Only a few hours had passed since the discovery of Benke’s body. The picture they had begun to build up was based mainly on official records; they still had a lot to do.

‘No, but I’m looking at his social network,’ Ivan replied. ‘The technicians are working on his computer and mobile phone. I’ve barely scraped the surface, but so far there’s no indication that Benke had been subjected to threats, or was involved in any kind of dispute that might have led to his death.’

‘Good,’ Alex said. ‘Good.’

What was so good about the fact that they didn’t have a single lead? He turned to Fredrika.

‘How about his family?’

She didn’t answer at first; she seemed to be lost in thought. It took a few seconds before she glanced up and realised she’d been spoken to.

You’re not yourself, Alex thought. And you haven’t been for a long time.

‘Right, yes,’ she said, gathering the papers in front of her. She pushed back a strand of hair that had escaped from the thick braid hanging down her back. The braid had become her signature; no one could imagine her without it. Alex remembered exactly what he’d thought the first time he met her: that she looked like the kind of person who’d read too many books and met too few real people. That she didn’t belong in the police. They’d come a long way since then – she even had silver running through her hair now.

The thought made him smile, and Fredrika frowned.

‘What . . . ?’

‘Nothing. Nothing.’

I’m smiling because you have threads of silver in your hair, and I’m embarrassed because I’m thinking that it really suits you.

‘Benke had two children,’ Fredrika said. ‘His son, Bernhard, has been living in Vienna for the last ten years. He moved there when his sister died and his parents divorced. Benke’s ex-wife, Karin, still lives in Stockholm. They had a prenuptial agreement that spelled out any eventual settlement. Virtually all the money was Benke’s, as was the house they lived in.’

‘So she left the marriage with nothing?’ said a colleague who’d remained silent until now.

‘Yes, but you could hardly describe her as poor,’ Fredrika went on. ‘She had plenty of her own money.’

‘Her own money or inherited money?’ Alex wanted to know; he thought there was a clear difference between the two.

‘Inherited, I’m guessing,’ Fredrika said. ‘I’ve checked her tax returns and there’s nothing there to explain how she can afford a summer cottage in the archipelago and a large apartment in Östermalm.’

Alex leaned back. The ring on Malcolm Benke’s little finger – it gave him no peace.

‘Do we know the name of the daughter’s husband? If she was married, of course.’

‘Richard – just as it said inside the ring,’ Fredrika replied.

The room fell silent.