The following morning Anna makes a big fruit salad for breakfast even though it’s Wednesday. However, her gesture of reconciliation falls flat. Agnes does eat something, but she is still angry about the way Anna behaved the previous day, and the fact that her phone isn’t working doesn’t help. The silence between them is oppressive, and after a while Anna can feel her own irritation rising. She allows Agnes to take her vegan hot chocolate into her room to avoid a quarrel.

No doubt Håkan has plenty to say on the matter, but today she has no desire to listen to him. Since it’s raining she offers Agnes a lift, drops her off at the station without receiving a thank you or anything other than a mumble in response to her goodbye, which doesn’t improve her mood. When she opens the door of Lasse Gunnarsson’s stuffy office, she isn’t far from boiling point.

‘Anna – how lovely to see you!’ Call-me is wearing a pair of reading glasses, which he quickly whips off and hides in a drawer. The room feels too small, too dated, as if it belongs to someone from a different age. The yellowing photographs and faded diplomas on the walls reinforce this impression.

‘Take a seat,’ he says, gesturing towards the visitor’s chair. She is already sitting down.

She doesn’t waste any time on small talk, she simply places the letter she found at Joe Rylander’s cabin on the desk in front of him. He grimaces, but doesn’t look surprised. Presumably he’s spoken to either Klein or Elisabet.

‘Right . . .’

He leans back, looking nowhere near as relaxed as usual. His chair squeaks in protest.

‘I think I owe you an apology, Anna.’ He blushes slightly, and forces another squeak out of the chair. ‘Elisabet Vidje is my client. Our dealings are confidential. Unfortunately, I found myself in a rather difficult position when you and I . . .’

He looks at her in a way she doesn’t like, as if he’s suggesting that there’s something going on between them, and he’s expecting her to confirm it.

‘You and Elisabet exploited me,’ she snaps, although she’d intended to keep quiet. ‘You dragged me into this business and sent out a letter that very likely got a man killed.’

Call-me stiffens.

‘All we did was ask the people who were at the quarry to take the opportunity to ease their consciences . . .’

‘But one or more of them didn’t want to do that. Instead, they killed the person who probably knew something.’

Call-me continues to look affronted. ‘If that’s true, you can hardly blame me or Elisabet.’

‘No? How many dead witnesses were there before the letter was sent out?’

She realises almost immediately that the question is slightly ridiculous. However, it seems to have worked, because Call-me’s face contorts into a tortured expression.