She put her head in her hands, tried to gather her thoughts, which were galloping off in different directions like wild horses. She didn’t know what she ought to feel, what she ought to think. There was an infinitesimal chance that someone else had written the letter, that the man she was married to hadn’t left a woman with life-changing injuries. But she didn’t believe it for a second. Spencer was the writer, and she was meant to receive the letter after he was gone.

I am putting everything right.

If only it wasn’t for those words, particularly in combination with the reference to compensation:

I’ve tried to compensate my victim, as far as possible at least. I’m afraid that in doing so I have inevitably left a trail.

‘What the hell have you done, Spencer?’ she whispered. ‘And to whom?’

Chapter 4

It was going to take weeks to get rid of the revolting stench. Vendela was given this depressing news by the cleaning company the housing committee had brought in; apparently getting rid of the source of the problem wasn’t enough.

Vendela had slept for only a few hours. She couldn’t shake off the nightmarish memory of finding Henry Lindgren, of how painful it had been to see his ex-wife’s reaction. Why had they split up? There seemed to be a lot of love left in their relationship. Clearly it hadn’t been enough.

She wandered restlessly around her apartment. On a day like this she could have done with an office. She had to get out, get away, go for a walk. Anything to stop her thinking about Henry.

At that moment the doorbell rang. Vendela padded into the hallway, hating the fact that she felt unsafe. It didn’t matter that the police hadn’t been particularly worried; they assumed he’d died of natural causes. His death was the issue as far as Vendela was concerned; she hated death.

Henry’s ex-wife was at the door. Vendela was about to give her a hug, as if Vera was a long-lost friend she hadn’t seen for ages, but managed to stop herself in time.

‘I thought I’d go up to Henry’s apartment and water his plants, but I don’t want to go on my own,’ Vera said. ‘Will you come with me?’

That wasn’t at the top of Vendela’s wish list, but she didn’t like to say no to the older woman. What was the point of watering the plants? It wasn’t as if Henry had gone away and would soon be back.

‘Of course. Wouldn’t it be easier if you took the plants with you? I mean, otherwise they’ll just end up . . .’

She broke off, unsure of how to continue.

Vera fiddled with the keys in her hand.