The path cuts through a thick hedge and opens out into a lovely arbour featuring a fountain with an angel in the centre. Anna glances up at the house; an upstairs window is ajar. She is about to round the corner and head for the front door when she almost bumps into Bror Klein, who is busy fastening his oilskin.

‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ The language is unexpected and doesn’t fit in at all with Klein’s usual calm and collected approach. Nor does the stressed expression.

‘I need to speak to Elisabet.’

‘She doesn’t want to see you.’

The venom in his voice takes her by surprise. And him, apparently.

‘I mean . . . she’s not feeling well. She doesn’t want any visitors.’ He fastens the last button on his coat and regains his self-control. ‘It would be better if you came back another day.’

‘It’s about Simon,’ she informs him. ‘The original investigation.’

Klein’s face is impassive, yet she thinks she can detect a hint of lingering unease in his eyes.

‘Elisabet . . .’ He pauses, searching for the right word. ‘She’s ill. Very ill. The last thing she needs right now is for someone to start poking about in—’

‘Klein!’ The upstairs window is now wide open. Elisabet’s face is pale, and she is wearing a white nightdress. ‘Show Anna into the drawing room. I’ll be down in a few minutes.’

The window slams shut before Klein has time to answer. He mumbles something, turns away and beckons Anna to follow him.

*

The main entrance is at the top of a number of steps. The dark oak double doors are impressive. Klein leads her into a large hallway with a high ceiling. He turns left along a narrow passageway and opens another door. The drawing room has an open fire, with four armchairs arranged around it. A phone with extra-large buttons attracts Anna’s attention; small sticky labels read 1 – KLEIN, 2 – MARIE, 3 – MATS. The walls and ceiling are a faint shade of yellow from years of cigar smoke. The window at the back overlooks an extensive, beautifully cut lawn surrounded by a tall beech hedge.

‘Wait here.’ Klein nods towards the armchairs and immediately leaves the room. The chair is soft, and Anna sinks down a few centimetres more than is comfortable. She sits and listens. All she can hear is the ticking of the gilt pendulum clock next to the fire. After a while she begins to think there is something about the energy in the old house. It might be her imagination, something she has come up with because of what she knows about the Vidje family, and yet she can’t help believing that in spite of its grandeur, there is a sadness about Änglaberga.