Thanks to a phone call made to Hallin’s place of work, she had made sure he wasn’t at home because she definitely didn’t want to see the guy again, and above all she lacked the courage to confront him. Discounting a future trial, of course—when she would probably be in the witness box.

And now here she was, standing outside Hallin’s front door ringing the bell, her mouth bone dry with nerves and her hands trembling so much that she had to put them in her trouser pockets in order to disguise it. She knew that Gunilla Hallin was at home because she had glimpsed her inside, passing the windows several times.

The door opened and there was a woman in her fifties standing there smiling at her. She had an open face with laughter lines at the corners of her eyes, and she didn’t look too dangerous.

Sandra cleared her throat and swallowed.

“Hello,” she said. “I’m Sandra.”

“I recognise that name—wasn’t it you who called the other day? About some kid that Jan had promised to sponsor?”

“Yes,” Sandra acknowledged. “That was me.”

“I’m afraid he’s not at home, but . . .”

“I was actually looking to speak to you,” Sandra interrupted her.

The woman took on an expression of confusion that seemed to demand an explanation.

“You won’t like what I have to say,” said Sandra. “But I’m doing it because I don’t see any other way out.”

“That sounds worrying,” said Mrs. Hallin, frowning.

“I wasn’t entirely truthful the last time we spoke. I tried to show you some consideration, and I hoped it would be resolved without involving you.”

“What is it you’re trying to say?”

The initial friendliness was dissipating; the woman was preparing herself for bad news and didn’t want to string out the torment for any longer than was necessary. What Sandra had to say was provocative in itself, but the way she said it might soften the blow. She had already made up her mind to wrap up her words so that they didn’t seem too aggressive.

“I’ve got nothing to do with your relationship whatsoever, which is why . . .”

“That’s something we can agree on,” the woman interrupted. She had begun to look irritated. “Get to the point.”

“Jan is the father of my child,” Sandra stated.

Gunilla Hallin looked at her wide-eyed—she seemed to have stopped breathing. Sandra waited for the message to sink in, predicting a torrent of accusations in return. But when the woman finally managed to control her breathing, she gave a deep sigh, crossed her arms over her chest as if to protect herself from some outer danger, and stared down at her feet. She sighed again and gave Sandra a teary-eyed look.

“And now you want money?” she said, swallowing.