One picture of the contents of Hugo Elvin’s drawer. One single picture would be enough to let him know he’d taken over his secret investigation and was on to him. Which in turn could mean he was in as much danger as Elvin had been.

On the other hand, there was no way of knowing. Maybe Molander hadn’t even looked at his pictures. Maybe he hadn’t seen anything at all. It was impossible to gauge because he was acting normally and hadn’t visibly or audibly reacted to anything on the screen.

In an attempt to silence his thoughts, he turned on the radio.

‘No, no, no, this isn’t a political scandal. I’m not the one at fault here. What it is, is a miscarriage of justice!’ Sievert Landertz’s agitated voice streamed out of the speakers as he turned off Österleden onto Södra Brunnsvägen. ‘Early last Friday, when most of us were still in bed, there was a knock on my door. It was none other than the police, who without a word of explanation pushed me up against the wall and handcuffed me in front of my wife and my child. I’ve since spent two and a half days in detention!’

‘And what do you yourself think is the reason behind your arrest?’ a male reporter was heard asking.

‘Think? I know exactly what this is about, it’s about my political views.’

Fabian turned right on to Gravörgatan and found a free parking space right outside Ramlösa Wok Express.

‘I would go so far as to claim that the actions of the police in this matter constitute a grave threat to this country’s democracy. For that reason, I am going to seek compensation for false imprisonment. I’m also suing the detective who perpetrated this violation. Her name is Irene Lilja and I’m not going to rest until she’s been punished and will never again—’

He killed the engine and climbed out of the car. Without actually knowing how Lilja voted, he was convinced they weren’t too far apart on the political spectrum. Like her, he didn’t have much time for Sievert Landertz or his party. But this time, the man did seem to have a point, and if he decided to follow through on his threat, he hoped Lilja had better arguments than the ones she’d offered in the morning meeting.

He recognized the man sitting alone with a cup of coffee as soon as he entered the restaurant. It was the husband of Inga Dahlberg, the victim found on Ven. His name was Reidar Dahlberg, and even though he’d grown a beard in the intervening years, he looked like the pictures Fabian had found before making contact and setting up a meeting.

‘You must be Fabian Risk,’ a woman’s voice said behind him.

He turned to the woman who was walking towards him. ‘Yes, I am.’