She didn’t recognise her own voice.

‘Again?’ Dan said. ‘Make yet another pointless attempt?’

Then he went and sat with the children in front of the television, leaving Malin alone in the kitchen with her fear.

Chapter 3

Spencer Lagergren was going to die, and Fredrika Bergman was going to become a widow. She had considered embroidering the words on a piece of fabric and framing the damned thing, just to make them easier to take in. Because however many times she repeated them to herself, they just didn’t stick. They didn’t mean anything.

A widow? Me? That can’t be right.

‘Are you having fun, Saga?’

Fredrika didn’t know what her daughter was laughing at, but it didn’t matter. The sound of the child’s joy was enough to make her feel secure. The children were happy.

‘We’re going SWIMMING today!’ Saga shouted down the phone.

‘Isn’t it a bit too cold?’ Fredrika asked.

‘No,’ Saga said firmly.

Fredrika was in her office; she’d just arrived at work. She and Alex were due to meet Malcolm Benke’s friend Sten Aber in one of the interview rooms shortly.

‘Can I speak to Grandma, please?’

Her mother came on the line. ‘How are you, Fredrika?’

For God’s sake, how many times could she ask the same question?

‘Fine, thanks. I just wanted to check that the kids were okay.’

‘Well, I suppose so,’ her mother replied. ‘I mean they’re alive, they’re healthy.’ And then, a second later: ‘Forgive me! I’m so sorry, I don’t know what . . .’

Fredrika couldn’t help smiling. A new skill she had not only acquired, but was rapidly developing to world-championship level: the art of contemplating the destruction of her life with a smile on her face.

‘It’s okay,’ she whispered, her voice close to breaking.

She heard her mother move away from the children.

‘They’re asking about you and Spencer. I think they can tell something’s wrong,’ her mother said after a moment.

‘Of course they can – they know Spencer’s sick.’

‘But not how sick. There’s a time and place for everything, and yours is here and now. You have to tell them.’

There’s a time and place for everything. How could such an inaccurate assertion have endured for so long? Because whichever way you looked at it, there was no right time or place for death. Not in Fredrika’s life, especially when death had come after one of the people she loved most.

‘We’ll talk to them when they get home.’

Her mother let out a sob.

‘I’m sorry. I’m not trying to interfere, I just want to help.’

‘It’ll be fine, Mum. It’ll be fine.’

But when the call was over and loneliness overwhelmed her, Fredrika couldn’t hold back the tears. She put her head down on the desk and let them come.