Diana smiled and went into the kitchen, leaving Alex in front of the TV. He’d just finished vacuuming the entire house, and now he wanted to watch a film or an interesting programme. Something entertaining. I’ll go and lie on a nice beach and read my book. Had he really said that? He could understand why the comment had amused Diana; Alex rarely had time to read books, and as for lying on a beach . . .

The new me, he thought. Beach boy 2016.

He could hear the clink of crockery and cutlery as Diana emptied the dishwasher. The sounds of everyday life. The best of the best. Alex couldn’t understand people who constantly longed to escape from the power of habit, the pattern of routine. He loved the lack of change. He loved the fact that he had a life that felt whole.

Diana was without doubt the best thing that had happened to him since Lena’s death. The realisation made him feel alive, made him love her. When Lena died he hadn’t thought it would be possible to find his way back to becoming a functioning human being. He and Lena had been married for what seemed like an entire lifetime; neither of them had ever wanted anyone else. They had created a home together, two children, security and intimacy. Summarising their marriage in those few words made it sound pathetic, almost cliched, but he had experienced a contentment that he found difficult to describe to his children. They had families of their own now, but it was as if they couldn’t sit still in their nests. There were dancing lessons and cookery lessons and couple time and alone time. Just listening to them made Alex feel nervous. Tired.

The television had nothing suitable to offer. Alex sipped his coffee and wondered whether to call his daughter. He was much better these days at nurturing his relationship with the children, saw them more often.

His work mobile rang, making the decision for him. He had a bad feeling; it was nine o’clock. Had there been another death?

The last thought bothered him. I have to stop expecting the worst.

However, he couldn’t shake off the nagging worry that had been there since he saw Malcolm Benke’s body; the visit to Karin Benke hadn’t exactly helped.

The ring, the ring, the ring.

If it wasn’t for the ring, Alex thought things would have been different.

‘Hi, it’s Ivan,’ a voice said when he answered.

Ivan? It took Alex a few seconds to place his younger colleague.

‘Yes?’

‘I just wanted to let you know that I spoke to the police in London about Beata Benke’s death. One of the detectives who worked on the case is on a course in Stockholm right now; she’s happy to meet us, talk us through the inquiry.’