Rasmus had caught sight of him and patted the space next to him on the sofa.

“Come and sit with me!”

“It looks a little crowded.”

“There’s room. If I squeeze closer to Hugo, and if Hugo gets closer to Mom, and if Mom . . . just sit down. Right here.”

Rasmus’s eight-year-old voice was determined. Grens had no choice. He sank down between the Hoffmann boys, and it felt as natural as it did comfortable.

“You saved us once, Ewert . . .”

That determined eight-year-old voice was accompanied by a serious eight-year-old look.

“Now Amelia did too.”

They sat there, together. Without saying another word. Maybe they were all doing like Grens—letting what Rasmus had said sink in. What it means to save someone. Or be saved by someone. How it forever changes a relationship.

Until the detective superintendent cleared his throat and turned to Zofia.

“I’ve been thinking. And I don’t believe you can stay here any longer. This is a crime scene now. Just like your real home.”

And then he turned to Hugo and Rasmus.

“So . . . well . . . if you want to that is. Would you like to come stay with me? And live there. Until, well, things get figured out a little better.”

“With you, Ewert?”

Now it was Hugo who spoke, taking over for his little brother. That’s what it meant to be a big brother, taking responsibility for stuff.

“Don’t you want to?”

“Yes. A lot a lot a lot. But—is there room? For our whole family?”

Grens smiled again.

“Yes, Hugo. There’s room. I promise.”

Zofia and the two boys seemed happy, relieved, and started to pack up what little they’d brought from home. While Grens and Amelia remained on the sofa, just the two of them. For a moment it felt a little strained, as they didn’t know each other, weren’t part of each other’s lives, but because standing up and leaving felt blunt and impolite, for the first time they were forced to meet without Hermansson or Lucas or anyone else to act as a bridge. Grens was older, so maybe that’s why he was the one to finally break that embarrassing silence.

“I’d . . . just like to say once more. That I’m so grateful both as your temporary boss and on a personal level for what you did, Amelia. How you did it. You’re gonna make one hell of a police officer.”

She looked down, almost seemed shy.

“Thank you.”

Then it became strained again. Small talk had never been Detective Superintendent Grens’s strong suit. They both smiled in embarrassment until he continued.

“You said you had a gut feeling.”

“Yes.”

“And that’s what made you act?”

“Yes. I think so.”

“But, there must have been something more? There always is. You must have seen something we missed? Put together some information? I’m old, but I still like to improve.”