‘I don’t know,’ said Anders, turning to look at the sea. ‘Maybe it’s time to …’

‘Time to what?’

‘To forgive.’

There they were. The words she didn’t want to hear, the thought she refused to entertain. Forgive Olof? When he had robbed them of their childhood, turned them into adults who clung to each other like victims of a shipwreck? He was the driving force behind everything they had done, everything they still were doing.

‘I’ve given it a lot of thought lately,’ Anders went on. ‘We can’t keep going like this. We’re running away, Vivianne. But we’re running away from something we can never escape, because it’s inside here.’ He pointed to his temple as he fixed her with a penetrating, resolute stare.

‘What exactly are you trying to say? Are you starting to get cold feet?’ She could feel tears welling up in her eyes. Was he planning to desert her? Betray her, the way Olof had done?

‘It feels like we’re always searching for the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, and if only we could find it, then Olof would disappear. But we’re never going to find it. Because it doesn’t exist.’

Vivianne closed her eyes. She remembered all too clearly the filth, the smells, the people who came and went, and Olof wasn’t there to protect them. Olof, who hated them. He’d told them that quite bluntly, that they should never have been born, that he’d ended up with them because of his sins. They were disgusting, ugly, and stupid. And they were the ones who had driven their mother to her death.

She abruptly opened her eyes. How could Anders talk about forgiveness? He had thrown himself in between so many times, protecting her body with his own and suffering the brunt of the blows.

‘I don’t want to discuss Olof.’ Her voice sounded strained because of everything she was holding back. Terror overwhelmed her. What did it matter that Anders talked of forgiveness when that was something that could never happen?

‘I love you, sister.’ Anders gently stroked her cheek. But Vivianne didn’t hear him. The dark memories were roaring too loudly in her ears.

‘Well, look at that. I’ve got visitors.’ Tord Pedersen, the medical examiner, peered at them over the top of his glasses.

‘Yes. We thought it would be good if the mountain came to Muhammad for a change,’ said Patrik with a smile as he stepped forward to shake hands. ‘This is my colleague Paula Morales. We were over at the Sahlgrenska Hospital to make a few enquiries about Mats Sverin. So we thought we might as well drop in to see you and find out how things are going.’

‘Your visit is a bit premature, I’m afraid.’ Pedersen shook his head.

‘Does that mean you don’t have anything for us?’

‘I’ve only had time to make a preliminary examination.’

‘And what do you think?’ asked Paula.

Pedersen laughed.

‘I thought it couldn’t get any worse than having Patrik breathing down my neck.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Paula apologized, but her expression told Pedersen that she was still waiting for an answer.

‘Come with me. Let’s go to my office.’ The medical examiner opened a door on their left.

They followed him inside and took seats in front of his desk while Pedersen sat down across from them. He folded his hands.

‘Based on an external examination, I can tell you that the only obvious injury is the gunshot wound in the back of his head. However, he does have other healed wounds that look relatively recent and probably stem from an assault that occurred a few months ago.’

Patrik nodded. ‘That’s why we called in at the hospital to talk to the doctor. How long had he been dead?’

‘Not more than a week, I would say. The post-mortem will tell us more.’

‘Do you have any idea what type of gun was used?’ Paula asked, leaning forward.

‘The bullet is still lodged in his head, but we should have an answer to your question as soon as I remove it. Provided it’s in reasonable condition, that is.’

‘But you must have seen countless gunshot wounds,’ said Paula. ‘Can’t you take a guess?’ She deliberately didn’t mention the empty casing and what it signified. She wanted to hear Pedersen’s own opinion.

‘Yet another officer who refuses to give up,’ said Pedersen with a laugh, looking almost delighted. ‘If you promise to take this as the educated guess that it is, I’d say we’re dealing with a nine-millimetre gun.’ Pedersen held up an admonitory finger. ‘But it’s only a guess and I could be wrong.’

‘We understand,’ said Patrik. ‘When will you do the post-mortem so we can get a look at the bullet?’

‘Let me see now …’ He turned to his computer and clicked the mouse. ‘The post-mortem is scheduled for next Monday. So you’ll have my report by Wednesday.’

‘Couldn’t you get to it any sooner?’

‘Afraid not. We’ve been damned busy the past month. People are dropping like flies for some reason, and besides, two of our staff suddenly had to go on sick leave for an unspecified length of time. Burned out, apparently. This job can have that effect on certain people.’ It was clear that Pedersen didn’t see himself in that category.

‘Okay, I suppose it can’t be helped. Please give me a ring as soon as you know more. And I assume that the bullet will be sent ASAP over to the forensics lab?’

‘Of course,’ said Pedersen, looking slightly offended. ‘We may be a bit understaffed at the moment, but we still carry out our work in a professional manner.’

‘I didn’t mean to imply otherwise.’ Patrik held up his hands. ‘I’m just impatient, as usual. Give me a call when your report is ready, and I promise not to hassle you any more.’

‘No problem.’ Pedersen got up to say goodbye.

It felt as if Wednesday was a long way away.

‘So you’re saying that we can go inside the flat now?’ Gösta sounded uncharacteristically eager. ‘And we’ll have your report tomorrow? That’s great. Hedström will be glad to hear it.’

He smiled as he put down the phone. Torbjörn Ruud had just told him that they’d finished the technical inspection so the police were now free to take a look at Mats Sverin’s flat. Gösta suddenly had a brainwave. It would be silly to sit here, twiddling his thumbs and waiting until Patrik and Paula came back. For all that twiddling his thumbs was one of Gösta’s favourite pastimes, it got on his nerves that Patrik was the one who always made all the decisions. Especially since he himself and Bertil were the station’s most experienced officers. He had to admit to a certain desire to get back at Patrik. Though it went against the grain to put too much effort into his job, it would be nice to show those young whippersnappers how the job ought to be done. Gösta made a quick decision and hurried over to Mellberg’s office. In his eagerness, he forgot to knock, and as he pulled open the door, he caught Bertil waking up from what looked like a very pleasant nap.

‘What the devil?’ Mellberg glanced around in bewilderment while Ernst sat up in his basket, ears pricked.

‘Excuse me. I thought …’

‘Thought what?’ bellowed Mellberg, straightening his comb-over, which had slipped down as he slept.

‘Well, you see, I was just talking to Torbjörn Ruud on the phone …’

‘And?’ Mellberg was still looking cross, but Ernst had curled up in his basket again.

‘He said that we could go into the flat now.’

‘Whose flat?’

‘Mats Sverin’s. They’re done there. The tech team, I mean. And I thought …’ Gösta was beginning to regret his decision. Maybe it wasn’t such a stroke of genius after all. ‘I thought …’

‘Get to the point, why don’t you!’

‘Well, Hedström is always so bloody keen on getting everything done immediately, and preferably yesterday. So I was thinking that you and I could get going and do our own inspection of the place. Instead of waiting for him to get back.’

Mellberg’s face lit up. He was starting to understand what Gösta had in mind, and he liked the idea.