She had begun to cry, and the man who had been her professor before becoming her husband stroked her hair and whispered:

‘I’m sorry.’

Brain tumour. Inoperable.

Not the death I want.

Sorry.

That had been back in February. Fredrika didn’t want to think about how the intervening months had affected her, eaten away at her. She had seen Alex watching her, concerned but too preoccupied by Margareta Berlin to reach out.

Thank God.

‘Did you hear what I said, Fredrika?’ There was no mistaking Berlin’s irritation.

I wish we’d managed to drink her into oblivion, Alex.

‘Yes.’

‘So have you? Had any messages like this?’

‘Don’t you think I’d have reported it if I had?’

Alex grinned and Berlin inhaled sharply. ‘I want to know if there’s a connection to the ongoing investigation,’ she snapped.

‘So do we,’ Fredrika said calmly. She glanced through the letter again. Those words – I am putting everything right – she recognised them. She’d seen them somewhere, read them.

But where?

Where had she been over the past few days?

‘We need to send the CSIs back to Benke’s house,’ she said slowly, speaking and thinking at the same time.

‘I think one or two of them might still be there,’ Alex said. ‘What do you want them to do?’

Fredrika hesitated, wondering how far she dared push something she wasn’t sure about.

‘I think I saw a similar message at the house.’

Alex frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t know, I just feel I’ve come across parts of the letter in a different context. And I think it was at Benke’s house.’

Her brain was full of slush, refused to cooperate.

Where had she seen those words?

Berlin sniffed. ‘I’m not buying this. We don’t even know if the message has anything to do with the murder.’

But it might have, Fredrika thought.

‘I want to go back there,’ she said.

Alex looked from the letter to Fredrika.

‘In that case I’ll come with you.’

Berlin tapped her pen on the table.

‘And what about your colleague from London? Who’s standing waiting in reception? Are you taking her with you? Forget it.’

Neither Fredrika nor Alex replied. They left the Lions’ Den in silence.

‘You agree with her – you think I’m imagining things,’ Fredrika said.

Alex shrugged. ‘I don’t know what I think.’

The letter and its brief message were unpleasant to say the least.

And I am putting everything right.

Everything?

Everything?

Chapter 7

At first Vendela thought it must be her imagination. Then she thought it must be down to the ventilation system. The apartment block was old, and it was no secret that they’d had problems for some time. Vendela had contacted the housing committee more than once; poor ventilation could cause damp, or air that was too dry. And very unpleasant smells.