Wilson was searching for napkins and found an unused one on the table next to them, used it to dry off a stray drop or two of sweat along his hairline and his cheeks. It had been raining earlier, the heat broke somewhat, but it was still unseasonably warm.

“It’s not often I give you a command, Ewert. Because we both know you’re usually more effective when I don’t give you orders. But I’m giving you one now. You’re not going anywhere except to Brännkyrka Street 56, immediately, and you’re going to take over as lead investigator no matter who’s in charge right now.”

It didn’t make sense.

Ewert Grens had no interest in socializing with his boss, not even eating apple cake with him. But over the last few years he had reassessed Erik Wilson. And he’d learned this his boss was no asshole. Grens was one now and then, because he could be, but Wilson didn’t have it in him. Besides, Erik Wilson had learned to trust him. He knew that when detective superintendent Ewert Grens said he needed to go to Östergötland, it was better to just let him do it, if you wanted results, which Wilson did.

So this new persistence didn’t make sense.

“What are you not telling me?”

Erik Wilson waved his hand dismissively.

“What, Wilson?”

“I want you to form your own opinion without any prior knowledge.”

“If you want me to put off a trip that might help me solve a homicide investigation that I’ve been working on for years, then I need to know why.”

His boss sighed, leaned forward and lowered his voice even though they were alone in the café, other than the owner behind the counter who couldn’t possibly hear them.

“I talked to Hermansson yesterday. Or maybe she talked to me, she seemed to need it. In confidence. She told me about the break-in you were looking into. But also about the crime scene investigation you once were in charge of there—and she doesn’t like what she sees in your face. She’s worried.”

“Oh, really?”

“She also told me about four members of a family who were executed with jacketed bullets, half lead and half titanium. One bullet on the right side of the forehead and one bullet under the left temple. On every single one.”

Then Wilson lowered his voice a little more.

As if he hardly wanted to be able to hear himself.

“The corpse on Brännkyrka Street. Where I need you to go right now. The officer who was the first on the scene described the very same thing.”

“Same thing?”

“An execution. A bullet to the right side of the forehead. A bullet at the left temple. And according to preliminary reports: jacketed bullets that are half lead, half titanium.”