He turns onto the main road, two miles of virtually dead straight tarmac, interrupted only by the railway crossing. Anna has already driven through the village more than once and has come to the conclusion that this road is several feet too wide. Along with the straightness and the low buildings on either side, it gives a rather desolate impression, especially on a morning like this when there’s hardly anyone around. The fog covers the village like a lid, but it is still possible to make out the steep ridge, looming up like a sinister silhouette along the western edge. Anna suppresses a shudder.

Hidden away from the rest of the world, Håkan whispers. Wasn’t that the plan?

‘As I’m sure you know, the police district is made up of three separate communities,’ Henry says. ‘We have a total of just over 25,000 residents. Nedanås is the largest with around 9,000, and this is also where most of the action happens, so to speak.’

Anna sips her coffee and makes appropriate noises as he continues his lecture, giving no indication that she has already googled the relevant information. She observes him discreetly. With the help of the police federation, he has managed to delay his retirement to the age of sixty-seven, exploiting every last clause in his contract. He has never served anywhere but Nedanås. Forty-five years – the same length of time as Anna has been alive. It is almost incomprehensible. Four and a half decades dealing with other people’s problems in exactly the same place should have been more than enough, yet Morell has clung to his desk for as long as possible. He must really love his job, and now he’s being forced to hand it over to her, a stranger. She tries to observe his body language, listens carefully to his tone of voice, but if Morell is feeling hostile towards her, he is hiding it well. The coffee was a nice welcoming gesture, but then it was lukewarm, so it’s hard to tell exactly what the situation is. And because they’re sitting side by side, it’s more difficult to read his body language and facial expression. Maybe that was his intention? If so, he’s a lot more cunning than she’d expected.

As they set off Morell points to the police station, a two-storey yellow-brick building that probably dates from the 1980s.

‘This is where we operate from. We have twenty-six officers, plus two civilians who man the reception desk. We’ll see what happens after the next round of budget cuts – but of course that won’t be my problem.’ Is there a hint of bitterness in that last comment? Anna isn’t sure.

Morell scratches his beard.