The man in the white shirt looks at the woman in the passenger seat and smiles resignedly. Then he turns to Ove again and speaks very slowly. As if otherwise Ove might not understand his words.

“It’s not up to Anita to make that decision. It’s up to the investigation team.”

Ove’s breathing becomes even more strained. He can feel his pulse in his throat.

“You’re not bringing this car into this area,” he says through gritted teeth.

His fists are clenched. His tone is pointed and threatening. But his opponent looks quite calm. He puts out the cigarette against the paintwork of the door and drops it on the ground.

As if everything Ove had said was nothing more than the inarticulate raving of a senile old man.

“And what exactly are you going to do to stop me, Ove?” says the man at long last.

The way he flings out his name makes Ove look as if someone just shoved a mallet in his gut. He stares at the man in the white shirt, his mouth slightly agape and his eyes scanning to and fro over the car.

“How do you know my name?”

“I know a lot about you.”

Ove only manages by a whisker to pull his foot out of the way of the wheel as the Škoda moves off again and drives down towards the houses. Ove stands there, in shock, staring after them.

“Who was that?” says the woman in the windbreaker behind him.

Ove spins around.

“How do you know my name?” he demands.

She takes a step back. Pushes a few evasive wisps of hair out of her face without taking her eyes off Ove’s clenched fists.

“I work for the local newspaper—we interviewed people on the platform about how you saved that man. . . .”

“How do you know my name?” says Ove again, his voice shaking with anger.

“You swiped your card when you paid for your train ticket. I went through the receipts in the register,” she says and takes a few more steps back.

“And him!!! How does HE know my name?” Ove roars and waves in the direction in which the Škoda went, the veins on his forehead bulging.

“I . . . don’t know,” she says.

Ove breathes violently through his nose and nails her with his eyes. As if trying to see whether she’s lying.

“I have no idea. I’ve never seen that man before,” she promises.

Ove rivets his eyes into her even harder. Finally he nods grimly to himself. Then he turns around and walks towards his house. She calls out to him but he doesn’t react. The cat follows him into the hall. Ove closes the door. Farther down the road, the man in the white shirt and the woman with glasses ring the doorbell of Anita and Rune’s house.

Ove sinks onto the stool in his hall. Shaking with humiliation.