‘Too much money makes your brains go soft, my old mamma used to say, God bless her soul. They got far too much of it, all of them have. Not even cash really, they got real wealth. Generations of it. Whole town stinks of dirty old money and rotten apples. Feel free to quote me on that.’

‘You’re not a friend of the Edlunds.’

‘Friend?’ he says. ‘Not one of them’s ever lifted an axe or a chainsaw in their lives. Too busy playing golf over at their country club in their expensive clothes. Look down on the likes of me and you. Well I don’t look up at them, I can tell you now. If you don’t need to work a day in your whole life you’ll find trouble, mark my words, Tuva. They’re riddled with affairs, infidelities, drug using, and the games they play when us working folk ain’t looking…’

‘Games?’

‘We got a tradition this time of year, but it’s not something for your newspaper. Anyway, we use it to mark the harvest, a town event. Part of Halloween, if you like. But they take it to some ugly places. Perversions, my wife used to call them. You can hear them Edlunds in the streets after dark, but like I said, none of that’s for your newspaper.’

‘Okay.’

‘You keep it out, you hear me?’

‘I said, okay.’

He wipes his nose on his sleeve.

‘And then there’s the Yugoslav. He doesn’t hunt but he’s a better shot than me or Benny Björnmossen. Some people say the policemen should go talk to the Yugoslav, have a quiet word in his ear.’

‘Anyone else?’

He thinks about that.

‘Only person I see park up that stretch of the big hill recently is Dr Edlund in that black wagon.’

‘Sven Edlund, the dentist? I just met him.’

‘Nope, I’m talking about his wife,’ says Lennart. ‘Makes us call her “doctor” even though she plays golf and drinks gin cocktails most days.’

I remember the black 4x4 from the night of the murder. The car that sped off.

‘I’ll do some more research before I decide,’ I say gesturing to the axes. ‘Thanks for your help.’

‘Keep what I said about the town customs out of your newspaper.’

‘I said I would, Lennart.’

‘And watch out for the hill. Road ain’t safe this time of year. We been lobbying the Kommun for decades to get it rerouted. Too many freak accidents. You watch yourself. Got a decent car, have you?’

‘Brand new Hilux with stud tyres. Still got that new car smell.’

‘Smart young woman. Good for you.’

I drive off and call Thord via my Bluetooth hearing aid.

‘Tuvs.’

‘We need to talk.’

‘Don’t have much time. Coffee at the hotel?’ he says.