‘We don’t want to say too much at this stage, but that’s one of the theories we’re working on, yes.’

He enjoyed hearing his own voice. If he’d made different choices in life, maybe he could have been the spokesman for the Stockholm police department. He could have been the one appearing on TV when the Swedish politician Anna Lindh was murdered, or sitting on a morning talk-show sofa to discuss the Palme assassination.

‘Is there any suggestion that drugs were involved in the murder?’ asked the reporter from GT.

‘I’m not at liberty to say,’ replied Mellberg. It was all a matter of throwing the press titbits. Not too many, not too few.

‘Have you looked into Sverin’s background? Did you find any evidence of drugs?’ Now it was the guy from Bohusläningen who managed to get in a question.

‘I can’t discuss that either.’

‘Have you received the report from the post-mortem?’ the GT reporter continued. The more tactful journalists were starting to give him angry looks.

‘No. We’re expecting the results sometime this week.’

‘Do you have any suspects?’ The Göteborgs-Posten journalist managed to get a word in edgeways.

‘Not at the present moment. Okay, I think that’s as much as we can say for the time being. You have all the information we’re able to give you, and we’ll keep you posted as the investigation progresses. But in my opinion, we’re on the verge of a major breakthrough in the case.’

His words prompted a flood of questions, but Mellberg merely shook his head. They’d have to be satisfied with the few scraps he’d given them. Practically floating on air as he returned to his office, he congratulated himself on a job well done. Patrik’s door was closed. What a sour-puss, Mellberg thought, his face clouding over. Hedström ought to realize who was in charge here at the station and who had the most experience with these matters. And if that didn’t suit him, he could just look for a job elsewhere.

Mellberg sat down in his chair, propped his feet up on the desk, and clasped his hands behind his head. He had definitely earned a little nap.

‘Who should we start with?’ asked Martin as he emerged from the vehicle. They were in the car park next to the block of flats.

‘How about Rolle?’

Martin nodded. ‘Sure. It’s been a while since we had a chat with him. It won’t hurt to pay him a little attention.’

‘I just hope he’s coherent.’

They walked up the stairs, and when they were standing outside Rolle’s flat, Paula rang the doorbell. No one answered, so she pressed the bell again, harder this time. A dog started barking.

‘Shit. That’s his German shepherd. I forgot about the dog.’ Martin shook his head uneasily. He didn’t like big dogs, especially dogs owned by drug addicts.

‘That dog’s not dangerous. I’ve met her several times.’ Paula rang the bell again, and now they heard footsteps approaching. The door opened a crack.

‘Yes?’ Rolle said suspiciously. Paula took a step back so he could see her properly. Standing at the man’s feet, the dog was barking loudly and looking as if she wanted to leap through the narrow door opening. Martin moved over to the staircase leading to the floor above and took two steps up, even though he couldn’t have explained why that should be any safer.

‘Paula. From the Tanum police. We’ve met a few times before.’

‘Right. I recognize you,’ the man said, but he made no move to remove the safety chain and let them in.

‘We’d like to come in for a moment. Just have a little talk with you.’

‘A little talk? Oh sure. I’ve heard that before.’ Rolle didn’t budge.

‘I mean what I say. We’re not here to arrest you.’ Paula spoke calmly.

‘Okay, okay, come in.’ He opened the door.

Martin stared at the German shepherd. Rolle was holding the dog by the collar.

‘Hi, doggie.’ Paula knelt down to scratch her behind the ears. The dog finally stopped barking and allowed herself to be petted. ‘What a good girl you are. All right now. You like that, don’t you?’ She kept on scratching the big ears, to the dog’s obvious delight.

‘She’s a good dog, my Nikki,’ said Rolle, letting go of her collar.

‘Come on, Martin.’ Paula motioned for him to come closer. Still not entirely convinced, Martin came down from the stairs to join Paula and Nikki. ‘Let her say hello to you. She’s really sweet.’

Martin reluctantly obeyed. He began petting the big dog and was rewarded with a lick on his hand.

‘See? She likes you,’ said Paula.

‘Hmm,’ said Martin, a bit embarrassed. The dog really didn’t seem so dangerous up close.

‘Now we need to have a chat with your master,’ said Paula, standing up. Nikki looked up at her for a moment before dashing inside.

‘I like your decor,’ said Paula, looking around as they entered the flat.

Rolle rented a one-room place, and it was clear that neatness was not a high priority. The furnishings consisted of a narrow wood-framed bed with mismatched linens, an old TV console that stood in the middle of the room, a scruffy-looking sofa, and a rickety coffee table. Everything looked as if it had been pulled out of a skip, which was very likely the case.

‘Let’s sit in the kitchen.’ Rolle led the way.

Martin knew that, according to police records, the man was thirty-one, but he looked at least ten years older. Tall, slightly stooped, greasy hair that reached to the collar of his faded, checked shirt. His jeans were covered with stains and torn in several places – the result of long-time wear and not a fashion statement.

‘I haven’t got any refreshments,’ said Rolle sarcastically, snapping his fingers at Nikki to make her lie down on the floor at his feet.

‘That’s not necessary,’ said Paula. Judging by all the plates and cups piled up in the sink and on the bench, there wouldn’t be any clean china even if they’d been offered coffee.

‘So what do you want?’ He sighed heavily and then began gnawing on his right thumbnail. He’d already chewed some of his nails down so far that the fingertips looked inflamed.

‘What do you know about the guy across the hall?’ asked Paula, looking at him steadily.

‘What guy?’

‘Who do you think?’ said Martin. He found himself motioning for Nikki to come over and lie down next to him instead.

‘The guy who was shot in the head? Is that who you mean?’ Rolle calmly met Paula’s gaze.

‘Good guess. Well?’

‘Well what? I don’t know anything about it. I told you that before.’

Paula cast an enquiring glance at Martin, who nodded. He was the one who had talked to Rolle when the police were knocking on doors after the murder.

‘Since then, a number of things have come to our attention.’ Paula’s voice had suddenly grown cold. Martin thought to himself that he wouldn’t want to get on her bad side. She might be small, but she was tougher than most guys he knew.

‘Really?’ Rolle’s tone was nonchalant, but Martin could see that he was listening.

‘Did you hear about the boys who found a bag of cocaine outside?’ asked Paula. Rolle stopped chewing on his thumbnail.

‘Cocaine? Where?’

‘In a paper bag, right there in that bin.’ She nodded towards the green litter bin that was visible through the kitchen window.

‘Cocaine in a paper bag?’ Rolle repeated, with a gleam in his eye.

That must be the ultimate fantasy for a drug addict, thought Martin. To find a bagful of drugs in a litter bin. It’d be like winning the lottery.

‘Yes. And the little boys tasted it. They ended up in the ER. It could have killed them,’ said Paula.

Rolle nervously ran his hand over his greasy hair.

‘What a fucking mess. Kids shouldn’t touch stuff like that.’

‘They’re seven years old. They thought it was a bag of sweets.’

‘But you said they’re going to be okay, right?’

‘Yes, they’ll be okay. And hopefully they’ll never go near that sort of shit again. The kind of shit you deal in.’