Noah’s throat went dry. Money could buy a lot of things, including peace of mind. Which was just as well. The man sitting opposite him would have the death he wanted. He would die with dignity. What could possibly be wrong with that?

It’s important not to lose hope, Noah thought.

Dan had been gone for almost eight weeks. How much longer would Noah be able to cope with the anxiety that threatened to suffocate him? How much longer before he lost all hope of being able to save his brother?

Chapter 5

There was no stamp or postmark on the letter; it had been left in her mailbox in the foyer by someone who had gone to the trouble of delivering it in person. In person but anonymously.

Lovisa Wahlberg frowned as she examined the white envelope. No addressee, no sender’s name on the back.

Strange.

The ancient lift rattled and screeched as it made its way upwards. Lovisa could have taken the stairs – should have taken the stairs – but she didn’t have the energy. She was worn out after running on the treadmill for over an hour. She just wanted to get home, pull off her sweaty clothes, have a shower.

And open the letter.

She’d hardly got through the door before she dropped her bag on the floor and ripped open the envelope. It was so light, so thin. For a second she thought it might be empty. Or maybe it was meant for someone else – whoever had brought the letter could have slipped it in the wrong mailbox. That kind of thing did happen.

That kind of thing did happen.

But not to her.

Because as soon as she looked into the envelope, all such thoughts disappeared. This was meant for her and no one else. A newspaper cutting. An article written in Spanish, printed on yellowing paper. She carefully removed it. The envelope fell to the floor, remained lying on the doormat. She could hear someone walking up the stairs.

She panicked, petrified of whoever was out there. She locked the door, backed into the kitchen, away from the footsteps.

Her mobile. She must get out her mobile. It was in the side pocket of her sports bag. She dashed into the hallway, dug out the phone, stopped dead and listened hard. Not a sound.

Her heart was pounding like a jackhammer and her mouth had gone dry. She returned to the kitchen. She hadn’t heard the main door open and close, so whoever was in the stairwell must still be there. Outside her apartment? On the floor below?

Her hands shook as she stared at the cutting. The picture told her everything. Everything. It contained terrible infor­mation, evoked an unbearable feeling of guilt. She didn’t need the article itself.