“Where do you think he got the money, Jeanette? This is cash—he’s hardly earned it or won it at the bookie’s. It won’t be missed, believe you me.”

“It belongs to someone,” Jeanette replied, feeling bewildered by the situation.

“This man has somehow come across this money. Illegally—I guarantee it. He’s dead and we’re here. Are we stupid or what?”

“I don’t know,” Jeanette answered hesitantly. “Can’t we just call emergency services?”

“Why don’t we leave that to someone else? It’s already too late, and we didn’t cause this swindler’s death. This is the chance of our lives. You and me, Jeanette. We can buy a nice place to live—a house. We can travel.”

She heard what he was saying, and he sounded so convincing standing there and looking at her, his velvet eyes pleading with her. She didn’t want to stay here any longer; her body and soul were both exhausted and she couldn’t make any decisions. She wanted to get away from the brutalised body in the car wreck, away from the cold and the darkness creeping in, and she never wanted to think about this day again.

“How much money is there then?” Jeanette asked with a jumble of emotions.

“There must be a few million—three million is my best guess.”

“Three million kronor?”

“Or more.”

“I don’t know . . . I just want to cry . . . It’s all so awful.”

But Peter took her in his arms and held her tight, swaying back and forth a little as if she were a child being put down to sleep.

“Let’s not do anything we’ll come to regret,” he whispered into her hair. “This chance won’t come round again.”

And he was of course right. She realised that now. It felt good to be in it together now—and in it together in future. She didn’t want to hold him back, didn’t want to put a stop to their opportunity for a beautiful future.

So she gave in. She dried her tears and brushed off all the twigs and bark and mud that she had only now noticed on her coat. For safety’s sake, she did a lap of the car to check that all hope for the man was gone—that the decision not to call the emergency services was correct. And it had to be. The man hadn’t moved an inch and his eyes were still shut, his mouth half-open. For reasons she couldn’t explain to herself, she got out her mobile and took a photo of what was visible of the wounded body through the side window. Then she returned to the boot, slung one of the bags over her shoulder and started climbing. She stopped further along the road and took a photo of the wreck diagonally from above. She noticed that Peter still hadn’t started climbing.