At certain moments, Kerstin managed to summon the energy needed to put herself in this unforgiving state, but for the most part she didn’t. More often, she saw Jeanette as a woman who had lost her child and then lost her footing. In the same way that she, Kerstin, had when she had lost her husband. For the most part, she remained fairly neutral, observing Jeanette with cool interest—just like anyone else who moved around the fringes of the woman’s consciousness. She supposed that was where she had ended up in her ponderings—somewhere in between, in the harsh landscape of indifference.

It was the first day of the political festival known as Almedalen Week and political aficionados had begun to stream in from all directions. They flooded the town for a week, parking thousands of bicycles by the East Gate. But they were fun to watch. They were nothing like the average tourist; they represented other values. As a rule, they were happy and enthusiastic, and surprisingly well-behaved given the amount of rosé they tipped back. More often than not, they were engaged in lively conversations with each other.

Kerstin was glad that she now had Sandra to talk to, and that they also had a joint project to focus on. Kerstin had already carried out some tasks, and Sandra had been very happy. Now it looked like Kerstin was going to let her down when it came to the money, because Jeanette had no other worthwhile ideas up her sleeve. A break-in at the Norling family’s house while they were on holiday didn’t seem constructive. Partly because Kerstin no longer engaged in criminal activities—disregarding the break-in at the summer house, of course, which had been for a good cause and had not led to anything being destroyed or stolen. Partly because the money would have been found long ago if it was at the Norlings’ house—by the police, if nobody else, since they had probably turned the house upside down in their hunt for the truth behind the disappearance. The same was likely to apply to the garage he had worked at.

No, Jeanette seemed to have completely lost interest, and Kerstin had no ideas of her own. How was she supposed to come up with anything? Norling had probably got in his car and gone into the woods and buried the bags somewhere. Sooner or later, someone would stumble onto them, and it wouldn’t be Kerstin. What was more, it would be too late—the clock was ticking quickly now.

Kerstin decided she would call Sandra that evening and explain the situation. Apologise that neither Jeanette nor she had any more ideas about where Norling might have hidden the cash, but emphasise clearly how eager she was to help in all other ways imaginable.