The sequence playing out in front of them showed the man she had chased yesterday running into the shot from the right and continuing straight into the street where he was hit by the orange Volvo, which slammed on its brakes and came to a stop as the man landed on the bonnet and then hit the windscreen before tumbling to the ground.

‘See? Exactly the same clothes.’

Klippan nodded while the driver, Ralf Hjos, climbed out of the car and bent down over the man who was lying motionless on the asphalt.

‘And the time fits perfectly. He arrives on the 7.33 train from Helsingborg and Moonif leaves his flat twenty-five minutes later.’

The stabbing happened so quickly it was easy to miss if you didn’t know it was coming. The prone man’s arm that suddenly jerked up and Ralf Hjos, who immediately collapsed as the other man got to his feet, wiped his small knife on his victim’s clothes, got into the car and drove away. Seconds later, Lilja could be seen rushing over to the bleeding man.

‘You’re right, it’s probably him,’ Klippan conceded at length. ‘And like you said, now we can request the CCTV footage from the train in question and see where he got on. But, as I said, that needn’t stop us from looking for other things as well.’

‘No, I hear you, and I promise to go over all the material again and see if I can find anything else.’

‘You will?’ Klippan looked genuinely surprised.

‘Yes, now that we’re on to him, I feel a lot calmer. Besides, I agree with you that it’s too early to close a lot of doors.’

Klippan exhaled, though the look he gave her was full of insecurity.

‘It’s fine. So long as we don’t abandon the other lead altogether.’

‘Maybe when you’re done you could drag yourselves over here and take a look at this instead?’ Molander said, waving them over.

The clip he played them was from the same petrol station in Åstorp that had caught the orange Volvo passing by. According to the time stamp, it was from the day before as well, but much later in the day, specifically, 15.54.43. This time, a dark blue Mercedes was visible in the shot, and it didn’t just drive by, it turned in to fill up.

Two men in dark jackets with pulled-up hoods and Palestinian keffiyehs concealing their faces climbed out of it. One inserted a credit card into the machine and punched in his code while the other got a jerry can out of the boot.

‘What does it say on their jackets?’ Lilja asked while the two men filled the can with petrol.

‘KMY,’ Molander replied.

‘Klippan’s Muslim Youth.’ Klippan shook his head. ‘Really smart wearing those particular jackets when you’re buying petrol to firebomb the Sweden Democrats in Bjuv.’