sit down. I’ll be right back,’ he said then, as if in answer to Patrik’s unspoken question.

Patrik and Paula looked in the direction the man was pointing and then entered a living room on the left. They had a look around as they listened to Mr Lissander climbing the stairs.

‘Not exactly a cosy place, is it?’ whispered Paula.

Patrik had to agree. The living room looked more like a display in a furniture store than a room that was actually used. Everything gleamed with polish, and the occupants seemed to have a certain fondness for decorative items. The sofa was brown leather, and in front of it stood the obligatory glass coffee table. Not a fingerprint was visible on the glass, and Patrik shuddered at the thought of how it would look if the table was in his own home, with Maja’s sticky fingers nearby.

The most striking thing was that there were no personal possessions in the room. No photographs, no drawings from grandchildren, no postcards with greetings from family members or friends.

He cautiously sat down on the sofa, and Paula sat down next to him. They could hear voices upstairs, a heated exchange, although they weren’t able to make out any of the words. After a few more minutes they heard footsteps on the stairs, this time from two people.

Ragnar Lissander appeared in the doorway. He truly personifies the term ‘little old man’, thought Patrik. Grey, stooped, and invisible. The woman behind him was a whole different story. She didn’t merely walk towards them – she strode forward, wearing a dressing gown that seemed to consist of a plethora of apricot-coloured flounces. She emitted a deep sigh as she shook hands with Patrik.

‘I certainly hope this is important, since you’re interrupting my nap.’

Patrik felt as if he’d landed in a silent film from the nineteen twenties.

‘We just have a few questions,’ he said, sitting down again.

Iréne Lissander took a seat on the armchair across from him. She hadn’t bothered to say hello to Paula.

‘So, Ragnar says that you’re from…’ She turned to her husband. ‘Was it Tanumshede, you said?’

He mumbled affirmatively, sitting down at the far end of the sofa. His hands hung between his knees, and he fixed his eyes on the shiny glass table.

‘I don’t understand what you could possibly want with us,’ the woman said haughtily.

Patrik couldn’t help casting a glance in Paula’s direction. She discreetly rolled her eyes.

‘We’re investigating a murder,’ he said. ‘And we’ve found some information that points back in time, to an event that occurred here in Trollhättan thirty-seven years ago.’

Out of the corner of his eye, Patrik saw Ragnar give a start.

‘You took in a foster child at that time, is that right?’

‘Christian,’ said Iréne, bobbing one foot up and down. She was wearing high-heeled slippers with open toes. Her toenails were exquisitely painted a fiery red that clashed with the colour of her dressing gown.

‘Exactly. Christian Thydell, who was then given your surname. Lissander.’

‘He changed his name back later on,’ said Ragnar quietly, receiving a murderous look from his wife. He fell silent, his whole body slumping forward again.

‘Did you adopt him?’ asked Paula.

‘No, absolutely not.’ Iréne pushed a lock of her dark hair, obviously dyed, out of her face. ‘He just lived with us. He was allowed to use our last name for… the sake of convenience.’

Patrik was dumbfounded. How many years had Christian spent in this home, treated like some lowly lodger, judging by the coldness with which his foster mother spoke of him?

‘I see. And precisely how long did Christian live with you?’ He could hear the disapproval in his own voice, but Iréne Lissander didn’t seem to notice.

‘Hmm, how long was it, Ragnar? How long was the boy here?’ Her husband didn’t reply, so she turned back to Patrik. She still hadn’t deigned to give Paula a single glance. Patrik had the feeling that other women didn’t exist in Iréne’s world.

‘It should be easy to work out. He was about three when he came to us. And how old was he when he left, Ragnar? He must have been eighteen.’ She smiled apologetically. ‘He wanted to seek his fortune elsewhere. And since then we’ve never heard a word from him. Isn’t that right, Ragnar?’

‘Yes, that’s right,’ said Ragnar Lissander quietly. ‘He simply… disappeared.’

Patrik felt sorry for the little man. Had he always been like this? Browbeaten and cowed? Or was it the years that he’d spent with Iréne that had stripped him of all virility?

‘So you don’t know where he went?’

‘No idea. We have absolutely no idea.’ Iréne’s foot was bobbing up and down again.

‘Why are you asking us these questions?’ said Ragnar. ‘How is Christian involved in a murder investigation?’

Patrik hesitated. ‘Unfortunately, I have to tell you that he was found dead this morning.’

Ragnar couldn’t hide his shock. He at least had cared about Christian and hadn’t just thought of him as a lodger.

‘How did he die?’ Ragnar asked, his voice unsteady.

‘He was found hanged. That’s all we know at the moment.’

‘Did he have a family?’

‘Yes, two fine sons and a wife named Sanna. He’s been living in Fjällbacka, working as a librarian. Last week his first novel was published. It’s called The Mermaid. And it’s been getting great reviews.’

‘So that was him,’ said Ragnar. ‘I read about the book in the newspaper because the title caught my attention. But the picture of him was nothing like the Christian who used to live with us.’

‘Who would have thought it possible? That a boy like that could make something of himself,’ said Iréne, her expression as hard as stone.