‘We probably have a week or so before he gets the results,’ he continues when she doesn’t speak. ‘He hinted that they might reduce the seriousness of the charge in exchange for a confession. That’s not how things usually work in Sweden, but as he says there were “extenuating circumstances” in this case.’

Anna still doesn’t say a word. All she can think about is that Agnes or one of her friends will see the article on their phone. She has to get to her first, has to—

‘My recommendation is that you think it over and come back to me within a couple of days, let me know what you want to do. Whatever decision you make, I will of course do my utmost to achieve the best possible outcome.’

‘I’ll be in touch,’ she says and ends the call. Her fingers are shaking so much that she can barely scroll to Agnes’s number in her contacts list. The call goes straight to voicemail. She tries again, with the same result. She sends a text:

CALL ME.

Her phone rings as soon as she’s pressed send, and at first, she thinks it’s Agnes. Then she hears the commissioner’s rasping voice in her ear. Her brain, that seemed so clear and eager just minutes ago suddenly isn’t working properly, and she mumbles a non-committal response to the accusation that she has withheld important information from him, and that he doesn’t appreciate finding this out via the press.

‘I’ve also spoken to Henry Morell,’ he says. ‘According to him, you’re using a suicide as a pretext to reopen a twenty-seven-year-old case. To be honest, I found it difficult to believe that an experienced officer like you would use the police authority’s limited resources to look into an accident that happened almost thirty years ago, but Henry was very convincing.’

‘I . . . I . . . It . . . t . . .’ That damned stammer is the last thing she needs right now; it makes her sound incompetent and unsure of herself.

‘Morell also claims that you’ve fallen out with his son, and that the whole thing is some kind of personal vendetta. Is there any truth in that assertion?’

‘Alexander Morell and his friend attacked a man at an event in the local park, and almost ki . . . killed him.’ Shit. She pauses, takes a couple of deep breaths. ‘When I intervened, they turned on me instead. If my uniformed officers hadn’t turned up, things could have gone very badly.’

‘Can you give me the case number of your report?’

She realises she’s walked straight into a trap.

‘No.’

‘May I ask why not?’

‘Because a report was never filed. Henry Morell asked me and the attending officers not to make it formal.’ She wonders whether to mention Jens Friberg’s involvement, but knows he probably won’t back her up.