They called Fredrika too. She tore herself away from her home, her family, to work a few more hours.

Alex didn’t think they should have brought her in. Now he knew the situation at home, now he understood the significance of the letter, he wanted to leave her in peace.

They met in the Lions’ Den. Alex felt numb. He knew what Berlin was going to say before she uttered a single word.

Ross wasn’t their man.

It was Peder. Broken Peder. Lost Peder.

‘First of all,’ Berlin began, ‘we’ve received important information earlier than expected. There’s no doubt that the Colt we found in Ross’s garage is the murder weapon.’

Alex nodded. Good to know, but it added a further complication.

‘Ivan has collected the package addressed to Henry Lindgren,’ Berlin went on. ‘The one that was too large to fit through his letterbox.’

‘Morgan Sander’s book?’ Fredrika said.

‘Exactly.’

One piece of the puzzle after another, but the picture still wasn’t complete. Not until Berlin took a deep breath and continued:

‘Peder Rydh. I’m sorry to tell you that his wife died in the autumn. She was in her car when a drunk driver crossed over onto her side of the carriageway. He left the scene; she didn’t stand a chance.’

Alex heard Fredrika inhale sharply. It was obvious that this information had come as a huge shock; she’d clearly had no idea what the meeting was about until now. Or to put it more accurately – who the meeting was about.

Do you understand now, Alex?

Yes, I understand.

‘Did they find the driver?’ he asked.

‘A witness took down the number of his car. He was charged and convicted of causing the death of another person, but took his own life days before he was due to present himself at the prison to serve his sentence.’

‘How did he die?’

‘A combination of tablets and alcohol. The official cause of death was registered as suicide; it was assumed that his guilty conscience got the better of him.’

‘But you no longer believe that.’

Berlin shook her head. ‘No. I think he was forced into it. By Peder.’

Fredrika took a deep breath.

‘Hang on, how did we get here? I don’t understand – have we completely given up on the idea that Ross is our perpetrator?’

‘I sent Ivan to see the man who sold five copies of Morgan Sander’s book,’ Berlin explained. ‘Ivan played him a recording of Peder’s voice, a snippet of an interview.’

‘And what did he say?’

‘He wasn’t sure. It might have been Peder who bought the books, but he couldn’t be certain.’

Fredrika looked distraught.

‘He lost his footing when his brother died.’ Her voice was thick with tears.

‘He lost it long before that,’ Berlin said.