‘Gertrud, do you even know what cases we’re working on?’

‘I know a bit.’ She took another sip of wine. ‘It’s all over the papers, you know.’ Right now, she would take anything that could help calm her nerves. ‘There’s that terrible business with the immigrant boy in the washing machine, and then the man who was stabbed to death right in front of people at ICA Maxi, just like that. I mean, Lord, what’s the world coming to?’ She was babbling again.

‘You’re not the only one asking that question.’ Ingvar fell silent and studied her so intently with his damn X-ray vision she didn’t know what to do with herself. Every movement felt unnatural, and the pain in her lower back was screaming ever more loudly to be stretched out. But she couldn’t start doing back exercises in the middle of dinner.

‘Are you not going to eat?’

Right, eat. How could she have forgotten about that? ‘I just wanted to let my potato cool down a bit.’ Like Ingvar, she opened her potato like a flower and placed a lump of garlic butter in the opening.

‘Cool down? Isn’t the point for the butter to melt?’ Molander popped a piece of chicken into his mouth. ‘Fine, since you’re so eager to know, Fabian’s working on an investigation we haven’t let the media in on yet.’

‘Oh really, what is it?’

‘Damned if I know. At the moment, all we’re really sure of is that the victim, a woman, died from something as unusual as ricin poisoning. And both her bedroom and bathroom were under surveillance.’

‘Surveillance? By whom? Who would do something like that?’

‘That’s exactly what we’re trying to find out.’

‘And how is that other investigation going?’

‘What investigation?’

‘You know, the one into the murder of Inga Dahlberg.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Ingvar put down the glass he’d just been about to drink from. ‘As you’re very well aware, that case has been closed for years.’

‘Oh right, of course.’ She shrugged and focused on swallowing another piece of meat. ‘I was just thinking it might have been reopened. Those things do happen, after all. I mean, you find new clues and leads, which in turn—’

‘Gertrud, I see what you mean.’

‘But I guess not, then.’ She was babbling again.

‘Not to my knowledge.’

‘Okay then, great, now I know.’

‘Yes, now you know.’

They resumed eating, and the silence grew so intense the sound of every little bite, every sip she and Ingvar took was amplified as though there were microphones inside their mouths. He was cross and didn’t want to talk about it. But she couldn’t stop. Not when she’d made it this far.