I’d blown up Hoffmann’s house to force him to make contact, and for some respect, then Grens had invited us home for an unofficial meeting because he knew there was a dirty cop. He couldn’t know that it was me—that bringing us there wasn’t going to help him. It was in his kitchen that the detective superintendent told us about his secret collaborator. Piet Hoffmann has traveled to northern Albania—we believe that the top man of this arms smuggling operation is based there—and that he will connect us to the man who’s shooting people in Sweden. That bastard Hoffmann wasn’t doing what he was supposed to! The opposite! He was working with Grens to expose us! I had no choice. Hamid was a good man, I had became very fond of him, but he wasn’t nearly so strong as Mom or Dad, and he might break down under pressure—with a man like Hoffmann the risk was great, too great, that he would unmask me and Aunt Vesa.

I stole Grens’s phone and got Hoffmann’s new number.

I offered money, a hefty sum, to a newly hired guard at the Kronoberg jail to hide another phone and some documents inside Zaravic’s cell.

And I shot Hoffmann’s employee and exposed his family’s hiding place on the TV screen so the bastard would understand the consequences if he did not carry out his new assignment in Albania.

—

Now Amelia! I hear them!”

“Yes, they’re driving really fast.”

“The police sirens! Uncle Ewert is coming!”

“I told you, Rasmus.”

She laid a gentle hand on his tousled hair. He was so happy, so open, as only a child can be. She looked at his sibling, at Hugo sitting on the sofa and guarding his mother uneasily, taking on a responsibility that was too much for one his age, and Luiza lying between them, unaware of the drama surrounding her.

They had each other. Like siblings should.

—