They carried him into the forest. The tops of the pines swayed restlessly above his head and a cold winter sun had made its way above the trees. They put him down in a clearing, on his knees in the fresh snow. A large hole gaped at him from the ground and the dark, iron-rich earth inhaled the cold. It seemed to be waiting to swallow him. Raw damp had soaked through Lelle’s jeans, but he wasn’t cold any more. He looked around, saw the pile of earth and the spades and the white faces surrounding him. Birger and his sons. Vapour from their mouths and agitated feet crunching the frozen snow.

Birger stood behind him, still with his pistol in his hand. Lelle could hear him releasing the safety catch. His voice was thick when he spoke.

‘I’m sorry it had to be like this, Lennart. God knows how sorry I am.’

He ought to protest. He ought to be begging and pleading for his life, but instead he knelt there with his head bowed. He visualized Lina and Meja. He heard himself whisper their names under his breath.

One of the boys got impatient. Come on, Dad, shoot him.

Time stood still and only the pines were alive and moving. Lelle was sitting at the kitchen table, looking at Lina, seeing her eyes under her fringe and her uneven teeth when she made a face at him.

What are you waiting for?

This is where she is, Lelle. Your daughter.

It wouldn’t hurt, he wouldn’t feel anything at all. His blood would stain the snow and his body would rot and send up dandelions in the spring. And he would never again drive along the Silver Road with a cigarette in his mouth and his eyes on the forest, because now he had found her. The years of searching were over.

He shut his eyes and waited. He felt the pressure of the muzzle on the back of his neck, and then the shot came, a dull whine in his eardrums as if he had lost his hearing. His muscles gave up and let him go.

When he opened his eyes he saw that Birger had fallen on his face with his hands clutching his chest. Behind him, with the rifle still raised, stood Anita, blinking, her snow-white hair like a fur collar around her shoulders. She waved the rifle at the young men who backed away in terror.

‘Drop your weapons,’ she said. ‘That’s enough now.’

Anita was still holding the rifle when the police arrived. She had forced Lelle and her sons to sit round the kitchen table, united in their silence. Birger had been left out in the cold and whether he was alive or not didn’t appear to concern her. She stood with her legs apart, aiming the muzzle of the rifle at them to ensure their obedience.