‘My name is Irene Lilja,’ she said, ensuring she made eye contact with all three of them. ‘I work for the Helsingborg Police and am currently investigating the murder of Moonif Ganem.’ She paused and looked at all the people who had now turned to her. ‘We have a suspect and I want to know if anyone in here recognizes him.’ She pulled the zip of her jacket down halfway and moved her hand towards her inside pocket.

The reaction was instantaneous; three guns were suddenly aimed at her.

‘You don’t seriously think I’m going to shoot you, do you?’ she finally managed to get out, and to her own surprise, her voice was steady. She added a little laugh and underlined it by shaking her head as she pulled out the police sketch from her inside pocket.

Her theatrics seemed to have worked. True, the guns were still aimed at her, but none of the men were able to conceal the uncertainty in their eyes when they looked at her, and that uncertainty disarmed all the tattoos, studs and muscles. This wasn’t what they had expected and, weapons or no weapons, it was now her hand on the tiller.

‘This is what he looks like,’ she continued and held out the picture to the short man in the scout outfit.

But the bastard didn’t even glance at the picture; he was staring at her hand holding it. Her trembling fucking hand.

And just like that, the tiller slipped out of her grasp; she was powerless to act when he tore up the sketch and smilingly let the pieces fall to the floor.

‘You want to know who that is? You really want to know?’ He took a step closer. ‘He’s a true hero. A man who did what was necessary for our country. Unfortunately, I don’t know who he is, so I can’t thank him personally. But I can make sure the news of his deed, which hopefully wasn’t his last, spreads all the way down to the rats’ nest that washing machine boy came from. Then maybe they’ll think twice before coming here. Besides, the kid should be grateful. Not everyone is washed that clean before they go.’ He turned to the man with the Terminator tattoo. ‘Make sure you escort our guest all the way out.’

The man nodded and turned to the two others, who grabbed her arms and hustled her towards a door next to the stage.

All the way out.

She wanted to resist but had no choice but to follow them backstage. She wanted to wrench free and use any ensuing confusion to pull out the gun they had forgotten to frisk her for.

All the way out.

Did that mean what she thought it meant?

Yet another door was opened and she was led out into a yard where a car was parked.

Not just out, but all the way out.