‘We hadn’t had a murder in Visberg for thirty-seven years until they both turned up. And it isn’t normal, the things they make. Shouldn’t be legal. Have you seen the little men? Some have dicks as long as pencils. Some have hairy backs and real teeth taken from God-knows-what animal. Ragnar Falk, he said he saw one with teats from a fertile polecat. Transplanted onto a pine troll. Teats!’

Emil smiles and looks at me then at his mother.

‘All I know,’ she says, ‘is that they have rifles and they know how to shoot. They have sharp tools and it seems like they need human teeth a damn sight more than anyone else does around here. Nobody questions them properly because they’re two little old ladies. Let me tell you, never underestimate an old lady. I should know. And I seen a similar episode of Midsummer Murders one time. You have to investigate the obvious suspects as well as the others. That’s vital.’

‘I guess the police need physical evidence.’

‘Just look at their shop for fuck’s sake.’

‘Well, I’m not sure…’

‘And they had that big fight with their landlord.’

‘Go on.’

‘Arne Persson. Clockmaker says they had a screaming match inside the shop and he overheard the whole thing. His basement museum runs under both units, you didn’t know that, did you? Wasn’t so much about the money as the terms of the lease. He even checked if they could operate a shop from one of our larger storage units, see’ns as they only need it a few more weeks. I said no, we’re not that kind of operation, our insurance policy wouldn’t cover troll making.’

‘You must see all sorts, renting your units to random people to store their private belongings?’

‘Oh,’ says Margareta. ‘You have no idea.’

Emil stands up and says, ‘I could do my rounds now, Mamma. I could take Tuva with me?’

‘You could,’ she says. ‘I suppose you could, honey.’

‘Rounds?’

‘Inspection,’ says Emil, taking a long, black torch the size and shape of a truncheon from a desk near the TV. ‘My job.’

‘Take her,’ she says, winking.

‘What do you mean?’ I ask.

‘Emil walks round the corridors of the two lower floors each evening. Never the top floor, we leave that well alone as customers appreciate their privacy up there. Emil checks nobody has had a stroke or an accident lifting their stuff, that kind of thing.’

‘Health and safety,’ he says. ‘You want to come?’

I think about it for a moment. I have a stungun in my handbag. And Emil’s half a head shorter than me with milk teeth. I think I could take him.

‘Sure,’ I say.

Emil removes a master key from a locked cabinet and we enter the main building. It’s cold and the lights flicker on and off.