‘The information minister and I used to be on the same committee,’ Marie informs her. ‘It’s always good to have contacts.’

‘Marie was in parliament for a while,’ her father chips in. ‘But it was hard to make it work with the family.’ His tone is conciliatory; an almost imperceptible, involuntary micro-expression is the only thing that betrays his underlying disappointment. Anna is aware of it, and she’s pretty sure that Marie is too.

‘We also had a few words with Stockholm’s police commissioner,’ Marie goes on. ‘She spoke very highly of you, Anna. She said you’d be a great asset both to the Skåne police and the community, and that they’d miss you in the city.’

Anna’s stomach turns to ice. Is Marie hinting at something? Does she know about Håkan, about the investigation? Marie sips her drink, which makes it hard to read her face. Anna glances at Bengt, but sees nothing to confirm her fears.

‘That’s nice,’ she says, but the feeling of unease lingers.

After chatting for a few more minutes and insisting that she must come to the next Rotary breakfast, Bengt and Marie take their leave.

Eva-Britt has been entertaining Agnes in the meantime, and the two of them seem to be getting along very well.

‘Agnes has promised to give Henry a few tips. He had a fantastic camera for his sixty-fifth birthday, but in the two years since I haven’t seen a single photograph.’

‘There’s something wrong with it,’ Morell mutters as he gathers up the glasses. ‘Everything comes out blurred.’

‘Have you tried setting it to autofocus?’ Agnes suggests.

‘I think so. Excuse me, I’ll just go and call Alexander.’

‘I’m pretty sure he hasn’t even read the handbook,’ Eva-Britt says quietly when he’s gone. ‘He’s a bit embarrassed now, but I’m sure he’d love a lesson from the expert after dinner.’ She gives Agnes a conspiratorial wink.

Alex and his two daughters join them. The eleven-year-old is open and curious, asking Agnes why she’s coloured her hair, and whether it hurts to have so many ear piercings. Agnes answers warmly and patiently. The fourteen-year-old peers out from beneath her fringe; she seems to find the whole thing embarrassing. However, after a while the three of them end up on the sofa with their heads close together, watching a video on Agnes’s phone.

Alex is more relaxed than he was at the police station. He smells of Kouros, and is wearing dark blue 501s and a red Lacoste polo shirt that shows off his muscular upper arms. His short hair is still damp, and a tiny piece of red toilet paper just above his collar suggests that he shaved in a hurry. The ear that sticks out has one of those blisters at the top that wrestlers get, and Anna can’t help finding it quite attractive.