‘Same thing happened to me, although I was going in the opposite direction,’ she says. ‘That guy drives like an idiot.’

‘Mm. When was this?’

She thinks back. ‘Wednesday evening.’

‘And you’re sure it was the same truck?’

‘I didn’t see the registration number, but it looked identical, and it had one of those telescopic crane things on the back. Why do you ask?’

‘No particular reason.’

There is a brief silence while she tries to work out why he’s lying to her. The presence of the pickup means something to Call-me. Something important.

‘It’s a drilling machine,’ he adds. ‘That thing on the back. Glarea use it to take samples.’

‘I presume they’re looking for a new source to replace the one down in the village,’ Anna says, keen to show that’s she’s already up to speed with local issues.

Call-me doesn’t answer. He is frowning slightly, which she hasn’t seen before. Even though he changes the subject and chats away for another ten minutes, the frown still lingers when they reach the park.

The festivities are just the way Alex Morell described them. A travelling funfair with a shooting range, chocolate wheel and three rides that all look lethal. Nedanås’s sports association is running the tombola, plus a coffee and hot dog stall. Even the promised bouncy castle is there on one side of the large gravelled courtyard. The other three sides are occupied by an outdoor stage, a dance floor and a party room. Up on the stage the accordion club are playing a jolly tune, and the smell of candy floss, popcorn and doughnuts fills the air. The place is packed – there must be a thousand people here.

Erik and Agnes soon disappear among the crowds, leaving Anna alone with Call-me. She nods a greeting to two uniformed officers, and congratulates herself on remembering their names.

The accordion group has finished, and a voice informs the audience that they were the final act in the talent show. Three people, presumably the judges, begin what looks like an amused discussion at one corner of the stage. The first judge is Bengt Andersson, the second his daughter, Marie. The third, however, is something else altogether. From a distance she looks like a Hollywood star, with hair extensions, lip fillers, high-heeled boots and a fake fur coat – totally out of place, both on that stage and in Nedanås in general.

‘Who’s that?’ she asks Call-me.

‘Caia Bianca – I thought you’d recognise her.’

She shakes her head, realising this is the woman whose picture Agnes showed her.