But ever since the brutal murder in their neighbouring municipality, Klippan, almost twenty years ago, racism and xenophobia had been on the rise. That time, neo-Nazi Pierre Ljunggren, sporting a swastika armband and carrying a butterfly knife, had spotted dark-skinned Gerard Gbeyo by chance, hunted him down and stabbed him to death in the middle of the street, completely unprovoked.

Obviously, neo-Nazis and right-wing extremists could be found in just about any part of the country, but the south was definitely the most afflicted. Local politicians could try as they might to gloss over the region’s racist reputation and talk it up as the greenest part of Sweden. The general sense was that it was more like Sweden’s brownest.

She couldn’t agree more, and when Hampus had surprised her on her birthday with a signed purchase agreement for a house, she had flown off the handle. Granted, the house was in Perstorp, not Klippan, but to her, the difference was negligible. The mere thought of moving to a small town where people walked around in knee socks, flew the local Scanian flag and felt growing immigration was the biggest single threat to national security set her on edge.

Besides, she had never wanted to buy a house, and the fact that Hampus tried to pass off the down payment as a present for her only made her more pissed off. He had gone behind her back and shoved his own dream of a house with a garden down her throat.

Now, a year later, she was less negative about it, even though the red bungalow was still one of the ugliest houses she had ever seen. Hampus going berserk with the garden shears, making every last juniper bush look like a ball, a dash or, in a few badly botched cases, male sex organs, had done nothing to improve its appearance.

But the neighbours on their street were actually really nice, from her limited experience, and she had neither spotted any knee socks nor been forced to listen to any xenophobic nonsense. Perstorp was apparently one of the few municipalities that had seen a decrease in right-wing extremist activity in recent years. She didn’t know what the situation was in Bjuv, though it was likely no worse there than in Sjöbo, Trelleborg or Landskrona.

Even so, it was with a knot of worry in her stomach that she turned on to Gunnarstorpsvägen and parked the Ducati on the corner of Vintergatan, across the street from the white three-storey building.