He drove onto the court. The grass wasn’t like normal grass; it was much denser, and there were no weeds. It also had to be cut unbelievably short. Gustav did exactly as he’d been shown: straight lines, sharp turns. The sun was in his eyes half the time, and he wished he’d remembered to bring his sunglasses. He screwed up his eyes, tried to shade them with his hand, but that didn’t go too well; he had to hold on to the wheel at the same time.

Maybe that was why he missed the pale lumps protruding from the grass. He drove straight over them, felt the mower jolt, but kept on going. Fuck – were there stones on the court? If so, it must be sabotage. He stopped and turned around. There were four patches of red behind him.

Gustav frowned. What the . . . ?

He switched off the mower and went over to take a closer look, which didn’t help at all. The red stuff was sticky, grainy, smeared across the green surface, mixed with something else. Something beige and white.

Gustav froze.

Beige, white . . . and fleshy.

Ten centimetres from his foot lay a thumb.

Chapter 2

‘I think I’ve changed my mind,’ Spencer said.

Fredrika was standing in the bathroom wishing he’d said something else. He’d changed his mind. Really?

She put down her mascara and went into the bedroom, where Spencer was sitting on the bed with his tie draped around his neck. She crouched down in front of him.

‘Would you like me to help you?’ she said.

Spencer didn’t answer, and Fredrika gently began to knot his tie.

‘I want the children to come home this weekend,’ he said.

‘Okay – I’ll ring Mum and ask her and Dad to bring them back.’

‘Or we could go and fetch them.’

‘It’s fine, Mum and Dad enjoy a trip to town. And it’ll give them more time with the children.’

‘They’ll have plenty of time with their grandchildren when I’m gone,’ Spencer said.

Before Fredrika could come up with a suitable response, her mobile rang. Spencer reached over and passed it to her.

She tightened the knot of his tie before she took the call. Spencer stood up and left the room.

‘Fredrika, it’s Alex. You have to come out to Saltsjobaden.’

She straightened up, felt the room sway. Nothing to worry about, according to the psychologist she’d spoken too. Dizziness was a symptom of all the stress she’d suffered over the past few months.

Alex’s voice sounded high, strained.

‘What’s happened?’

‘I don’t want to tell you over the phone. Just get here – I’ll text you the address.’

‘What’s happened?’ Fredrika said again. ‘You must be able to tell me something.’ And then, before she could stop herself, she added: ‘Who’s dead?’