‘I heard he had a thing with a woman in the town, after we were divorced, I’m certain he was faithful when we were married.’

‘Go on.’

‘I never found out who the woman was. But it ended badly, that’s what I was told.’

‘Who told you?’

She shakes her head. ‘I’d rather not say. Doesn’t matter who.’

‘You have any idea who he was seeing?’

‘Well, I was talking to Sheriff Hansson about this, not about her exactly. But I do find it odd that the killer stole Arne’s wedding ring.’

I did not know this. I sip the coffee and try to look like I did.

‘I mean,’ says Annika. ‘I know it’s strange that he still wore it after we divorced, but really it has no financial value whatsoever, so why would the killer take it off his finger?’

‘Are you sure he was wearing the ring?’

‘He always wore it,’ she says. ‘Sheriff reckons his finger was scratched up, pressure marks from someone pulling it over his knuckles.’

She squeezes her eyes together and wrinkles up her face.

‘That’s terrible.’

‘And people round here will try to point the finger at Luka Kodro, the restaurant owner, but they’re just narrow-minded.’

‘Why would they point a finger at Luka?’

She frowns and swallows hard and says, ‘Luka and I…’ she pauses. ‘We had an affair a few years ago. I’m not proud of it, but it happened. We broke it off after a couple of weeks. We told our partners. Arne couldn’t accept it, despite the fact he was no angel, always had an eye for the ladies. Luka’s wife did accept it, I suppose. But Luka wouldn’t hurt a fly, he’d have no reason to do something horrendous like that to Arne.’

We finish up the interview and she shows me to the door.

‘Thanks again for the coffee and for talking to––’

‘I still loved him, you see,’ she says. ‘Arne was a good man, really. Better than I ever deserved. It didn’t work out between us but I still loved him.’

I leave my Hilux where it is and walk over to the Hive self-storage building. Its door is propped open with a black cinder block.

I peer in.

An apple drops to the ground behind me with a thud.

‘Anyone here?’ I ask.

The guy from yesterday approaches slowly.

‘How can I help?’

Emil Eriksson is a whole head shorter than me. Thick bushy moustache that doesn’t quite fit his face. Side parting. Plimsolls. A candy bracelet on his wrist.

‘I wanted to introduce myself. I’m Tuva…’

‘Who’s this, Emil?’

A woman strides in wearing a fitted maroon dress and high heels.

Emil looks at me then back to her.