‘Please, it’s a custom here. Everyone gets one.’

I take the candy bracelet. The individual candies are coloured pastel pink and blue and green. There’s fluff stuck to them.

He moves aside.

As I pass by Emil to leave he raises his fingertips up under the shadow of his moustache and sniffs them.

11

I head outside into the sunshine.

The Hive is so long it covers one side of the square. A whole block, I guess. Like a shit version of Harrods or Macy’s. With my back to the yellow-and-black building I can see the dark side of the street to my left, the sunny side to my right, the descent straight ahead of me. I walk toward the dark side of the square.

Margareta’s unlocking a large drive-in self-storage unit on the far side of the Hive. I wave and she looks away.

I deposit Emil’s candy bracelet in a bin.

The breeze is cool on my skin. I cross and stand outside the Visberg dental surgery. The window has a large cardboard sign inside, taped to the glass. It reads, ‘No Refunds.’

I open the door.

A reception desk with a woman sitting behind it reading a book. A fish tank. Two leather-clad benches. Two mannequins posed as if they’re reading magazines, the faded periodicals taped to their plastic hands. A coffee table stacked with copies of the Visberg Tidningen and Dam magazine. A kid’s play area consisting of a wooden box stuffed full with mangled dolls in various states of undress.

‘Good morning,’ says the receptionist.

‘Hi, I’m Tuva Moodyson. Eleven o’clock with Dr Edlund.’

She smiles and puts down her copy of Anna Karenina.

‘Let me just find your appointment.’

She puts on a pair of glasses and uses the computer. Her name badge says ‘Julia Beck’. She’s around my age, maybe a few years older, maybe thirty. Red hair’s up in a messy ponytail that suits her. Freckles. A relaxed demeanour.

‘Eleven o’clock it is. Take a seat, Tuva, and if you could fill out one of these please.’

She hands me a form on a clipboard with pen attached.

I sit down next to a mannequin and look at the receptionist.

Julia Beck smiles and says, ‘Susan and Linda are here to put people at ease.’

Well, Julia, that ain’t working.

I complete the form and hand it back to her.

‘You live in the big city?’ she says, checking my address on the form.

‘No, just in Gavrik.’

‘The big city,’ she says.

‘Small town.’

‘Oh, you’re too modest.’

‘Are you from here, Julia?’

‘Born and raised on this here mountain,’ she says.

‘Sorry about the awful news.’

Julia’s eyes open wide. ‘What’s happened now?’

‘No, I mean the murder. In the forest.’

‘Oh,’ she looks relieved. ‘That. Yes, terrible. My neighbour’s installing CCTV. Even thinking about buying a Rottweiler pup.’