Nathalie came over to stand next to her, so close that their shoulders almost touched.

‘A lonely job. Like being on the very edge of the world.’ She seemed far away in her thoughts.

Erica sniffed at the air. She smelled something strange, and yet it seemed familiar. She knew that she’d smelled it before, but she couldn’t really place it. Nathalie had taken a step forward to look out of the window at the open sea. Erica moved closer too.

Her brain was working feverishly to identify that smell. Then she realized where she’d encountered it before. Thoughts continued whirling through her mind, and slowly the pieces began falling into place.

‘Would you mind waiting here while I run down to the boat to get my camera? I’d like to take a few pictures.’

‘Okay,’ said Nathalie reluctantly. She went over to the small bed and sat down.

‘Great.’ Erica ran down the stairs and then raced down the hill on which the lighthouse stood. But instead of heading for the dock, she dashed for the house. She tried to tell herself that this was all just one of her crazy ideas. At the same time, she needed to find out for sure.

After casting a glance over her shoulder at the lighthouse, she pressed down the handle and opened the front door to the cottage.

Madeleine had heard them yesterday from upstairs. She hadn’t known they were police officers until Stefan appeared and told her. In between hitting her.

She dragged her bruised body over to the window. With great effort she pulled herself up and looked out. The small room had a slanted ceiling, and the only light came from the narrow window. Outside, she saw farmland and woods.

They hadn’t bothered to blindfold her, so she knew that she was at the farm. This room had been the children’s when they lived here. Now the only reminder of their presence was a discarded toy car lying in one corner.

She pressed her hands against the wall and felt the pattern of the wallpaper under her palms. This was where Vilda’s cot had stood. Kevin’s bed had stood against the wall at the end of the room. That all seemed so long ago. She could hardly recall living here. It had been a life filled with fear, but at least she’d had the children.

She wondered where they were now – where Stefan had taken them. Probably they were staying with one of the families that didn’t live here on the farm. One of the other women must be taking care of them. Missing the children was almost worse than the physical pain. She pictured them in her mind: Vilda coming down the slide in the courtyard back in Copenhagen, as Kevin proudly watched his brave little sister, and that lock of hair kept falling into his eyes. Madeleine wondered whether she’d ever see them again.

Sobbing, she sank down on to the floor and curled up in a foetal position. Her whole body felt like one enormous bruise. Stefan had vented all his anger on her. She had been mistaken, terribly mistaken, when she thought that it would be safer to come back to Sweden, that she would be able to ask forgiveness from him. The second she saw him standing in her parents’ kitchen, she understood. There would be no forgiveness, and she’d been a fool to think otherwise.

Her poor mother and father. She knew how worried they must be, and how they were probably discussing whether to contact the police or not. Pappa would be in favour of doing that. He would say that was the only option. But Mamma would object, terrified that it would mean the end, that all hope would then be lost. Her father was right, but he would allow her mother to win, as usual. Nobody was going to come here to save her.

She curled up even more, trying to shape her body into a little ball. But the slightest movement hurt, so she forced her muscles to relax. She heard a key turn in the lock. She lay perfectly still, trying to will him to leave. A rough hand grabbed her arm and yanked her to her feet.

‘Get up, you fucking whore.’

It felt like her arm was being pulled out of its socket, as if something broke inside her shoulder.

‘Where are the children?’ she pleaded. ‘Can I see them?’

Stefan gave her a contemptuous look.

‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you? So you could take my kids and run away again. Nobody, and I mean nobody, is going to take my kids away from me.’ He dragged her out of the door and down the stairs.

‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,’ she sobbed. Her face was streaked with blood and dirt and tears.

Stefan’s men had all gathered downstairs. The inner circle. She knew them all: Roger, Paul, Lillen, Steven, and Joar. Now they stood in silence, looking at her as Stefan dragged her through the room. She had a hard time focusing. One eye was so swollen that it was practically closed, and blood from a cut in her forehead was clouding the vision of her other eye. And yet she knew exactly what was going to happen. She could see it in the faces of the men – some of them stared at her coldly, while others looked at her with pity. Joar, who had always been the nicest to her, suddenly looked down at the floor. That was when she understood. She considered fighting back, trying to resist, trying to get away. But where would she go? It was hopeless. All it would achieve would be to prolong the agony.

Instead she stumbled after Stefan, who still had a tight grip on her arm. They hurried across the field behind the house, over towards the woods. In her mind she conjured up pictures of Kevin and Vilda. Newborn, lying at her breast. And much later, filled with laughter as they played in the Danish courtyard. She chose not to remember the time in between, when their eyes became more dazed and resigned with each day that passed. That was the life they were now going to return to, and she couldn’t bear to think about it. She had failed. She should have protected them, but she had grown soft and weak. Now she was about to receive her punishment, and she accepted that – as long as her children would be spared.

They had entered the woods. Birds were chirping, and sunlight seeped through the crowns of the trees. She stumbled over a tree root and almost fell, but Stefan yanked at her arm and she kept on going. Up ahead she caught sight of a clearing, and for a moment she saw Matte’s face. His handsome, kind face. He had loved her so much, and he too had been punished.

When they reached the clearing, she saw the hole in the ground. A rectangular hole, four or five feet deep. The shovel was still there, sticking out of the heap of dirt.

‘Move over to the edge,’ said Stefan, letting go of her arm.

Madeleine obeyed. She no longer had any will of her own. She stood on the edge of the hole, shaking all over. When she looked down, she saw several fat worms trying to burrow deeper into the dark, moist earth. With one last effort she slowly turned around so she was standing face to face with Stefan. He would at least be forced to look her in the eye.

‘I think I’ll put the bullet right between your eyes.’ Stefan raised the gun, holding his arm out straight, and she knew that he was speaking the truth. He was an excellent marksman.

A flock of birds took off from the trees in fright when the shot was fired. But they soon settled back on to the branches, and their chirping blended with the soughing of the wind.

It was so tedious, ploughing through all the documents: post-mortem reports, interviews with neighbours, notes that they’d made during the investigation. After three hours Patrik realized dejectedly that he was only halfway through. When Annika stuck her head in the door, he welcomed the interruption.

‘The detectives from Stockholm are here. Should I bring them to your office, or do you want to sit in the kitchen?’

‘The kitchen,’ said Patrik, standing up. His back creaked, and he reminded himself that he ought to get up and stretch once in a while. He couldn’t afford any back problems now, especially since he’d only recently returned to work after being on sick leave.