Klara leaves the bags on the third floor and waits until the woman has closed the door to her apartment. She walks down the stairs to the next landing and looks at the names on the three doors. The door marked ‘Rahamin’ is on the left. She takes a deep breath and rings the doorbell.

Nothing happens. She rings it again. And again. But with the same miserable results. Maybe the man she met in the entrance wasn’t Rahamin, after all.

She rings it again and again, almost desperate now. Then she bends down and pushes the letterbox open. The door is cool against her forehead as she leans into it.

‘Hassan!’ she shouts. ‘I really need to meet you. I’m supposed to tell you hello from Jacob Seger.’

The slight echo of her words hangs in the air of the stairwell after she falls silent. But she hears something else, something from within the apartment. She puts her ear to the letterbox and can swear she hears someone on the other side of the door. Small, muffled movements. Breathing.

‘Please!’ she says. ‘Jacob Seger says hello!’

The door rams into her forehead before she has a chance to get away, a quick thud of pain. She takes a step back, rubbing her head. The man she saw downstairs is standing in the doorway.

‘Hurry inside,’ he says. ‘You can’t just stand there screaming.’

Klara rubs her forehead as she steps into his apartment.

‘Thank you,’ she says. ‘I need your help.’

*

She takes off her shoes and follows Hassan into a small, tastefully decorated living room. He gestures to a low, brown leather sofa and settles himself into a matching armchair on the other side of the coffee table. Klara looks around. The walls are covered with neatly organized bookshelves, and there’s not a trace of dust on the glass table. Hassan turns on a floor lamp in the corner and warm light falls onto a beautiful rug. There are two small lamps with green shades in the window overlooking the street, which contributes to the impression that this is an English gentlemen’s club rather than an apartment in the suburbs. There’s no doubt that Jacob’s former teacher is a very proper sort of man.

‘Thank you for listening to me,’ Klara begins. ‘We have—’

Hassan holds up a hand to interrupt her. ‘I trust Jacob,’ he says. His Swedish is perfect, Klara can only detect the slightest hint of Arabic in it. ‘But I’ve also read the newspapers. I’ve seen what they’re writing about him. And about you, because you must be Klara Walldéen.’

She nods. She talked to George and Jacob about it, about how they’re pariahs now.

‘I don’t want to get involved in anything,’ he says. ‘I’m a simple man, I live a simple life. And I want to keep it that way. Do you understand?’