Ross and his fucking Wellingtons. How could he be so stupid?

‘Do we tell Fredrika?’ Ivan said.

‘No. That’s up to Spencer.’

The more Alex thought about the letter, the more concerned he became. The change in Fredrika over recent weeks, the anxiety he had seen in her eyes. Spencer had written that he knew when he was going to die, that his time was measured out. Alex was struggling to understand. Was Spencer ill? If so, why hadn’t Fredrika said anything?

Because she always keeps things to herself.

Ivan picked up the letter. ‘She must have realised.’

‘Fredrika?’

‘Yes. She must have realised who wrote the letter. Even if she wasn’t aware of the car accident, she must have known.’

The thought hadn’t occurred to Alex. Fredrika had read her husband’s last confession here at work. Learned that he’d done something terrible, something he was now putting right.

Alex’s mouth went dry.

Fuck.

She must have had the same reaction as Ivan and Alex.

She must have thought she was reading a murderer’s letter.

But unlike her colleagues, she knew who’d written it.

She must have been so worried, so frightened.

Alex knew he had to speak to her, reassure her before they went home for the weekend. The man she lived with had certainly committed a crime when he ran over a woman and left her lying in the road, but he was no serial killer. If she hadn’t worked that out for herself, then Alex would make it clear to her.

*

The perfect opportunity soon presented itself. Alex had just sat down at his desk when there was a knock on the door and Fredrika came in.

‘We need to talk,’ she said.

‘Take a seat.’

She closed the door and sat down opposite him. Alex was intending to get straight to the point, but Fredrika beat him to it.

‘I think we’re wrong. I don’t think Ross is lying. He didn’t kill Malcolm Benke, Lovisa Wahlberg or the other victims.’

Alex was more than a little surprised.

‘Didn’t you hear that they’ve found two copies of Morgan Sander’s book in his wardrobe, and a gun in—’

‘Someone could have planted them – it means nothing.’

Alex leaned forward; it was time to free his younger colleague from her demons.

‘Fredrika, I know,’ he said quietly.

She stared blankly at him.

‘I know,’ he repeated. ‘I know it was Spencer who wrote the letter we found in Noah’s office, but believe me, he’s not our killer.’

Fredrika blinked.

‘Do you seriously think I’m sitting here hinting that Spencer is our man?’

Alex shuffled uncomfortably.

‘Sorry – I didn’t put that very well. But in that case who . . . What are you suggesting? I don’t understand.’

Fredrika’s cheeks flushed; she was clearly upset by Alex’s words.