‘What do you want, a candy bar?’ says the Sheriff.

‘Ragnar Falk’s daughter was killed,’ I say.

‘Oh, that,’ says the Sheriff. ‘Bad business that was.’

Thord looks at the Sheriff.

‘You didn’t know?’

Thord keeps on looking at him.

‘Falk had a daughter, Johanna her name was. Sweet, polite girl. Anyways, she was riding her bike down Visberg hill, it’s not a good road for a bicycle rider, especially not in elk-hunt season.’

The Sheriff turns a quarter way round to face the top of the hill. To look down it. The sky is darkening by the minute and a flock of birds squawk and fly off in one black mass, as if to evade the upcoming weather.

‘It was a hit and run,’ says the Sheriff.

‘Damn cowards,’ says Thord. ‘Had one myself first year on the job, out west near Utgard forest, close to the river. How someone can cause destruction and then just up and leave, not face the music as it were, is beyond me. How do you suppose a driver like that would sleep at night?’

‘Johanna Falk was thrown twenty metres up toward Gavrik town.’ Sheriff Hansson scratches the groove above his lip with his fingernail. ‘She was stone-cold deceased before she even got to the hospital, poor thing. Seventeen years old, if I remember right. Ragnar was there by her side on the road. And ever since he’s kept a white bike at the exact spot she passed on.’

‘They ever have any leads on who did it?’ asks Thord.

‘Back then it was Falun police in charge of us hill people, not your pappa, may he rest in peace.’

Thord nods his head slightly.