A new body, a new murder. It must never become routine, but on the other hand there was no point in pretending they hadn’t learned from previous cases. Alex often wondered how death’s gloomy presence affected someone like Fredrika. She’d never intended to work for the police; she’d dreamed of an entirely different career. He knew she’d been deeply affected by what had happened during that dreadful winter when two Jewish boys had been shot dead out on the island of Ekero, but things had been pretty quiet since then, hadn’t they? There had been no spectacular cases since the murders of the two children. As far as Alex was concerned, life on the domestic front had also been unusually calm and harmonious. He’d looked after his grandchildren, read books, gone fishing, met up with colleagues for a drink after work. He felt he’d achieved a good balance – until a few months ago, when Berlin became his boss.

Is this when it all changes? he thought. Is this when the peace and harmony slip through my fingers?

When he got back to HQ after the visit to Nacka, he felt inexplicably uneasy. The feeling was inexplicable not because of what he’d seen – good God, the day he reacted to the sight of a dead body he’d know it was time to retire – but rather because of what he hadn’t seen.

He tried to shake off his unease by focusing on the meeting.

The ring.

If only it hadn’t been for that damned ring.

‘Malcolm Benke,’ he began. ‘Where are we with his private life? According to the records he lived alone, but that doesn’t tell us much.’

The younger officer who’d been at the scene of the crime spoke up. By this time Alex had learned his name: Ivan. A strange name for such a young man.

‘Benke had a seat on two boards and one major interest group,’ Ivan said. ‘I haven’t got very far yet, but I did manage to make a couple of calls during the afternoon. Apparently it’s well known in Benke’s circles that he had a relationship with Gudrun Manner a few years ago, and has been single ever since they broke up.’

‘Gudrun Manner the fashion designer?’ Fredrika couldn’t hide her surprise.

‘That’s right.’

‘Wow.’

If it hadn’t been for Diana, Alex wouldn’t have had a clue who they were talking about, but as it was Manner needed no further introduction. She was in her early sixties and had a shop in Östermalm. She was famous for using only three colours: black, white and grey. Alex had discreetly tried to dissuade Diana from shopping there; just walking past the window made him feel miserable.

‘Anything else?’