‘Nothing?’ queried Martin.

‘Well, nothing new, at any rate.’ Patrik sighed, leaned back, and clasped his hands behind his head.

For a moment neither of them spoke.

‘No clues whatsoever?’ Even as Martin asked the question, he knew what the answer would be.

‘You can read the report yourself, but it doesn’t seem like it. Strangely enough, the only fingerprints inside the flat belonged to Mats Sverin. There were other prints on the front-door handle and the bell outside. Presumably some of them belong to Signe and Gunnar. There was also a different set of prints on the door handle inside, so they might belong to the killer. If so, we can use them to link an eventual suspect to the crime scene, but since the fingerprints aren’t on our database, they’re of no use at the moment.’

‘Okay. So that’s that. We’ll just have to hope that Pedersen has something more for us in the post-mortem report on Wednesday,’ said Martin.

‘I don’t really know what that could be. It appears to have been a simple matter of someone shooting Sverin in the back of the head and then leaving. The perpetrator doesn’t even seem to have entered the flat. Or if he did, he was careful to erase all traces.’

‘Did it say that in the report? Had the door handles been wiped clean?’ Martin sounded a tad more hopeful.

‘Good idea, but I don’t think …’ Patrik didn’t finish his sentence as he leafed through the report again. After scanning the pages, he shook his head. ‘Apparently not. Sverin’s fingerprints were on all the surfaces that you might expect: door handles, cupboard handles, the kitchen counter, and so on. Nothing seems to have been deliberately wiped clean.’

‘Which indicates that the murderer never went beyond the front hall.’

‘That’s right. And unfortunately that means that we still can’t establish whether Mats knew his killer. Whoever rang the bell could have been someone familiar to him, or a complete stranger.’

‘But he felt secure enough to turn his back on whoever it was that he’d let into the flat.’

‘I’m not so sure about that. He may have been trying to flee from the person who was at the door.’

‘True,’ said Martin. He paused, then said, ‘So what do we do now?’

‘That’s the question, isn’t it?’ Patrik stretched his back and ran a hand through his hair. ‘The search of the flat didn’t produce any results. The interviews we’ve done haven’t given us any leads. And the technical report hasn’t either. What’s more it’s unlikely that Pedersen will come up with anything significant. So what do we do now?’

It was unlike Patrik to be so despondent, but the lack of leads in this case was stalling the investigation. There must be something in Mats Sverin’s secret life that would account for his murder. Because not just anybody got himself shot in the head. Not just anybody got murdered in his own home. There had to be a motive, and Patrik refused to give up until he found out what it was.

‘I’d like you to go with me to Göteborg on Monday. We need to pay another visit to the Refuge,’ he said.

Martin’s face lit up.

‘Sure. I’d be delighted,’ he said as he got up. Patrik was almost ashamed to see how happy his colleague looked at being asked to come along. He realized that he’d been ignoring Martin a bit.

‘Take the report with you,’ he said before Martin headed for the door. ‘It’s best if you read it yourself, in case I missed some important detail.’

‘Okay.’ And he eagerly reached for the report.

After Martin had left the room, Patrik smiled to himself. At least he’d made one person happy today.

The hours passed so slowly. He and Signe moved about their home in silence. They had nothing to say to each other, hardly dared open their mouths for fear of releasing the scream hiding inside.

Gunnar had tried to get her to eat. It had always been Signe who fussed over him and Mats, saying that they weren’t eating enough. Now he was the one who fixed sandwiches and cut them up into small pieces, trying to persuade her to taste them. She did her best, but he could see how the bites of food seemed to swell in her mouth, and she could hardly choke them down. Finally he couldn’t take it any longer; he couldn’t stand seeing his own expression mirrored on her face on the other side of the kitchen table.

‘I’m going out to see to the boat. I won’t be gone long,’ he told her. She didn’t even seem to hear him.

Moving slowly, he put on his jacket. It was late afternoon, and the sun was low in the sky. He wondered whether he’d ever again find joy in a sunset. Whether he’d ever feel anything again.

The route he took through Fjällbacka was a familiar one, but at the same time it felt different. Nothing was the same. Even the mere act of walking seemed alien. Something that had previously felt so natural now seemed forced and contrived, as if he had to tell his brain to set one foot in front of the other. He regretted not taking the car. It was a relatively long walk from Mörhult, and he noticed that the people he encountered along the way were staring at him. Some even crossed to the opposite pavement if they thought he wasn’t looking, so they wouldn’t have to speak to him. They probably had no idea what to say. And Gunnar didn’t know how to respond if they did speak, so maybe it was best that they treated him like a leper.

Their boat was docked out by Badholmen. They’d had the berth for many years, and he automatically turned right to cross the small stone bridge. He was completely lost in his own world and didn’t notice anything until he had almost reached the berth. The boat was gone. Gunnar glanced around in confusion. It should have been here. It was always here. A small wooden motorboat with a blue canopy. He walked along the dock, all the way out to the end of the pontoon wharf. Maybe it had been moored in the wrong place for some reason that he couldn’t fathom. Or maybe it had got loose and drifted away among the other boats. Yet the sea had been calm, and Matte had always been so careful about tying up the boat properly. Gunnar walked back to the empty berth. Then he took out his mobile.

Patrik had just stepped in the door when Annika rang him at home. He clamped the phone between his right ear and shoulder so he could talk as he picked up Maja, who was eagerly jumping around him with her arms outstretched.

‘Sorry, what did you say? The boat is missing?’ He frowned. ‘Yes, I’m at home, but I can drive down there and have a look. No, it’s no problem. I’ll handle it.’

He set Maja down so he could press the button to end the call. Then he took her hand and led the way to the kitchen, where Erica was preparing two bottles, cheered on by the babies perched on the table in their carrycots. Patrik leaned down and gave each of his sons a kiss and then went over to kiss his wife too.

‘Hi. Who was on the phone?’ asked Erica, putting the bottles in the microwave.

‘Annika. I have to go out again, but only for a little while. It seems that Gunnar and Signe’s boat has been stolen.’

‘That’s awful.’ Erica turned around to look at Patrik. ‘Who would be wicked enough to do a thing like that?’

‘I have no idea. According to Gunnar, Mats was apparently the last person to use it, assuming he went out to visit Nathalie, that is. It seems odd that their boat would be the only one missing.’

‘Go on,’ she said, and then kissed him on the lips.

‘I’ll be back in no time,’ he told her, heading for the front door. Too late he realized that Maja would probably throw a minor fit if he rushed off immediately after coming home. Feeling guilty, he told himself that Erica would undoubtedly deal with the situation. And he’d be back soon.

Gunnar was waiting for him on Badholmen, standing on the other side of the stone bridge.

‘I can’t understand what could have happened to our boat,’ he said, lifting his cap to scratch his head.