‘Not much at this time.’ Gösta shook his head. ‘I can only confirm what you were told yesterday when we rang your office. Sverin was found dead in his flat, and we’re investigating his death.’

‘Was he murdered?’

‘That’s not something we can either confirm or deny.’

Gösta could heard how formal his words sounded, but he knew that he’d catch hell from Hedström if he gave away too much information, which might damage the case.

‘We need your help,’ he went on. ‘From what I understand, Sverin didn’t come to work on Monday, or on Tuesday either. That was when you contacted his parents. Was it usual for him to miss work?’

‘On the contrary. I don’t think he’d taken a single sick day since he started here. As far as I recall, he was never absent for any reason. Not even for a dentist’s appointment. He was punctual, dedicated, and very conscientious. That’s why we got worried when he didn’t turn up or contact us.’

‘How long had he worked here?’ asked Paula.

‘Two months. We were really lucky to find someone like Mats. The job had been advertised for five weeks, and we’d brought in a few candidates for interviews, but none of them had the qualifications we were looking for. When Mats applied, we were concerned that he was over-qualified, but he assured us that the job was exactly what he wanted. He seemed especially keen to move back to Fjällbacka again. And who can blame him? It’s the pearl of the coast.’ Erling threw out his hands.

‘He didn’t give any particular reason for wanting to move back?’ asked Paula, leaning forward.

‘No, except that he wanted to get out of the big-city rat race and have a better quality of life. And that’s precisely what our town has to offer. Peace and quiet and a great quality of life.’ Erling carefully enunciated every syllable as if giving a PR presentation.

‘So he didn’t mention anything about his personal circumstances?’ Gösta was beginning to get impatient.

‘He didn’t talk about his private life. I knew that he was originally from Fjällbacka and that his parents still live there, but other than that I can’t remember him ever saying much about his life outside the office.’

‘Sverin was involved in a very unpleasant incident shortly before he moved here from Göteborg. He was assaulted and beaten so badly that he ended up in hospital. Did he mention that?’ asked Paula.

‘No, never,’ said Erling in surprise. ‘He did have several scars on his face, but he said that he’d got his trouser leg caught in his bicycle wheel and taken a fall.’

Gösta and Paula exchanged looks of astonishment.

‘Who attacked him? Was it the same person who …?’ Erling almost whispered the questions.

‘According to his parents, it was an act of unprovoked violence. We don’t think it has any connection to Sverin’s death, but we can’t rule it out,’ said Gösta.

‘So he never mentioned his years in Göteborg?’ Paula insisted.

Erling shook his head. ‘I can only repeat what I already told you. Mats never talked about himself. It was as if his life started when he took the job here.’

‘Didn’t you find that rather odd?’

‘Not really. I don’t think anyone gave it much thought. He wasn’t anti-social by any means. He laughed and joked and joined in the chat about TV shows and the sorts of topics that come up during a coffee break. I don’t think anyone really noticed that he never discussed anything personal. It’s only now, after the fact, that it’s occurred to me.’

‘Was he doing a good job?’ asked Gösta.

‘Mats was an excellent financial officer. As I said, he was conscientious, methodical, and painstaking with his work. Those are all desirable qualities in someone who’s in charge of financial matters, especially in such a politically sensitive office as ours.’

‘You have no complaints about him?’ asked Paula.

‘None. Mats was extremely talented in his field. And he has been an invaluable resource for Project Badis. He came on the scene late in the game, but he quickly got up to speed and really helped us to move forward.’

Gösta glanced at Paula, who shook her head. They didn’t have any other questions at the moment, but Gösta couldn’t help thinking that Mats Sverin seemed as anonymous and faceless as he had before they began this interview with his boss. And he couldn’t help wondering what they might find when they finally started scratching the surface.

The Sverins’ small house was located down by the water’s edge in Mörhult. It was warmer today – a lovely early summer day, and Patrik left his jacket in the car. He had phoned ahead to say that he would be coming, and when Gunnar opened the door, he looked down the hall to the kitchen and saw that the table had been set for coffee. That was how things were done here on the coast. Coffee and biscuits were always served, no matter whether the occasion was joyous or sorrowful. Over the many years that he’d spent on the police force, Patrik had downed countless gallons of coffee as he visited local citizens.

‘Come in. I’ll just go and see if I can get Signe to …’ Without finishing his sentence, Gunnar turned to go upstairs.

Patrik remained where he was, thinking that he would wait in the front hall. But Gunnar was gone a long time, and finally Patrik moved towards the kitchen. The whole house seemed cloaked in silence, so he took the liberty of stepping inside the living room. It was a pleasant room, nice and tidy with elegant old furniture and doilies everywhere, as was customary in the homes of elderly people. Scattered about were framed photographs of their son. As he looked at them, Patrik was able to follow Mats’s life from infancy to adulthood. He had an agreeable appearance, a likeable face. He looked happy. Judging by the photos, he’d had a good childhood.

‘Signe will be right down.’

Patrik was so immersed in his own thoughts that Gunnar’s voice almost made him drop the framed picture he was holding.

‘You certainly have a lot of nice photos.’ Carefully he set the photograph back on the bureau and followed Gunnar out to the kitchen.

‘I’ve always enjoyed taking pictures, so we’ve accumulated a lot of them over the years. And we’re glad to have them now. As a reminder of him, I mean.’ Embarrassed, Gunnar began fussing with the plates and filling the coffee cups.

‘Do you take sugar or milk? Or both?’

‘Black is fine. Thanks.’ Patrik sat down on one of the white kitchen chairs.

Gunnar set a cup in front of him and then sat down on the other side of the table.

‘We might as well start. I’m sure Signe will be here soon,’ he said, casting a worried glance at the stairs. Not a sound could be heard from overhead.

‘How’s she doing?’

‘She hasn’t said a word since yesterday. The doctor said he’d look in on her later. All she does is lie in bed, but I don’t think she slept a wink all night.’

‘Looks like you’ve received a lot of flowers,’ said Patrik, nodding at the counter where big bouquets had been placed in all sorts of containers serving as vases.

‘Everyone has been so nice. They’ve offered to come over, but I can’t stand the thought of having a bunch of people sitting around the house.’ He dropped a sugar cube in his cup and began stirring. Then he reached for a biscuit and dipped it in his coffee before putting it in his mouth. He seemed to have a hard time swallowing the mouthful and had to wash it down with some coffee.

‘There you are.’ Gunnar turned around to look at Signe as she entered the hall.

They hadn’t heard her come down the stairs. Gunnar stood up and went over to his wife. Gently he put his arm around her and led her to the table, as if she were a very old woman. She seemed to have aged several years just since yesterday.

‘The doctor will be here in a while. Have some coffee and a biscuit. You need to get something in your stomach. Should I make you a sandwich?’