With that Eden was gone. No exchange of pleasantries, and Fredrika hadn’t even attempted to ask how the family were getting on. It wasn’t a lack of politeness, she realised; she wanted to spare Eden the pain of answering that question.

Even as a child Fredrika had understood that an astonishing number of couples consisted of two people who were nothing like each other. Opposites attract, as they say. In Eden and Mikael’s case this was particularly striking.

After Eden’s harshness came Mikael’s gentleness.

Fredrika asked him how he knew Malcolm Benke. ‘They called me one Sunday,’ he explained. ‘Sorry, not they – he. Malcolm rang me one Sunday, said that he and his family needed my help. His daughter had told him that she’d turned to me for support on several occasions.’

Mikael’s accent was difficult to place, but it was obvious that he’d moved around a lot, spent time in different parts of Sweden and the rest of the world. Fredrika let out a long breath when he began to speak. He wasn’t being in any way obstructive.

‘And why did Beata need your support?’

‘Because she had problems with her husband.’

Was he allowed to tell her this? The question came into Fredrika’s mind out of nowhere. Mikael was a priest; wasn’t he obliged to respect the seal of the confessional, so to speak? She decided to let him take the lead; if Mikael didn’t object, she would carry on. Always better to apologise than ask for permission.

As if he’d read her mind, Mikael said:

‘The police didn’t contact me after Beata’s death, and I didn’t seek them out. I read about the case in the papers, of course, kept myself informed as best I could.’

He paused, as if he’d run out of words and was wondering how to continue.

‘You regret that,’ Fredrika said. ‘Although I can’t see you did anything wrong.’

She could hear Mikael breathing heavily. ‘That’s only because you don’t know what I knew.’

It was Fredrika’s turn to fall silent.

‘As I said, Beata had told Malcolm that I’d supported her, so one day he contacted me. On a Sunday, just after the morning service. He asked to see me, and I invited him round that same afternoon. I . . .’

A child shouted in the background, and the conversation was interrupted as Mikael put down the phone and disappeared. He soon came back.

‘Sorry about that – my youngest daughter wanted help with something.’

Tears sprang to Fredrika’s eyes. ‘Congratulations.’

‘Sorry?’

Fredrika clarified: ‘I didn’t know you’d had another child.’

Mikael let out a brief laugh. ‘It was a few years ago, but thank you.’

Fredrika smiled, then returned to the matter in hand. ‘So you met Malcolm Benke.’

‘Yes – and his son.’

‘His son?’