‘According to our records, it’s belonged to a scrapyard in Klippan since 2005. It’s deregistered and not insured. It hasn’t been reported stolen, but of course it could be. The scrapyard probably doesn’t keep a close eye on its vehicles. As far as I can see, there are no visible signs that it’s been hot-wired, but it’s hard to tell from the outside. We’re talking about a thirty-year-old car, and as I’m sure you know, you can more or less start a 900 with an ice lolly.’

She notes that he hasn’t opened the car, which pleases her, and she also gives him credit – somewhat belatedly – for thinking of the tarpaulins. Whatever she thinks of Jens Friberg as a person, Morell’s assessment of him was correct: he is an excellent police officer.

‘What does the car look like in general?’ she asks.

‘Like a typical old banger. I’ll send you a couple of pictures.’

‘How about the viewpoint?’

‘As far as evidence goes, it’s not great. The ground consists mainly of wet leaves and earth, and the rain is making it worse, of course. We’ll cordon off the area and cover it as best we can, then the CSIs will do their bit. I’ll call you if we find anything interesting.’

They end the call, and seconds later her phone beeps. Coverage in the quarry is poor, so it takes a while for the pictures to download. She moves around, searching for a better signal, and glances up at the top of the cliff where she can see the torch beams moving around among the trees.

The first image shows a rusty white Saab 900 that has come off the track. The second shows the driver’s seat seen through the side window. The upholstery is dirty and torn, and two furry dice and a faded air freshener dangle from the rear-view mirror. The ignition is hidden by a McDonald’s bag, making it impossible to see if there’s a screwdriver in it. The third image is of the back seat. The flash is reflected in the rain-soaked windows, but she sees two large blue IKEA bags and lots of clothes. She would really like to go up and take a closer look. There is still no sign of the CSIs, which makes her feel frustrated and restless, but also strangely excited. She knows why, but would prefer not to admit it. As usual, Håkan sees straight through her.

Because you love this, Anna. You love the challenge, the hunt, the excitement. You love the fact that you’re good at it. That’s why you never stammer when you’re talking about work.