They reach an industrial estate on the outskirts of the village, pass a car wash and a series of identical corrugated metal shoeboxes. Paint workshops, car repairs, tyres.

At the far end there is a dilapidated old building that doesn’t fit in with its surroundings. The place is surrounded by overgrown grass; the windows and doors are boarded up. Morell stops, pulls up the handbrake and turns to face her.

‘So, Anna. To be frank, your posting here was a little . . .’ He waves his hand as if he is searching for the right word. ‘Unexpected. There aren’t usually many external candidates for the role of local chief of police in a place like this. A few half-hearted applications from colleagues in the neighbouring district who fancy boosting their salary, or some poor burned-out sod who’s tired of shift work in town. Never from anyone further afield than that, which of course is perfectly logical. If you want a career in the police you move into the city, not away from it – don’t you?’

Anna nods, plays along. She can’t help worrying – what is he hinting at? What does he know?

‘Under normal circumstances the chief’s job goes to someone who’s already working at the station. Someone who’s familiar with all the routines, and who already has a role as a team leader. That was how I got the job all those years ago.’ He leans a little closer. ‘Don’t misunderstand me, Anna – of course we’re delighted to have such an experienced officer joining us. Your credentials from Stockholm are impressive, to say the least. Murder investigator, team leader, sky-high clear-up figures.’

His mouth curves into something that is probably supposed to be a warm smile, but for half a second becomes a telling grimace, a brief micro-expression that contradicts what he has just said. Anna is certain now: just as she already suspected, Henry Morell doesn’t want her here.

‘A lot of people at the station thought the job should go to Jens Friberg, our external operations commander,’ Morell says. ‘The commissioner and I had already agreed on the appointment, actually – but then your application arrived, just a couple of days before the closing date. Compared with your qualifications, poor Jens didn’t stand a chance. The commissioner was delighted.’

He smiles ironically, and Anna forces herself to keep quiet. She knows there is more to come.

‘So, the question we’re all asking ourselves is: why? Why would someone with your record and your career trajectory, without any connection to Nedanås or Skåne, apply for this kind of post? Why didn’t you want to continue working as a murder investigator, or go for promotion in Stockholm? To put it briefly: what are you actually doing here?’