Had he got it wrong? Was it a different marina, or was the number something other than a slip? Had Molander already been here, covering his tracks?

‘That’s just bloody outrageous. Nothing’s safe any more.’

‘Good luck on your trip.’ Fabian turned back towards the dock.

‘I hope you have good insurance,’ the man called out after him.

Back on dry land, Fabian gazed out across the deserted marina again, but saw nothing but cars parked neatly in the dedicated parking bays. He hurried over to the northern end, which opened on to the harbour inlet proper.

Immediately to his right was a gravel area full of empty cradles. But not a single boat. He did spot one, however, on the other side of the river, next to the old harbour museum. He couldn’t be sure, of course, but it definitely was a weather-beaten old Pettersson boat in a cradle, and if there was one kind of boat he could imagine Elvin owning, it was an old wooden one.

Ten minutes later, he’d driven all the way around via Kattegattsgatan and Rååvägen and parked on the other side of the river next to the boat, which, for obvious reasons, assuming it was Elvin’s, hadn’t been launched this year.

An electric cable dangled down the side of the hull and continued in behind the museum building; all that remained of the protective tarpaulin was a few tattered patches, flapping in the wind. Underneath the cradle, Fabian found a ladder, which he leaned against the boat’s transom.

Once he reached the cockpit, which contained a fair amount of sand and seaweed, he pulled out the key again and pushed it into the lock. It got stuck halfway, but he’d thought ahead and brought lubricant; a couple of attempts later, he was able to unlock and open the hatch.

The sight that greeted him was exactly what he’d hoped for. The narrow cabin, where you had to stoop not to hit your head on the ceiling, reminded him of his own study in the basement.

There wasn’t just a computer, there was also a number of external hard drives, marked either Molander’s PC – Home or Molander’s PC – Work, followed by a date. The obligatory whiteboard was filled with Elvin’s notes and ideas and pictures he hadn’t seen before. In fact, it looked like enough material to keep him busy for days, if not weeks.

The contents of Elvin’s desk drawer were clearly just the tip of the iceberg. This had been Elvin’s real office. This was where he’d been able to work undisturbed, safely away from Molander.

He flicked a switch on the wall to the right of the hatch, and several small lights around the cabin came on. He spotted a folder marked Berlin in a small bookcase.