“How do you know that he went down into the ravine?” Sandra asked.

“On one of the pictures of the wreck there’s a shadow visible beside the car. A shadow that wasn’t there in the other picture, so it must therefore have moved. I’m pretty certain that the shadow is of a person.”

“You think the photographer took the opportunity to photograph the hit-and-run driver’s car while he was down in the ravine?” Sandra said thoughtfully.

“Exactly.”

“It could simply be a fellow passenger. Someone else in the car?”

“Precisely,” said Kerstin. “Or someone who happened to be passing.”

“But who still didn’t take the time to call emergency services?”

“Naturally, it suggests a fellow passenger,” Kerstin agreed. “For that reason.”

Sandra thought for a while, digesting the information.

“That letter,” she said. “Was it postmarked?”

“Yes, in Visby.”

“That’s not much of a clue,” Sandra remarked. “But the photographer was there when it happened and was sufficiently clearheaded to document the accident. The person in question felt obliged to inform you about what had happened.”

“But not to call an ambulance,” Kerstin added, her voice bitter.

“Someone with a conscience but no backbone?” Sandra reasoned.

“Their conscience only seems to have come to life when it was too late,” said Kerstin.

“When did you receive that letter?”

“The day after the death notice had been in the paper. I think the photographer saw that I was the next of kin and thought I had a right to know.”

Sandra considered this for a while. That was probably what had happened. But both the photographer and the victim’s wife, who had each had crucial evidence against the hit-and-run driver in their possession, had neglected to contact the police, and that was a mystery in itself. The photographer’s behaviour perhaps less so, if he or she was closely related to the driver, but Kerstin’s passiveness was and remained a riddle.

“Why did it take so long for them to find your husband?” Sandra dared to ask. “I get the impression that the police didn’t take your report very . . .”

“The police weren’t informed,” Kerstin interrupted.

“What did you say?” said Sandra, who thought she must have been mistaken.

“I never reported him as missing.”

Sandra checked her impulses and swallowed the questions that were rising to her lips. Kerstin’s unwillingness to involve the police had become even more apparent, but her motives were shrouded in darkness. She sat quietly at the other end of the line and Sandra didn’t want to push too hard.

“As you may have noticed, I’m avoiding asking the natural follow-up questions,” Sandra said.

“I’ve noticed,” Kerstin replied. “But there are several, more important follow-up questions to ask.”

“Help me out.”

“The perpetrator’s registration number was visible in the picture. With a little enlargement I managed to read the number, so I tracked down the owner of the Audi.”

“And . . .?”

“Hallin, he’s called. Works as an expert in environmental issues at an international company with an office in Visby. He’s also on the local board for a human rights organisation.”