Anna has met men like Friberg many times before. Village People cops, that’s what Håkan used to call them. The laughter won’t go away, and she can’t help smiling. It’s mainly relief at having got through her speech without stammering, and she pulls herself together by staring at the floor. After a few seconds she looks up, tries to work out whether Friberg has noticed anything, but his disciplined expression gives nothing away.

When the briefing is over, Morell gives her a guided tour of the station. The building is bigger than she’d expected, with changing rooms, an archive and an underground car park in the basement. Reception, processing and briefing rooms on the ground floor. The office on the first floor directly above the stairs has a glass wall. Inside she can see a large desk, and the other walls are covered in photographs. She assumes this is Morell’s office, which will soon be hers. He shows her the staff kitchen and introduces her to colleagues along the corridor. He stops at the far end and opens a door.

‘So, this will be your office, Anna.’ The room is large and desolate, and smells musty. The bookshelves are empty, apart from half a pack of photocopying paper, the armrest belonging to an office chair, and several old push-button telephones. The windows overlook the covered car park and the ramp to the underground parking; one of the blinds is broken, concertinaed into a crooked fan.

‘I thought I’d be taking over your office.’ She can’t hide her surprise.

‘Yes, well, I wanted to have a chat with you about that. The thing is, I’ve been asked by the police academy to update some of their teaching materials – leadership, staff management, that kind of thing.’ He smiles, his voice warm and friendly. ‘The commissioner has agreed that I can do the work here in the station, so I thought I’d ask you if I could stay on in my old office, just for convenience. We’re only talking about a few months, six at the most.’

She is completely taken aback. Morell is looking at her expectantly, like a fond father figure. Right now he’s her only ally, so she takes the easy way out.

‘Of course, no problem.’

‘Thank you so much, Anna. I really appreciate that. Can I buy you lunch? There’s an excellent restaurant just around the corner.’

*

In spite of the slightly gloomy décor, the local restaurant turns out to be a very good Italian. There are none of the usual spelling mistakes on the menu, the kebab pizza is notable by its absence, and the pasta is silky and perfectly al dente. When Morell introduces her to the owner, she understands why.