‘And how do we do that? Can you provide a simple summary of those suspicions, and the reasons behind them? We have to be realistic. It’s a terrible thing we’re trying to put into words.’

So terrible that neither of them had actually said what they were thinking, Fredrika realised.

‘I still think he’s involved,’ she said.

‘Me too.’

‘His name crops up in every single case, and he has links to several of the victims.’

‘Exactly.’

‘But there’s no forensic evidence.’

‘And we haven’t the faintest idea of a motive,’ Alex pointed out. ‘If Ross murdered all these people, what’s driving him?’

‘The MO tells us something. Malcolm was killed in the same way as his daughter, Lovisa in the same way as her boyfriend. As far as I’m concerned, the motive is crystal clear: revenge.’

‘Okay, but why would Torbjörn Ross take it upon himself to exact that revenge? And what’s the connection with me?’

Fredrika thought about the letter Alex had found in Noah’s office, about the confession and the assertion that steps had been taken to atone for past sins. Tears pricked at her eyes.

Please don’t let it be Spencer, in spite of everything.

‘Maybe there are two of them,’ she said. The thought came from nowhere.

‘Two perpetrators?’ Alex’s voice was filled with doubt.

‘There must be a reason why Ross’s name keeps popping up all over the place,’ Fredrika insisted. ‘If there are two perpetrators it makes more sense.’

However, she was far from satisfied with that hypothesis – for a number of reasons.

‘Alex, how many more?’ she said quietly.

The question that threatened to destroy her from the inside.

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Victims. How many more are going to die?’

‘I can’t answer that,’ Alex said. ‘But we have to stop this lunatic as soon as possible. Anything else is out of the question.’

Anything else was out of the question.

So true, so difficult.

‘I have to go,’ Alex said.

Fredrika stared out of the window. Dark clouds were gathering in the sky, ready to party. Maybe the summer was planning to do what it so often did in Sweden: turn on its heel in the doorway and disappear.

‘I don’t like you meeting Tina Antonsson on your own.’

‘It’s not ideal, but on this occasion it can’t be helped.’

‘I’m here if there’s anything I can do.’

‘Thanks.’

Fredrika was about to hang up when Alex said:

‘By the way, does the name Henry Lindgren mean anything to you?’

She thought for a moment. The name Henry rang a bell, but she couldn’t pin down the context.

‘Do you want me to run a search? I think I’ve heard the name, but I can’t remember where.’