‘You people always are. If it’s not a new well that needs to be drilled, it’s the roof that needs replacing. But I don’t want anything, and it doesn’t matter what kind of tax deductions you try to tempt me with.’ She waved her hand about as though chasing a fly and moved to turn back to her strawberries.

‘I’m terribly sorry, but that’s not at all why I’m here.’

He had thought long and hard about whether to drive out to Ringsjöstrand. The risk of her calling Gertrud afterwards and telling her about his visit was, perhaps, not great. Particularly since Gertrud had told him at one of their dinner parties that she’d lost touch with her mother after her father passed away.

But even so, he couldn’t ignore the fact that his visit inevitably did involve a certain level of risk. If there had been another way of getting a clearer picture of the motive behind Flora’s husband’s death, he would have preferred it.

‘Oh no? Then what’s this about? I’m assuming you’re not here to fix the kitchen drain, which I’ve called Hjalmarsson’s Pipes about at least a hundred times.’

‘I am, actually,’ he heard himself say and instantly noticed a shift in her attitude.

‘I’m sorry, do you work for them or are you having me on?’

‘Neither. But I’d be happy to give it a go.’

‘And how much would that cost? Don’t think I’ll fall for just anything.’

‘A cup of coffee would be nice.’

*

Fabian tightened the clamping ring around the plumbing trap under the sink and ran the tap to make sure there were no leaks. ‘There. That should do it,’ he said as he washed his hands, rolled down his shirt sleeves and went over to the small kitchen table where Flora Stenson was waiting with two cups of coffee and a plate of Finnish sticks.

‘If I’d known it was that easy, I’d have done it myself,’ she said, picking up one of the finger-shaped biscuits. ‘But then you wouldn’t have had a chance to get to your real reason for coming.’ She met his eyes. ‘I may be old. But I’m not stupid. At least not stupid enough to think all you’re after is coffee.’

‘I’m just here to ask some questions.’ He sipped his coffee.

‘Are you a reporter?’

Fabian shook his head. ‘I’m with the police. If you want, I can show you my ID.’

‘You have kind eyes. That’s good enough for me. My husband always said I was too trusting. But what’s the point of anything if we can’t trust one another?’