‘I understand. But it’s only just gone eleven. Maybe he’s with a friend and lost track of time?’

‘The cards say different,’ the boy’s mother said.

‘What cards?’

‘The cards on the table.’ His mother pointed to the card that showed a skeleton dressed in a tattered black monk’s robe. ‘They say something really bad happened.’ She clapped her hand to her mouth in an attempt to suppress her sobs.

‘Just so I’m sure I’ve got this right. You’ve called the police because those cards—’

‘I’m sorry, but could I say something?’ the older woman broke in, stepping in between Lilja and the boy’s mother. ‘Between you and me, I don’t think anything serious has happened either. Just like you were suggesting, he often walks to school with Samira from next door. I’ve nothing bad to say about her, but she’s full of ideas that have nothing to do with school, put it that way.’

‘And yet you called the police. As though we have nothing better to do.’

‘What was I supposed to do? She was beside herself. I mean, look at her.’ The woman turned to the boy’s mother, who was still crying softly. ‘We give them a roof over their heads and money so they can get by. But how are we ever going to make them feel at home if we don’t also give them some empathy? That was all I was hoping for. That someone from the police would come by and show that we actually care.’

Lilja felt embarrassed. Not by the woman, but by herself. Because she walked around thinking she was better than everyone else because she voted for the left-wing party and gave money to charity whenever there was something particularly terrible on the news. When it came down to it, she was just like everyone else, too jaded to care. ‘You’re right,’ she said and nodded. ‘I’m sorry.’

Then she took out her notepad, walked up to the parents and sank into a squat. ‘My name’s Irene Lilja. I work for the Helsingborg police and I will do everything I can to make sure Moonif comes home safe and sound.’

‘Thank you so much,’ the boy’s mother said, wiping away her tears. ‘Aimar is not so good at Swedish, but he is also very happy you are here.’

She exchanged a look with the boy’s father and gave him a smile.

‘First, I need a picture of your son.’

‘I can get you one,’ their neighbour said and left the kitchen.

‘Can you describe what he was wearing when he left the flat?’

‘He had red trouser and blue jacket with Spiderman buttons.’

‘Did you notice anything different about him this morning when he was leaving?’

‘No, everything was the same. He was so very good.’ His mother shook her head.

His father said something in Arabic.