So far three people had been murdered in the same way as individuals to whom they had once had a connection and an obligation.

Malcolm Benke and his daughter.

Lovisa Wahlberg and her ex-boyfriend.

Henry Lindgren and the child he was clearly perceived to have failed on the train.

But he didn’t fail her, Fredrika thought. It wasn’t his fault that Lilian disappeared.

She allowed herself to be absorbed by the ongoing investigation. This was about preventing more murders. It was about Torbjörn Ross. But above all it was about exonerating Spencer before anyone even considered him as a suspect. Those were Fredrika’s priorities.

There was no escaping the fact that another thread ran through all the cases, a thread that the murderer himself had highlighted. Alex. Henry Lindgren’s ex-wife had found a note on the fridge in his apartment; she’d dropped it off at the station a couple of hours ago. It had reached Berlin immediately after the meeting with Fredrika and Alex, and from that moment things had happened very fast – so fast that Fredrika couldn’t remember all the details.

She did, however, remember the note.

Do you understand now, Alex? I am putting everything right.

She broke down the brief message, trying desperately to grasp what the perpetrator wanted them to see.

Do you understand now?

He was looking for an answer to that question.

Do you understand now?

Now?

Now?

It had to be a reference to what the writer assumed had just happened: Alex had heard about Henry Lindgren’s death.

Do you understand now – now that you know Henry Lindgren is dead?

Yes, she wanted to yell. Yes, we understand.

The whole thing made her skin crawl. The word ‘now’ was misleading; it was clear that Lindgren had been the first victim to die, not the last.

And yet the killer had apparently been convinced that he would be found later, after the others. And of course there could be many more. They still had no idea what had happened to Noah Johansson’s brother and his family – except that Ross was somehow involved there too.

Do you understand now?

The frustration in that question was unmistakable.

One dead, two dead, three dead. Surely you must understand now, Alex?

Fredrika pushed away the message, smoothed down her hair. She never ran her hands through her hair; that would mess up her plait.

I’m so uncontrollably fucking controlled.

She wished Alex was there, but he was with Berlin, following the surveillance on Ross. Fredrika had been tasked with finding out why Ross had claimed to have a daughter. Had there ever been a child, and if so could her death have unleashed the killing spree to which they now had front-row seats?