‘He’s not our only problem,’ Fredrika said. ‘I dread to think what will happen when the media realise that Lovisa Wahlberg was probably killed by the same person who murdered Benke.’

Another cause for concern – useless journalists who never missed a chance to put the boot in when it came to any police inquiry. Berlin had brought out the heavy artillery to make sure no one heard about the messages Alex had received; if that information became public knowledge, it would make their work immeasurably more difficult. The question was how long they could keep it quiet.

‘The book,’ Alex said.

Fredrika took it out of her bag. They’d followed the rules (well, mostly) and touched it only when they were wearing gloves. It was now in a sealed evidence bag: a green book with no motif on the cover.

‘I’ll ask Spencer about the author,’ she said. ‘Morgan Sander – I’ve never heard of him.’

Nor had Alex. They’d entered the name into a search engine, but found nothing.

‘We need to decide what to do with it,’ Alex said.

‘We give it to forensics right away, and we brief Berlin and the team tomorrow, when I’ve had a chance to check out the author.’

Alex thought that was a good plan. ‘I don’t like this. The title, the words I Am Putting Everything Right. I don’t get it – exactly the same as the messages sent to me.’

Fredrika was pale. ‘Me neither.’

Alex’s mobile rang: Torbjörn Ross. He pulled a face.

‘We’ll meet up later,’ he said to Ross. ‘Fredrika and I are just about to conduct an interview.’

‘If it’s anything to do with Lovisa Wahlberg, I want to be there,’ Ross insisted.

‘It isn’t. It’s about Malcolm Benke.’

There was a brief silence, then Ross asked: ‘Is it his son?’

‘Yes.’

‘I was so sure . . .’ Ross murmured. A murmur that made Alex press the phone closer to his ear.

What were you so sure about?

‘Sorry?’

‘I was so sure it was the son, right from the start. But apparently not – he has no connection to Wahlberg.’

‘That’s our view too,’ Alex said, bringing the call to an end.

‘Okay, let’s go and see Bernhard Benke,’ Fredrika said.

They headed for the lifts, each absorbed in their own thoughts. Alex couldn’t shake off a feeling of unease after speaking to Ross. He’d been so sure it was Bernhard who’d shot his father. So sure. Right from the start. How the fuck was that possible? And why did it sound like a suspicion Ross had formulated long before Alex and Fredrika reached the same conclusion?

Chapter 9