It was one day short of a month since he’d been there with Molander and found Elvin dead, hanging from a swag hook in full drag. There hadn’t really been a proper investigation because Flätan, the coroner, had concluded that nothing suggested it being anything other than suicide.

This was the first time he’d set foot in the flat since then; to make sure no one could get in and contaminate the scene, he had made sure the locks were changed and paid the rent out of his own pocket through to August.

‘I can see why he might have been depressed.’ Stubbs looked around the dreary hallway with its beige string wallpaper and framed pictures of Elvin’s home town, Simrishamn. And just as Fabian had the first time he visited the flat, she stopped in front of one of the black-and-white photographs, in which a boy in a dress was helping his mother hang laundry. ‘I would be too, if I had to live like this.’

The only thing he’d told her was that she should have a look around as an experienced crime scene technician and see if anything jumped out at her. Nothing about Molander being a suspect and not a word about them flying completely under the radar.

After some coaxing, she had agreed to come, but only after making it very clear that she was taking a half-day off work to visit a friend in Harlösa and that she therefore had no more than half an hour to give him.

‘But to be honest, I still don’t understand what you think I could add when Molander’s already been over this place,’ she continued as she walked through the hallway. ‘Say what you will about that man, but he’s undoubtedly one of Sweden’s best.’

‘As I said on the phone, this hasn’t been a priority.’ Fabian closed the front door behind him and followed her inside.

‘No, sure, if no crime’s suspected, that’s just how it goes.’

‘I would say it had more to do with the other investigation we were busy with at the time. It was complex enough to use up all the oxygen. And surely even the best can miss things?’

‘I said one of the best.’ Stubbs turned her back on Fabian, walked into the living room and looked around in silence. At the blue decorative plates hanging in a row above the door lintel and continuing down on either side. At the String shelf with all its little knick-knacks, the plush sofa facing the old television set and the coffee table with its dark green tiles and a lace tablecloth.

‘So it wasn’t in here,’ he said, but got no reaction. ‘He was hanging in the other room. If you follow me, I could—’

‘Please, shut up, will you?’