Could it really be true that it was thanks to the odious Hallin that she—and perhaps Erik—were still alive? That, despite all the negative consequences it would have for him, he had refrained from making the book disappear, from making Sandra disappear? It was an unexpected ending to his role in this protracted drama, to say the least. And the question was whether he had thus managed to ward off his worst fears altogether. The night’s events had allowed him to demonstrate that he had human, even downright self-sacrificing, traits.

Sandra left the message from Hallin in the document, closed it, and opened her email. The inbox contained several new messages, but only one from the colleague she had contacted during the night. There were a number of photos attached. First there was the original picture taken by Kerstin at Norling’s hunting cabin, but in far better condition. Now the car was clearly visible—without doubt a blue Audi. There was also a person visible in the pouring rain: slender, with inclined shoulders, possibly a woman—probably not the significantly broader-shouldered Jan Hallin.

Picture number two was an enlargement of the car’s licence plate. It wasn’t a registration that Sandra recognised, but it provided a clear, unambiguous reference to the car’s owner.

Picture number three showed the person’s body close-up—now undoubtedly a woman—while the fourth picture was a detailed study of her face. It still lacked sharp contours, was still partially concealed by rainwater, but it was familiar. There was no longer any doubt about who had undone the bolt on the root cellar door where Erik had been held captive.

Jan Hallin was apparently innocent. At long last it turned out that his wife was the one who had been prepared to go the extra step to protect her social status and finely polished façade. And just as Hallin had tried to explain to her, Sandra now remembered, the wrong person was identified as the perpetrator in her “fucking serial,” as he had put it.

Now Sandra also remembered who had served her that bilberry soup. If you removed the unfashionable glasses and what Sandra now realised had to be a wig, the nurse shared significant similarities with Gunilla Hallin. She was a nurse by profession—Sandra knew that. Yet she had been so short-sighted she hadn’t immediately made the connection between her body’s collapse and the bilberry soup, between the bespectacled nurse and Gunilla Hallin.