But when I rang her doorbell no one responded.

I rang again, once, twice, three times.

No reply.

I knocked harder, put my mouth to the crack of the door and shouted: ‘This is Veum. Let me in. If you don’t, I’ll be forced to call the police.’

I knocked again. ‘Did you hear me?’

I put my ear to the door again.

Did I just hear a sound?

Yes, I did.

Metal scraped inside the door.

Then I heard the lock. The door opened a fraction and Belinda Bruflåt peered out at me over the solid security chain.

The previous time I had barely recognised her because she looked so very ordinary. This time it was because someone had taken my assertion that this was a Swedish province seriously and had hoisted the blue-and-yellow flag across her face.

Her lips were swollen, her mouth crooked, her eyes gummed up and the whole of her face a battlefield of bruises. Her hair was wet and she was wearing a silvery-grey towelling robe.

She squinted at me short-sightedly through the narrow slits of her eyes. I raised my palms to indicate that I had come in peace. ‘May I come in?’ I asked meekly.

She stared at me, as if the words were taking a long time to reach her. Then she nodded, closed the door, unhooked the chain and opened the door again. But she didn’t open it fully this time either, as if she was afraid that I might have someone with me.347

In the combined hall and dining room I said: ‘I tried ringing, but no one answered.’

She put a hand to her hair. ‘I was lying down … and about to go for a bath.’ As if she had spent the last few days in the bath.

‘What happened to you? Who did this?’ I brushed her face with my fingers as if even the slightest touch might cause her pain.

Once more there was a long silence before she answered. ‘It … I … It was a misunderstanding.’

‘A misunderstanding? Not a small one then?’

She didn’t answer.

‘Have you reported it?’

She shook her head, slowly.

‘Been to the doc?’

‘I can … look after myself. It’s not as bad as it looks.’

‘But who did it?’

‘Th-th-that’s private. It’s none of your business.’

‘No? Do you remember what happened to me the last time I was here? In the stairwell. Perhaps it is my business after all, Belinda.’

She frowned. ‘Mmm … maybe.’

‘It must’ve happened after the funeral.’

She nodded.

‘Did he accompany you home afterwards?’

She twisted her head, in pain. Then she nodded.

I felt a sudden heat spread through my stomach. ‘And then?’

‘Th-th-then he said … Johnny was d-d-dead and b-b-buried now.’

I waited. ‘Yes? Buried.’

‘So I could give him … he could have what he thought Johnny had got … But I said…’348

‘Yes?’

‘No way … Not even Johnny had got…’

I nodded. ‘And he didn’t believe you?’