Lisa nods. ‘I’ve booked a room for the week. Nine o’clock in the morning?’

‘Great – I’ll see you then.’

They say goodbye, and Anna turns and glares angrily at the two eavesdroppers. Both receptionists stare back defiantly.

You’re losing your grip on the station, she murmurs to herself, knowing that Håkan would have said exactly the same thing if he were talking to her.

She heads back to her office, checking her phone yet again. Nothing. She wonders whether to contact the school, ask someone to fetch Agnes, but realises that probably wouldn’t improve the situation. Better to drive over there herself, but first she must fulfil her promise to the commissioner.

She stops outside Morell’s office. She can see him through the glass wall, focused on his computer. She knocks on the door.

‘Come in!’ he says, in an exaggeratedly authoritative voice.

She takes a deep breath. Time to eat humble pie.

Morell doesn’t even glance up when she walks in. He is typing away using only his index fingers, and seems to be in no hurry. Anna intends to sit down in one of his visitor’s chairs, but discovers they’re gone. It takes a few seconds for her to grasp that this is no coincidence. The intention is to leave her standing there for a while until he deigns to speak to her. She is aware of movement on the other side of the glass wall. The two receptionists have stopped halfway up the stairs, and have been joined by the annoying female officer who made fun of her stammer. Two detectives are shuffling slowly along the corridor in their Birkenstocks, carrying mugs of coffee in order to hide the real reason for their presence, which is to watch Morell put her in her place. She can hear them whispering, and turns to close the door.

‘You can leave the door open,’ Morell says, removing any lingering doubts she might have had about his intentions. She feels her anger rising, and a tiny vein at her right temple begins to throb. But she has to control herself, has to obey orders. Morell still doesn’t look up.

‘I thought we ought to clear the air, Henry,’ she begins. She glances towards the door; the whispering has stopped. The humiliation makes her cheeks and the back of her neck burn. Morell raises his head and takes off his reading glasses.

‘Anna. So, what is it you’d like to discuss?’

‘We seem to have ended up on the wrong foot with each other, and I . . . I . . .’ She pauses, takes a deep breath to quell the stammer, but instead it makes it worse. She hears a snigger from the stairs.

Morell leans forward, nods to her with that fatherly look that is no longer appealing.