Spencer had been off to see a new funeral director when the courier turned up with the flowers. He’d chosen someone who was part of a larger chain, a company that didn’t stand or fall because of one individual. After all, who knew what else might happen? Death behaved like a drunk in a crowded bar, cannoning straight into whoever got in the way without even apologising. Spencer had had enough surprises. Other people talked about getting their lives organised; he just wanted to organise his death.

He left the apartment and headed towards Sankt Eriks-plan. At least he was in control of the most important thing: settling his debt. Not that the debt had been paid in full, but he had reduced it significantly. That would have to do, both for him and for the young woman concerned.

He felt a kind of peace when he reached his destination and took out his phone. One quick call, then he’d be ready to meet another of death’s entrepreneurs.

Noah Johansson’s assistant answered almost immediately; she’d just returned from her holiday.

‘Spencer Lagergren. I left you a message about my will.’

‘Oh yes – you’re not the only one, I can assure you!’

‘Of course. I realise how busy you must be; I’d just like to know when it would be convenient for me to call in and pick up my envelope – or rather envelopes.’

There was a rustling sound on the other end of the line; the woman was doing something else at the same time. Or was she playing for time? Spencer had no idea where that thought came from, but he didn’t like it.

‘Hello?’ he said.

‘The thing is, I don’t quite know how to tell you this, but the police have been here and taken away a load of stuff.’

‘That’s understandable, but I’m sure they haven’t taken the wills.’

‘I’m afraid that’s exactly what they’ve done.’

Spencer couldn’t speak for a moment. ‘But they’re confidential,’ he managed eventually. His objection sounded pathetic.

‘I know, and I’m very sorry, but they promised to return them very soon.’

Spencer ended the call.

The police had taken all the wills. To read them, to examine them? He had no idea. What was clear, however, was that whoever opened his two envelopes would find out way too much.

Exhaustion overwhelmed him.

Fredrika, he thought. How the hell am I going to get out of this?

This situation required resolve, strength, willpower. Those attributes had largely ebbed away. He was too tired, too ill. Maybe even too old.

He stood there on the pavement for a long time before making a decision.

The children. He would go and pick up the children.

Chapter 12