‘I know what you mean,’ said Patrik, feeling a surge of anxiety in his chest. In the blink of an eye, it would be time for Maja to start school. And Martin was right: things weren’t the same as in their day. He didn’t even want to think about that. He wanted his daughter to remain a child as long as possible, and preferably live at home until she was forty. ‘But I don’t think cocaine is all that common,’ he said, mostly in an attempt to reassure himself.

‘No, it must have been a case of really bad luck. I’m glad they’re going to be okay. It could have turned out much, much worse.’

Patrik nodded.

‘Shall we drive over to the hospital?’ asked Martin, but Patrik turned the car towards the centre of Göteborg instead of heading for the E6.

‘I reckon Paula and Gösta can handle things on their own. I’ll give Paula a call to make sure, but while we’re here I’d like to have a talk with Mats’s tenant and the other neighbours in the building. It seems a waste of time to drive all the way back later when we can do it now.’

Patrik rang Paula. After a few minutes he ended the call.

‘They’ve got the situation under control, so we’ll stick to our plans here. We can stop at the hospital on our way home, if they’re still there.’

‘Good. Did she find out where the kids found the stuff?’

‘In a litter bin outside the block of flats where Mats Sverin lived.’

Martin didn’t say a word for a moment. Then he asked, ‘Do you think it’s related to the case?’

‘Who knows?’ Patrik shrugged. ‘The cocaine could belong to any number of people who live in that building. But it’s definitely interesting that it was found outside Sverin’s front door.’

Martin leaned forward to read the street signs. ‘Turn here. Erik Dahlbergsgatan. What number are we looking for?’

‘Forty-eight.’ Patrik slammed on the brakes to avoid hitting an old woman who was taking her time to cross the street. He waited impatiently for her to pass before he stepped on the accelerator again.

‘Take it easy,’ said Martin, leaning against the door.

‘There it is,’ replied Patrik, ignoring his comment. ‘Number forty-eight.’

‘I hope somebody’s home. Maybe we should have phoned ahead.’

‘We’ll ring the bell and hope we’re in luck.’

It was a lovely old brick building. The flats probably all had old-fashioned stucco work and hardwood floors.

‘What’s the name of the tenant?’ asked Martin when they reached the door.

Patrik took a slip of paper out of his pocket. ‘Jonsson. Rasmus Jonsson. And the flat is on the first floor.’

Martin nodded and pressed a button on the intercom. The nameplate next to it still said Sverin. He was rewarded almost immediately with a crackling sound.

‘Yes?’

‘We’re from the police. We’d like to talk to you. Would you mind letting us in?’ Martin spoke as distinctly as he could into the intercom.

‘What’s this about?’

‘We’ll explain when you let us in. Would you please unlock the door?’

There was a click on the intercom, and then the buzzing of the front door.

They walked up a flight of stairs, studying the nameplates on the doors.

‘Here it is,’ said Martin, pointing to the one on the left.

He rang the bell. When they heard footsteps approaching from inside, they both took a step back. The door opened, but the safety chain was still on. A young man in his twenties peered at them suspiciously.

‘Are you Rasmus Jonsson?’ asked Patrik.

‘Who wants to know?’

‘As we said, we’re from the police. We want to talk to you about Mats Sverin, the person who sublet you this flat.’

‘Is that so?’ His tone of voice bordered on impudence, and he still hadn’t removed the safety chain.

Patrik felt annoyance creeping over him, and he glared at the young man.

‘Either you let us in so we can have a quiet, friendly conversation. Or I make a few calls, and you’ll end up having your entire flat searched while you spend the rest of the day and maybe part of tomorrow down at the station.’

Martin glanced at his colleague. It wasn’t like Patrik to issue empty threats. They had no reason to search this flat or to take Jonsson in for questioning.

For several seconds no one spoke. Then the man unhooked the safety chain.

‘Fucking fascists,’ said Rasmus Jonsson, backing into the hall.

‘Wise decision,’ said Patrik.

There was a heavy scent of hash hovering over the flat, which explained why the young man had shown such reluctance to allow the police in. When they entered the living room they saw piles of anarchist literature and anti-establishment posters tacked up on the walls. Clearly they were in enemy territory.

‘Don’t get too comfortable. I’m studying, and I don’t have time for shit like this.’ Rasmus sat down at a small desk, which was cluttered with books and notepads.

‘What are you studying?’ asked Martin. They didn’t run into many anarchists in Tanumshede, and he was genuinely curious.

‘Political science,’ said Rasmus. ‘In order to get a better understanding of how we’ve ended up in this bloody mess, and how we can change society.’ He sounded as if he were lecturing first-graders, and Patrik stared at him in amusement. He wondered whether life and the passage of time would eventually alter this young man’s ideals.

‘Are you subletting this flat from Mats Sverin?’

‘Why are you asking?’ said Rasmus The sun shone through the living-room window, and Patrik realized that he was looking at someone who had the exact same shade of red hair as Martin. But Rasmus had chosen to grow a beard, so the impression was even more intense than with Martin.

‘I repeat: are you subletting this flat from Mats Sverin?’ Patrik spoke calmly, though he was beginning to lose patience.

‘Yes, that’s correct,’ Rasmus admitted reluctantly.

‘I’m sorry to tell you that Mats Sverin is dead. Murdered.’

Rasmus stared at him.

‘Murdered? What the hell do you mean? And what does this have to do with me?’

‘Nothing, hopefully. But we’re trying to find out more about Mats and his life.’

‘I don’t really know him, so I can’t be much help.’

‘Let us decide that,’ said Patrik. ‘Did you sublet the place furnished?’

‘Yes. Everything in the flat belongs to him.’

‘He didn’t take anything with him?’

Rasmus shrugged. ‘I don’t think so. He packed up anything that was personal in nature, like photographs and so on. But then he drove all of it to the rubbish dump. He said he wanted to get rid of the old junk.’

Patrik glanced around. There seemed to be as few personal belongings here as in the flat in Fjällbacka. They still had no idea why, but apparently Mats Sverin had wanted to make a fresh start. Patrik turned again to Rasmus.

‘How’d you get the flat?’

‘Through an advert. He needed to rent it out fast. Apparently he’d been assaulted and he wanted to leave town.’

‘Did he tell you anything about it?’ Martin interjected.

‘About what?’

‘The assault,’ said Martin patiently. The source of the sweet smell in the flat was obviously making the young student a bit foggy.

‘No, not really.’ Rasmus hesitated, which roused Patrik’s interest.

‘But …?’

‘But what?’ Rasmus began rocking the desk chair from side to side.

‘If you know anything about the attack on Mats, we’d appreciate hearing about it.’

‘I don’t cooperate with cops.’ His eyes narrowed.

Patrik took a couple of deep breaths to calm himself down. This guy was really getting on his nerves.

‘My offer stands. A nice, calm conversation with us, or else we call in the troops – and that means the flat will be searched while you take a trip down to the station.’

Rasmus stopped rocking the chair. He sighed. ‘I didn’t see anything personally, so you’ve got nothing on me. But you should have a talk with old man Pettersson upstairs. He seems to have seen a lot.’