‘How about a Marchesi Antinori from Tuscany?’ Molander held out the bottle like a waiter. ‘It’s what you would call a medium-bodied wine with hints of cherry, plum and herbs. It’s aromatic and flavoursome and has a long aftertaste with notes of wood.’

‘I’m sure that’ll do just fine.’ She tasted the little splash he poured into her glass. ‘Mm, delicious.’

Molander filled their glasses and they proceeded to spear meat on their forks.

‘How was work today?’ Gertrud lowered her fork into the hot broth and started a new one with mushrooms, plum tomatoes and tiny onions.

‘It was all right. A bit too busy at the moment.’

‘So it seems. How many cases do you actually have now?’

‘A thousand, it feels like. And they’re not straightforward ones either. But then on the other hand, who ever said straightforward things are better?’

‘Indeed, you usually like a challenge.’

‘Believe me, any one of those cases would have been plenty.’ Ingvar lifted out one of his forks to check if the meat was done.

‘And Fabian? Is he still on leave, or—’

‘No, no, he’s back and leading one of the investigations, though I have to say his efforts seem a bit half-hearted.’

‘Oh, how so?’

‘Well, you know, he’s unfocused and his mind seems to be elsewhere.’ Ingvar cut an x in a jacket potato and pushed the sides in to make it open. ‘But I suppose it’s no wonder, considering what his family’s been through.’

‘Right, God, what a nightmare.’ She lifted out both her forks and slid the meat and vegetables on to her plate. ‘It must’ve been awful. And his daughter, what’s her name again?’

‘Matilda.’

‘Right. How is she doing? Is she okay?’

Ingvar nodded as he followed Gertrud’s example and harvested his forks. ‘As far as I understand, she’s going to make a complete recovery.’

‘Thank goodness.’ She dipped one of the pieces of beef in the chilli mayonnaise and started chewing. But just like all the questions she could no longer ignore, not to mention the anxiety at what the answers might be, the sinewy piece of meat was impossible to swallow down, as though it were made of rubber. The silence grew too long; eventually she had to force the beef down whole with the aid of a large gulp of wine. ‘So which case is Fabian in charge of, then?’

Ingvar put his glass down and studied her with eyes that penetrated her skin and not only read her mind but gauged her blood pressure, breathing and stress level. No one could see right through people like Ingvar or was better at knowing exactly which buttons to push to get them where he wanted.

It was her question, of course. When she thought about it, it was completely uncalled for; if Ingvar hadn’t been suspicious up until that point, he certainly was now.