‘Are you looking for anything in particular?’ The woman has pushed her glasses up onto the top of her head, where they have got entangled in her hair and adjusted her wig slightly to one side. She tugs at a handful of shiny acrylic curls on the opposite side to adjust it.

‘Just something for lunch, really.’

‘We have fresh eggs – straight from the coop.’ The woman tweaks her hair once more before she is satisfied.

‘My daughter is vegan,’ Anna says. For a moment she considers explaining what that means, what limitations Agnes’s diet places on every mealtime. Not to mention all the arguments.

‘How about some fresh beetroot? You can bake them in the oven, then serve them with cheese. Oh no, silly me – vegans don’t eat cheese, do they? No animal products at all.’

‘No.’ Anna shakes her head in surprise.

‘My grandchild is vegan.’ Wig-woman winks at her. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll sort something out.’

Ten minutes later they have amassed a pile of assorted root and green vegetables, most grown locally, along with fresh eggs and a bacon joint that smells wonderful.

‘My name’s Gunnel,’ says wig-woman. ‘You’re the one who’s renting Tabor, aren’t you?’

Anna nods. ‘How did you know?’

‘We don’t see many new faces up here, and we hardly ever hear a Stockholm accent.’ Gunnel looks at her with curiosity. ‘I believe you’re a police officer?’

Anna nods again, amazed at how quickly the jungle drums have passed on the news. Her new job and the move to Nedanås were confirmed less than a month ago.

‘Yes, we were all surprised when we heard that Elisabet Vidje was letting out Tabor. And to a police officer,’ Gunnel says, packing away Anna’s purchases. ‘Tabor is sacred ground as far as Elisabet is concerned, and she’s not exactly a fan of the police, if I can put it that way.’

‘Why not?’

Gunnel stops in mid-movement, her smile freezes.

‘I thought you knew. Has no one told you?’

Anna frowns. ‘No. Told me what?’

‘About Simon – Elisabet and Karl-Johan’s son. The boy who died over in the old quarry. It’s almost thirty years ago now – a terrible tragedy.’

‘I don’t know anything about that.’

Gunnel shakes her head sadly. ‘Poor Simon. He was a lovely boy, and so gifted. He sang and played like an angel. Nineteen years old – taken just as he was about to step out into the world.’

‘How awful,’ Anna says, mirroring the older woman’s expression. ‘What happened?’