‘He claims it was Dan’s wife who killed him. He also swears that Noah’s death was nothing to do with him.’

Alex took a deep breath. ‘We need to talk to Peder Rydh. He—’

‘Peder’s here now,’ Berlin informed him.

Yet another surprise.

Quite a big surprise.

‘He’s giving a statement; he’s very upset at the way Torbjörn abused his trust.’

Alex felt a pang of sorrow. Peder had gone to Berlin rather than to him.

‘He’s embarrassed,’ Berlin added quietly. ‘Peder, I mean.’

‘And so he should be.’

Then, with some hesitation, Alex asked the question he didn’t really want to know the answer to:

‘Are we going to be able to nail Ross for the lot?’

‘Doubtful. Very doubtful, unless we can come up with more forensic evidence.’

‘I’ll come and see you as soon as I get back to HQ,’ Alex said. ‘I’m still at the Solomon Community, and—’

‘One more thing. We’ve got a match between the prints on the letter and one of the wills from Noah’s office.’

‘Okay.’

‘Not okay. It’s the last will and testament of Fredrika’s husband, Spencer Lagergren.’

Chapter 11

The courier arrived just as Spencer was on his way out. He accepted the beautifully wrapped bouquet of flowers with surprise, and thanked the girl who’d delivered them.

‘I think they need to go in water right away,’ she said.

‘Okay.’

He went into the kitchen and found a vase. Tore off the paper and saw a card.

Thanks for all your help! I’d never have completed my dissertation without you. Have a wonderful summer!

Eva-Lotta

Spencer smiled. Eva-Lotta was going to do very well. She’d done a magnificent job of researching the history of self-publishing in Sweden.

I’d never have completed my dissertation without you.

Spencer thought that was an exaggeration. Eva-Lotta would have worked well with any supervisor. She had the drive, the fire in her belly. Her attitude reminded him of Fredrika when she was a student. A student who’d fallen head over heels in love with Spencer. He always blushed when he remembered how he’d pushed her away at first.

I never imagined that she’d be mine. Marry me, give birth to my children.

His eyes filled with tears as he arranged the flowers. There would be no more students to follow in Eva-Lotta’s footsteps. No more lectures, no more dissertations. Everything he did was for the last time. His days were measured out, coming to an end. And in the middle of it all, his funeral director had been murdered. Talk about irony and black humour – it was like something out of a Monty Python sketch. The funeral director who died and left the dying in a pickle.