KERSTIN WAS WOKEN by the sound of a text message arriving on her phone, which was lying on the nightstand. And she found to her delight that it was Sandra, who had pulled up the address of what had to be Peter Norling’s hunting cabin. Other than his home and the summer house, it was the only property he owned—while he had been alive. Now it was probably considered Mrs. Norling’s property.

She examined a couple of different maps and satellite images on her mobile and noted that the location was in the woods over towards Slite. It was some distance away, but there were buses going there. If they took their bikes with them on the bus, it looked like they’d be able to get pretty close to their target without having to trek an inordinate distance through the forest. She couldn’t see any neighbouring properties, so it seemed in every regard the optimal place for housebreakers to work undisturbed. And they could leave their cleaning gear at home.

She called Jeanette and got her out of bed. She seemed to have scant interest, but that would sort itself out. They’d had a really nice time on the last occasion, even though Jeanette had taken it very badly in the few instances where something had reminded her too much of Peter. And although they’d had to put their backs into it at times, Jeanette had largely remained in good spirits.

Kerstin guessed that there would be less work this time. Fewer knick-knacks, fewer household items—less stuff in general, given that the cabin was for hunters. She was picturing the odd hunting trophy on the walls, stuffed animals and birds, some majestic roebuck horns. Meagre supplies in the fridge and larder—just enough for hungry hunters to cook a bite to eat in a convivial setting. She imagined that beer tankards and schnapps glasses might have their own dedicated shelf.

It was probably a retreat just for men, it now occurred to her. That wasn’t necessarily true, but she was pretty certain that efforts to achieve equality for women hadn’t yet reached the point where they were represented to the same extent as men in hunting clubs around the country. And if looked at through cynical eyes, that might mean that Mrs. Norling rarely or never set foot there. This in turn led to the conclusion that it was a suitable location for a man needing to stash away six million stolen kronor intended for use by himself and his lover.

The odds were thus pretty good, although she would have to disregard the clouds heavy with rain that hung low over Gotland and had been there for several days.