Fabian knew Stubbs far too well to be offended. Her brusque manner was simply a sign of her being focused. Become one with the scene, as she had said to him once in Stockholm.

A few minutes later, she turned to him and nodded, and he showed her further down the hallway, into the bedroom, where the bed was as neatly made as the last time he’d been there. The laptop was still sitting on the little desk by the window that looked out at Hälsovägen, which despite its healthful name was Helsingborg’s most carcinogenic street.

‘Here’s some of the clothes I told you about.’ Fabian opened one of the wardrobes, which was filled with women’s underwear, wigs, dresses and pumps. ‘And over by the window you’ll find his computer with the search history. Do you want me to start it up?’

‘No.’ Stubbs continued in past the heavy maroon drapery, which had been pushed aside.

Fabian followed her into the innermost room, where a divan stood in a corner, facing a wall of books. Other than Elvin no longer hanging from the ceiling, it looked the same as when he and Molander had last been there.

He studied Stubbs as she walked around, absorbing the atmosphere. Sometimes with open eyes, studying some small detail, but just as often with her eyes closed. This time, he wasn’t going to break the silence; he walked over to the bookshelf and squatted down in front of the row of photo albums on the lowest shelf.

He had already flipped through the albums once without finding anything of interest. Even so, he was drawn to them.

The albums had years written on them. He pulled out the first, which had ’62–’68 written on its spine. Just as he remembered, page after page was filled with photographs from Elvin’s childhood. Most showed him as a seven-year-old, doing everything from using a bow and arrow, playing football and fishing to dressing up as a cowboy and playing with Meccano.

In some of the photos he was with his parents and in others his sister, who now lived in Switzerland. If Molander was to be believed, Elvin had fallen out with her over conducting the estate inventory for their parents, and since she hadn’t even bothered to come for his funeral, there may well be some truth in that.

There was a photo missing on one of the pages, and another on a different page. He remembered from his own parents’ old albums that the photos tended to come unstuck and lie around loose here and there. But there were no loose photos here, not in the album and not at the back of the shelf. Suddenly, he realized what he was really looking for.

‘Right, so what is it you want me to say?’ Stubbs asked. He decided his search would have to wait until they were done and put the album back on the shelf.