‘Why hasn’t he told the police?’

‘You’ll have to ask him. All I know is that there’s been talk in the building that the old guy knows something.’ Rasmus pressed his lips together, and they realized they’d had all they were going to get out of him.

‘Thanks for your help,’ said Patrik. ‘Here’s my card, in case you happen to think of anything else.’

Rasmus glanced at the card Patrik held out, then took it, holding it between his thumb and index finger, as if it smelled bad. Then he deliberately dropped it into the wastepaper basket.

Patrik and Martin were both relieved to go back out to the landing and leave the cloying smell of hash behind.

‘What a nasty piece of work.’ Martin shook his head.

‘I’m sure life will catch up with him some day,’ said Patrik, hoping that he wasn’t getting as cynical as he sounded.

They went upstairs and rang the bell next to the nameplate that said F. Pettersson. An elderly man opened the door.

‘What do you want?’ He sounded as cross as Rasmus. Patrik silently wondered if there was something in the water that was affecting the mood in this building. Everybody seemed to have got out of the wrong side of the bed.

‘We’re from the police, and we’d like to ask you a few questions about a previous tenant named Mats Sverin. He lived in the flat below.’ What with sullen anarchists and grumpy old men, Patrik’s patience was at breaking point. It took a real effort to stay calm.

‘Mats? Now that was a strange boy,’ said the man without showing any intention of letting them in.

‘He was assaulted outside the building before he moved away.’

‘The police have already been here to ask about that.’

The man leaned on his cane. Sensing indecision, Patrik moved a step closer.

‘We have reason to believe that you know more than you’ve told the police.’

Pettersson looked down and then motioned them inside with his head.

‘Come in,’ he said, shuffling along the hall to lead the way.

This flat was not only much brighter than the flat below, it was also much more pleasantly decorated, with classic furniture and paintings on the walls.

‘Have a seat,’ said the old man, pointing his cane at a sofa in the living room.

Patrik and Martin did as he said and then introduced themselves. They learned that the man’s first name was Folke.

‘I’m afraid I have nothing to offer in the way of refreshments,’ said Folke, his tone much less belligerent than before.

‘That’s okay. We’re actually in a bit of a hurry,’ said Martin.

‘As I was saying …’ Patrik cleared his throat. ‘From what we understand, you have information regarding what happened to Mats Sverin the night he was assaulted.’

‘Hmm … I’m not so sure about that,’ said Folke.

‘It’s important that you tell the truth this time. Because Mats has been murdered.’ The old man’s startled expression gave Patrik a moment’s petty satisfaction.

‘That can’t be right.’

‘Unfortunately, it is. And if you have anything to tell us about the assault, I’d appreciate hearing it now.’

‘It’s not good to get involved. There’s no knowing what those types might do,’ said Folke, placing his cane on the floor in front of him. He clasped his hands on his lap, suddenly looking very old and fragile.

‘What do you mean by “those types”? According to Mats’s own statement to the police, it was a bunch of young thugs who attacked him.’

‘Young thugs,’ snorted Folke. ‘Those weren’t young thugs! No, those were the sort of guys that you should never get mixed up with. I don’t understand how a nice boy like Mats would end up in their company.’

‘What do you mean by that, sir?’ asked Patrik. He suddenly found himself taking a more formal tone with the elderly gentleman.

‘Motorcyclists.’

‘Motorcyclists?’ Martin looked at Patrik in surprise.

‘The kind you read about in the papers. Like Hells Angels and the Bandits, or whatever they’re called.’

‘Bandidos,’ Patrik automatically corrected him as all sorts of thoughts began whirling through his mind. ‘If I understand you correctly, it wasn’t kids who assaulted Mats, it was a motorcycle gang?’

‘Yes, that’s what I said. Are you deaf, son?’

‘Why did you lie to the police and tell them that you hadn’t seen anything? I was told there were no witnesses to the incident.’ Patrik couldn’t hide his frustration. If only they’d known about this from the beginning.

‘It’s best to stay out of the way of those types,’ Folke stubbornly insisted. ‘It had nothing to do with me. I don’t like to get involved in other people’s business.’

‘So that’s why you said that you hadn’t seen anything?’ It was one of the things Patrik found hardest to accept: people who stood by and watched, then threw up their hands and said it wasn’t their concern.

‘It’s best to stay out of the way of those types,’ Folke repeated, but he couldn’t look them in the eye.

‘Did you see anything that might give us a lead as to who these guys were?’ asked Martin.

‘They had an eagle on their backs. A big, yellow eagle.’

‘Thank you,’ said Martin, and got up to shake the old man’s hand. After a moment’s hesitation, Patrik did the same.

A short time later they were on their way to Uddevalla. Both of them were deeply engrossed in their own thoughts.

Erica couldn’t wait any longer. After pulling herself together, she rang Kristina and asked her to babysit. And as soon as she heard her mother-in-law’s car door slam, she threw on her jacket, rushed outside, and drove towards Falkeliden. When she got there she remained sitting in the car for a long time. Maybe she ought to stay away for a while and leave them in peace. Anna’s brief phone message was a bit confusing. She might have misinterpreted what her sister had said.

Erica gripped the steering wheel as she sat there with the engine switched off. She didn’t want to make a mess of things. There had been occasions in the past when Anna had accused her of barging in and trying to meddle in her affairs. And often she was right. When they were growing up, Erica had wanted to compensate for what she thought was a lack of love from their mother. Now she knew better, and Anna did too. Elsy had loved them, but she hadn’t been capable of showing it. And the two sisters had grown close over the past few years, especially after all the trouble with Lucas.

At this moment, Erica wasn’t at all sure what to do. Anna had her own family, after all. Dan and the children. Maybe they needed to have her to themselves. Suddenly Erica caught sight of her sister in the kitchen window. She fluttered past like a ghost, then turned and peered at Erica’s car. She raised her hand and motioned for her to come inside.

Erica flung open the car door and hurried up the steps. Dan opened the door before she could ring the bell.

‘Come in,’ he said, and she saw a thousand different emotions flit across his face.

‘Thanks.’ Hesitantly she stepped inside, hung up her jacket, and with a strange feeling of reverence went into the kitchen.

Anna was sitting on a chair at the kitchen table. She hadn’t spent the entire time in bed, so Erica had seen her downstairs before. But since the accident, Anna hadn’t seemed truly present. Now she did.

‘I listened to your phone message,’ said Erica, sitting down across from Anna.

Dan poured each of them a cup of coffee and then discreetly left to join the noisy kids in the living room so the two sisters could talk in peace.

Anna’s hand shook slightly as she raised the cup to her lips. She looked almost transparent. Fragile. But her gaze was steady.

‘I was so scared,’ said Erica, feeling the tears begin to fall.

‘I know. I was scared too. Scared to come back.’

‘But why? I mean, I understand. I get that …’ She struggled to find the right thing to say. How could she put words to Anna’s grief when the truth was that she really didn’t understand the first thing about it?