‘I know who the fourth man is, the one who refused to look into the camera.’

‘I’ve been thinking about him all afternoon,’ Fredrika said. ‘Go on – who is he?’

We thought he was dead. That was what Alex wanted to say, but in the heat of the moment he couldn’t remember the man’s name. Instead he simply came out with the name of his wife.

‘Eden,’ he said.

Chapter 7

Eden Lundell, who had been the head of Säpo, the Swedish security service, and who had chosen to leave Sweden after one of her daughters had been murdered. Her husband’s name was Mikael. As far as Fredrika knew, the family lived in Israel. She shuddered when she thought about Eden, about the investigation in which she had been involved. No case had had more layers, more low points than the one that began with the shooting of a teacher at the Solomon school and ended with Eden losing a child.

Had Eden also lost her mind? Fredrika wondered as she and Alex drove over to see Karin Benke. I would have done.

The thought of any contact with Eden and her family filled her with dread.

I have nothing to say to someone like her.

Instead she focused on Karin Benke. All roads leading away from the darkness were equally welcome. As a child Fredrika had loved to play with the doll’s house her grand­mother had given her. It had been like travelling to a different place, a place that belonged to someone else, yet she was allowed to visit whenever she liked. She had experienced the same feeling when she started working for the police and was let into other people’s homes in different situations, either to carry out a search or to conduct an interview. And sometimes to deliver terrible news.

Malcolm Benke’s ex-wife had already been informed of his death when they arrived at her apartment in Östermalm. Fredrika had tried many times to define the difference between an apartment and a flat; in this instance it was crystal clear, for once. The high ceilings, the space, the impressive and well-preserved original details from the last century; there was no doubt that this was an apartment.

Karin, on the other hand, was a very ordinary, down-to-earth person, open and straightforward, with an unmistakable air of integrity.

‘Our condolences,’ Alex said when she’d let them in.

‘Thank you.’

She led the way into the kitchen, where they sat down at the table. Orchids in the window, no curtains, white-painted walls.

I could live here, Fredrika thought instinctively.

Alex began tentatively, allowing small talk to shift into a standard interview without Karin really noticing the change. He was good at this, Fredrika said to herself, just as he was at so many other things. She felt an embarrassing sense of relief; it was important that Alex held it together when she was falling apart.