They sit in silence for almost fifteen minutes, exchanging meaningful glances as the time ticks away. It seems unlikely that Santesson would have planned another meeting or interrogation before nine o’clock on a Thursday morning, so the delay is meant to unsettle her, a sly little psychological pinch to put her off balance. She has used the same trick herself on many occasions, and yet she is surprised at how effective it is. A poor night’s sleep and the uncomfortable early flight have already left her out of sorts; she is tense and on her guard.

Calm down, Håkan would have said to her, but after the previous evening’s betrayal he is no longer speaking to her. She is alone now.

The door is flung open and the bulldog comes in, accompanied by a slightly overweight man in a suit, with a thick case file under his arm. He introduces himself: ‘Tord Santesson, Chief Prosecutor.’ He is in his early fifties, and just like Bengt Andersson, he deals with his baldness by shaving off his remaining hair. His handshake is firm and a fraction too long.

‘So, Anna . . .’ He sits down opposite her and places the file on the table. Drums his strong fingers on it as he stares at her. His eyes are dark grey, shining with intelligence.

‘The previous lead investigator was ready to drop the case, but I decided to take another look. Leave no stone unturned. Fortunately.’ The fingers stop drumming. Anna feels a reflexive urge to swallow, but manages to stop herself.

‘We have discovered fresh information that doesn’t look too good for you.’ The powerful index finger taps the file.

‘First of all, we have a new witness. A nurse.’

Santesson pauses, allows his words to sink in. ‘She transferred to a different department just before your ex-husband passed away, which is why she wasn’t questioned earlier.’

The drumming begins again. Anna feels his gaze on her, and makes a huge effort to meet it.

‘According to this nurse, you asked her a number of detailed questions about how an infusion pump works. So detailed that she remembers the incident almost a year later.’

Santesson pauses again, gives her a wry smile.

‘Plus, we have this.’ He opens the file without taking his eyes off Anna. ‘My colleagues have already examined your work computer and your personal laptop without finding anything, but I requested a search of every computer in your former place of work, and guess what?’

He places a sheet of paper in the middle of the table, equidistant between Anna and her solicitor, so that they both have to lean forward.