With SAS, on the other hand, leaving Berlin at 1.30 p.m. would put you in Copenhagen exactly one hour later. If you travelled without check-in luggage, you should be able to leave the airport by car twenty minutes later. The drive across the bridge up to Ramlösa Brunn Park, where Inga Dahlberg was allegedly attacked, took exactly an hour, according to Google Maps.

There was an easyJet flight from Copenhagen to Berlin at 7.05 p.m. If Molander had checked in online and printed his boarding card, he wouldn’t have needed much more than half an hour to get through security and reach his gate.

That left him two hours to attack, drug and transport Inga Dahlberg from the park to the secluded spot by the Rå River, rape her and screw her arms and legs to the freight pallet, push her into the river and clean up after himself before getting back into his car and racing to Copenhagen Airport.

It was tight, unbelievably tight. Theoretically speaking, it could work. In practice, a thousand and one things could go wrong. An accident on the E6 motorway and he would have been stuck in traffic and missed his flight. A passer-by straying too close, or just an unexpected reaction from Dahlberg. But as was so often the case with Molander, the difference between theory and practice was virtually non-existent.

60

Gertrud brushed some more blush on her cheeks and studied the result in the mirror. She wanted to look beautiful and appealing but under no circumstances too dressed or made-up. It was a hard balance to strike since she was not in the habit of using anything beyond mascara and a bit of eyeliner on an ordinary Monday like this one.

To make sure Ingvar didn’t start asking questions, she dressed down in a pair of blue jeans and a white shirt, which she left untucked. Same thing with her hair. No washing, blow-drying or styling. Instead, she put it up with two chopsticks, as though she was in the middle of cleaning and her appearance was the last thing on her mind.

It was the same with dinner. She couldn’t remember when she’d last fussed this much over tiny details. Not just with the cooking, but the ingredients and above all, the planning. It mustn’t come off as too lavish or festive. At the same time, it had to be both delicious and take a long time to eat so she wouldn’t feel rushed.

Because that was the aim of the game. To draw things out for as long as possible so she could find out what Ingvar’s colleague Risk was up to.

Somehow, he’d managed to hit a few nerves she had only realized were raw in hindsight.

Like that weekend in Berlin five years ago.