‘I believe Beata and Lovisa were the same age?’

‘Beata was two years older than Lovisa,’ Ross informed her.

‘Did they ever attend the same school, belong to the same riding club, anything?’ Alex wondered.

‘Not as far as we’ve been able to establish. From a social point of view the girls were very similar – they both had wealthy parents – but geographically they didn’t grow up anywhere near each other. Of course that doesn’t necessarily mean they couldn’t have met somewhere, but so far we haven’t been able to find any connections. Lovisa’s parents didn’t recognise Beata’s name.’

Fredrika consulted her notes. Notes that would never end up ‘on the computer’. She shouldn’t accuse the police admin system of being old-fashioned; she wasn’t particularly modern herself.

‘So Beata moved to London as soon as she left school, and stayed there until she died,’ she said. ‘While Lovisa went to the West Indies and got involved in drug dealing.’

She glanced up at Ross for confirmation.

‘There wasn’t enough evidence to secure a conviction, but I’d say she certainly wasn’t innocent. I do know the whole experience scared her; she was terrified by the thought of ending up in jail, so she got out as soon as she could.’

‘Do you know this for sure, or are you just guessing?’ Alex asked.

‘We kept an eye on her for several years after she came home. If she’d put a foot wrong, we’d have known about it. She wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, and she found it difficult to lie low. I can always tell, though I say it myself.’

Though I say it myself. Jesus, what a boring, arrogant fucker.

‘We need to find the point where our investigations intersect,’ Ross went on, clearly unwilling to engage in any further discussion of the life Lovisa had lived.

Fredrika thought about what Alex had told her when they were on their way to meet Bernhard Benke: that Ross had expressed an opinion on how Malcolm Benke had died, who had murdered him. An opinion that had no basis in evidence.

Is that something we ought to ask him about? she wondered.

At that moment they were interrupted by a discreet knock on the door, and an admin assistant came in.

‘Sorry to disturb you, but I have a Linda Sullivan in London on the line, wanting to speak to either Alex or Fredrika.’

‘I’ll take it,’ Fredrika said.

*

She left the meeting room, realised she’d let out a long breath when she was away from Ross. The sun had disappeared behind the clouds; with a bit of luck it would start raining before Spencer managed to light the barbecue.

She sat down at her desk.

‘Fredrika Bergman.’

‘Linda Sullivan. I have news about Beata Benke’s husband.’

Fredrika held her breath.

‘Go on.’

‘He’s dead.’

‘Sorry?’