‘I have been there, actually,’ he said, studying the picture that gave Molander exactly the alibi he needed.

‘I clearly remember Ingvar telling me about Goebbels giving his mistress the building as a gift before it was turned into a casino. It felt very historic. And, here, look.’ She turned the frame over, undid the back, took the picture out and put her index finger on the date stamp 24 AUG 2007 from the camera at the bottom of the picture. ‘I’m sure you know this better than I do. But I do think that was the very day Inga Dahlberg was murdered.’

Fabian nodded. She was right. It was that very day. He should feel happy and relieved. Maybe it wasn’t his colleague after all. But the only thing he felt was disappointment. Until now, he’d been convinced both he and Hugo Elvin had been on the right track. One puzzle piece after the other had fallen into place, and a motive as terrifying as it was plausible had slowly crystallized. But now the rug had been pulled out from under the whole case and he was left with nothing.

‘And unless I’m misremembering, there are more pictures,’ Gertrud continued. ‘I actually think we have a whole album. Just don’t ask me where.’

‘Don’t trouble yourself.’

His phone started vibrating in his pocket, but this definitely wasn’t the time to pick up.

‘Is that your phone ringing?’

Fabian nodded and had pulled it out to decline the call when he saw that it was Molander. ‘Hi, I thought you were busy with Wessman and not to be disturbed under any circumstances,’ he said, while scanning the photograph for anything irregular.

‘That’s absolutely right,’ Molander replied. ‘But for me to call and bother you is a different kettle of fish altogether.’

It might be anything. An outline that looked photoshopped, missing shadows or lighting that didn’t match the rest of the scene.

‘Have you found anything?’

‘And then some. I would suggest you drop whatever it is you’re doing and get yourself over here on the double.’

Anything that could burst this damn alibi so the stinking truth could seep out once and for all.

54

Fabian parked behind Molander’s white van and killed the engine. The radio, on which Tuvesson was being chewed out because the hunt for murder suspect and paedophile Assar Skanås was now on its fifth day, fell silent as the wipers stopped halfway across the windscreen, making the rain, which had turned torrential, form little pools that merged and grew bigger until surface tension was overwhelmed by gravity.

Molander had sounded excited and happy on the phone. Not a hint of suspicion had shone through. Perhaps he was just being his usual self, proud and impatient like no one else to show off the findings he had supposedly made.