Not from Karl-Johan and Elisabet, just Karl-Johan. The words and the type of gift suggest that he and Klein were, or are, close friends. You only give an edition like this to someone you know will appreciate it, someone you know well. The photograph strengthens her theory. It’s almost the same one she saw on Elisabet’s mantelpiece: the picnic blanket, the meadow, two-year-old Simon screwing up his eyes at the sun, one arm around Daddy’s neck. However, in this photo it is not Elisabet who is sitting next to Karl-Jo, but a man of about the same age, with an erect posture and a certain severity about his cheekbones and mouth. Even though the picture was taken over forty years ago, she recognises him immediately: it is Bror Klein. She hears a noise from the kitchen and quickly replaces the photo. She hurries out of the room and quietly closes the door behind her. So, Klein was at the picnic too. It is his long shadow that can be seen in Elisabet’s photo, and for some reason she is sure that he also took the wedding picture a few years earlier.

She sits down at the kitchen table as Klein pours the coffee. She realises that he is not just a manager, not someone who merely cleaned up after Karl-Jo’s mistakes. He is a very close friend – a member of the family, in fact. She thinks about Göran’s insinuations, that Klein and Elisabet had conducted a relationship behind Karl-Johan’s back for many years. Has she seen any obvious signs of that kind of intimacy? She doesn’t think so, but neither of them is the type to go in for public displays of affection. If Klein is actually living at Änglaberga, then the lodge is only for appearances’ sake. That would explain its spartan décor, but Klein’s medication is here, which suggest that this is his main residence. She ponders the issue for a moment, but gets nowhere.

‘I’ve spoken to Alexander Morell,’ she begins when Klein has sat down. She wants him to be part of the conversation in case Elisabet doesn’t take the news well.

‘He told me what happened in the quarry that night. What they did . . .’ she glances at Elisabet, ‘to Simon.’

Elisabet nods slowly. Her face is even paler now. She places one hand on top of Klein’s and squeezes it as if she is preparing herself. Anna takes a deep breath. ‘There was an argument,’ she goes on. ‘Alex had Simon in a wrestling hold. Bruno, Marie and Carina were egging him on at first, then they encouraged each other to join in. To humiliate Simon . . .’

She falls silent, looks at Elisabet’s hand on Klein’s. Neither of them says a word.

‘They were all high and drunk. Alex Morell described it as a group psychosis. Af . . . af . . .’ She pauses, waits for the stammer to go away.