I’m a calm person. I’m calm even now. I’m not someone who gives into wild panic or irrational thoughts. This isn’t true. I’m terrified. Calm down, Kristina, I tell myself, slipping quietly from the sofa and onto the floor. The beam of the flashlight is roaming the little cabin, as though whoever is holding it is inspecting it from every angle before deciding what to do. I push Leah’s MacBook under the sofa and begin to crawl toward the entrance. When I first came here, I noticed an ancient pickax hung in the space between the bathroom and the front door. It could be there for decorative purposes, or it could actually be that Leah used it to split firewood – either way, I’m glad it’s there.

Stop, I tell myself. Whoever it is, they’re way more likely to help me than to hurt me. Unless it’s Anton. He might have just come out of police custody and headed straight here to cover his tracks before the police realize what he’s done. I’m in no doubt he’ll kill me in cold blood if it’s him, and in my current state that won’t be difficult.

The beam from the flashlight is being moved alongside the length of the wall as if whoever is holding it is walking slowly around, inspecting the cabin. I drag myself across the floor, trying hard not to cry with the pain from my ankle. Whoever is outside seems to be moving toward the front door. I am obviously unable to outrun anyone, so what do I do? What part of a normal life might prepare you for something like this? Do I unhook the pickax and hold it in my hand just in case, risking looking utterly insane in the event it’s just a random neighbor who may have heard my screams earlier or seen the unfamiliar car parked at the head of the track leading to the cabin? But there are no neighbors. The track is used only for Leah’s cabin.

If not Anton, who? Who else might have known Leah was here and come looking for her? Her mother? Could it really be Linda, unsettled after being contacted by the police about Leah’s whereabouts? From what I’ve heard about Leah’s mother, she is primarily concerned with her own pursuits and would be unlikely to get in her car in Årjäng and drive for hours and hours just to check whether her daughter is okay.

My heart shudders in my chest and I pause for a long while, listening. There are no sounds coming from outside, not even the gentle rustle of swaying trees. I pull myself up by the door frame and unhook the pickax from the wall.