‘I found something, and I want to share it with you.’

He showed her the letter, then he told her about the book they’d found in Malcolm Benke’s living room. When she exploded, he realised he’d made a number of mistakes.

‘How could you keep this from me? You are unbelievable!’

Her voice reverberated inside his skull. He couldn’t bring himself to respond; there was nothing worth saying. They had been planning to tell her about the book, they just wanted more information first. Particularly as she’d said there was no point in going back to Benke’s house. Alex took the opportunity to remind her of this.

Eventually they agreed to disagree, and concluded that the investigations must take priority.

‘No more secrets,’ Berlin said.

It was a clear warning. Everything out in the open. No stone left unturned.

As soon as he got in the car, he called Peder.

Peder who had changed jobs twice in a year. Who had snapped at Alex on the phone, who had almost sounded threatening. Alex just hoped he hadn’t lost his grip again.

If he has, someone else will have to deal with it.

Alex had more urgent matters on his mind than a former colleague’s mid-life crisis.

The phone rang and rang.

Peder didn’t answer.

Alex left a brief message telling him what had happened and saying he hoped to hear from him soon. But by nightfall Peder still hadn’t contacted him.

Chapter 16

The meat smelled delicious, and there wasn’t a peep from the neighbours.

‘Either they’re out or they can’t be bothered to complain,’ Fredrika said.

Spencer poured her a glass of red. Wine again. There was no such thing as too much. Not this summer.

‘Or maybe they don’t want to quarrel with someone who’s seriously ill,’ he said.

Fredrika put down her glass, horrified.

‘Have you told the neighbours you’re ill?’

Spencer grinned at her.

‘Are you crazy? Of course not. Just kidding – you can deal with all that later.’

Later. When Spencer no longer existed.

‘He had a tumour. He died.’

‘No! How awful! It must have been very quick – we didn’t even notice he wasn’t well.’

‘Extremely quick. He took his own life at a clinic in Switzerland.’

Fredrika snorted. Gallows humour must be God’s gift to man.

‘Something amusing you?’

‘Not really.’

She picked up her glass and took a sip, pushing aside any concerns about whether she ought to be drinking every day. There was a difference between living as if every day was your last, and living with the reality that it actually might be.

She couldn’t stop thinking about what she’d heard before she left work. Noah Johansson was dead. Murdered. She’d been unable to hide her reaction from Alex, and that wasn’t good. She didn’t really want to reveal her relationship with the deceased.