“His whole life was about being a police officer. He had nothing outside this station. Just a big apartment he shared with no one else.”

The elevator stopped again. She pressed down. It stopped. She pressed up.

“What was this mentor’s name?”

“Name?”

“Yes.”

“He . . . yes, I . . .”

“Okay, Ewert. You don’t need to say more.”

The next time the elevator stopped, they actually got out, headed into the homicide unit. Hermansson’s office was closest, and just as she was about to enter it the detective superintendent put a gentle hand on her shoulder; he’d never done that before.

“I’m not old. I’ve just lived a long time. Do you understand?”

They stared at each other for a while, she nodded slightly. Grens’s next stop was the coffee machine, halfway to his office. Two cups, black.

“Ewert?”

Sven’s office was almost next door, and Sven, sitting behind his desk, waved Ewert in eagerly.

“Come in.”

“Soon, I’m just going to . . .”

“Now, Ewert.”

Grens sank into the visitor’s chair, Sven closed the door before settling down opposite his boss and pointing to his coffee cups.

“Can I have one?”

“There’s no milk, the way you like it.”

Sven had already grabbed one of them, was drinking it.

“You asked me to look into Hermansson.”

“You don’t need to do that anymore.”

“You even asked me to follow her.”

“I’ve talked to her, Sven, and you . . .”

“I did it. Followed her. Even though it felt shitty. A close colleague? Would you allow someone to follow me—or maybe someone already is?”

“I told you . . .”

“Maybe you were right, Ewert.”

The detective superintendent had just emptied everything inside him in an elevator. He felt good again. As if he weren’t alone with his thoughts. He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to hear the rest of what Sven had to say.

“Mariana and I had lunch yesterday. Here, in the station. She was her usual self. And yet—not at all. I just couldn’t quite place it. But when you know someone well, you know when something is wrong.”

Sven leaned forward, and it was clear he took no joy in what he was about to say.

“We parted, and she headed off to the prosecutor’s office for a meeting. So I did it. Followed her. I’m normally good at it. And yet somehow she managed to lose me several times. Extremely vigilant. Turning around constantly, changing direction. Worried, that’s how I would describe her.”

Now he lowered his voice, as if he thought what he had to say could be heard several doors away.