“I love you, too,” she said.

“And I love this little guy. I’m just so scared that something will happen to him.”

“What’s going to happen to him?” she said, smiling.

“He’s so little.”

“But he’s healthy.”

“I hope so,” Henrik said quietly, falling silent.

* * *

Jana Berzelius pulled her hat farther down her forehead as she stepped out of the Public Prosecution Office with Per Åström. She held her head high and her gaze was steady.

“Are you upset not knowing?” he asked.

“Not knowing what?”

“If she made it or not.”

“You mean Pim?”

“Yes. She was your client, after all.”

“I know she made it.”

“How do you know that?”

“I just know.”

Per looked at her seriously.

“How are you feeling, really?”

“It’s just a superficial wound.”

“No, I mean how are you really feeling?”

She didn’t answer. She just looked at him, knowing that he was looking for answers, and knew that she had a whole lot to explain. She owed it to him. She owed him a lot, actually. But some things he didn’t need to know, neither about her nor her father. Or the boxes that she still hadn’t found.

She had searched through the whole house in Lindö and the summerhouse, but she still hadn’t found her journals and all the other belongings that meant so much to her. Only her father knew where they were. Her secret, her whole life, now lay in his hands. And his secret lay in hers.

“You haven’t said very much about what happened,” he said as if he could read her thoughts.

“My father became sick, confused. He was a danger to himself, tried to commit suicide.”

“Okay, so that’s just it?”

He sought her gaze again.

“It’s called a delirium state,” she said. “Generally speaking, every illness, no matter whether banal or serious, can cause it.”

She held his gaze, thought it was more convincing if she did. She repeated to herself that she had done the right thing lying about her father’s mental health. She had said that he’d been so psychologically broken down that her mother could no longer take care of him. As a result, she’d agreed to stay at their house and help her mother. It forced her to neglect her work and her personal life. She couldn’t answer the phone or emails.

“He had acted strangely when I was looking for you.”

“So you understand.”

“He said you hadn’t seen each other in more than six months.”

“He was clearly lying.”

“That’s not the Karl I know.”

“Maybe you don’t know him well enough.”

She wrapped her new black scarf around her neck an extra time.

“Will he return to normal again?”