The police have added helicopters and canine units to the search for the escaped prisoner. They also welcome information from the public.

‘A nationwide alert has been issued; members of the public are advised not to approach the prisoner,’ says Robert Öhman, from the county police.

At the time of absconding, Lennart Brösth was dressed in a grey top and black trousers, both bearing the logo of Västernorrland County Council.

‘A lot of people will have seen his picture in the paper, but he also has a very distinctive gait; he walks a bit like a movie villain. And he’s big, over six foot three, and powerfully built,’ Öhman says.

That Lennart Brösth was supposedly born in 1914, as his barrister claimed during his trial, and therefore a hundred years old, is something the police take with a pinch of salt. So too, Börje Bratt, interim medical consultant.

‘We have always suspected that the information we have about the patient’s age does not correspond with his real age; this incident would seem to confirm that suspicion,’ he says.

The Jillesnåle Cult kidnapped children and raised them in isolation on a farm outside Sorsele in inland Västerbotten. The children were given new names and in time forgot their true identities. Lennart Brösth was identified as the cult’s leader and, in 2006, sentenced to prison for kidnapping and arson. A few years later, he was moved to the Sundsvall Regional Psychiatric Hospital.

When I had finished reading, I pushed the paper away and looked at Roland, who had his hands in his pockets and was eyeing me searchingly. He put his hand on the paper and turned it ninety degrees.

‘Doesn’t he look a bit like that terrorist,’ he said, ‘what was his name, the Jackal? In those dark glasses.’

I stood up and paced up and down between the shelves, trying to collect my thoughts.

‘It just doesn’t seem real. Here I’ve been walking around, waiting for him to die in prison. And then he escapes. Did you know they’d moved him to the psych ward? Let those alone; they’re decorative!’

Roland was standing by the shop window, gazing out at the square; when he straightened up after putting the fruit back in its place next to the orchid, he accidentally bumped into a ptarmigan suspended from the ceiling on fishing line. It swung back and forth like it had come to life; I wrapped my arms around myself.

‘Isn’t it odd,’ I said, ‘that no one from the police has been in touch?’

‘They probably don’t see any reason to,’ he said and stilled the white grouse with his hand.

‘They’re clueless!’

I had snapped at him; he made a lengthy pause before responding.

‘In that case, it’s no wonder they haven’t been in touch.’

‘I have to warn her.’