‘I’ll get started right away,’ Paula said, making for the door.

Per was still sporting the same indifferent expression as he sauntered down the corridor with the police officers. A large crowd of curious students had gathered, and Per reacted to the attention by grinning and giving them the finger.

‘Fucking idiots,’ he muttered.

Gösta gave him a sharp look. ‘Keep your mouth shut until we get to the station.’

Per shrugged but obeyed. As they drove back to the squat building that housed both the police and the fire brigade, he sat staring out of the window in silence.

When they reached the station, they put the boy in an interview room and waited for his mother to arrive. Martin’s mobile rang. He listened with interest and then turned to Gösta, a pensive look on his face.

‘That was Paula,’ he said. ‘Do you know who Per beat up?’

‘No, is it somebody we know?’

‘You bet. Mattias Larsson, one of the boys who found Erik Frankel. They’re taking him to the hospital now. So we’ll need to interview him later on.’

Gösta received this information without comment, but Martin saw that his face had turned pale.

Ten minutes later Carina came running through the front door into the reception area, out of breath and asking for her son. Annika calmly brought her to Martin’s office.

‘Where’s Per? What has he done?’ She was fighting back the tears and sounded on the verge of hysteria. Martin shook hands with her as he introduced himself. Formalities and familiar routines often had a calming effect. As they did now. Carina repeated her questions, but in a more subdued tone of voice, and then she sat down on the chair that Martin offered her. He grimaced as he sat down at his desk, recognizing a familiar smell emanating from the woman across from him. Stale booze. Maybe she’d been to a party the day before. But he didn’t think so. Her slightly bloated features were one of the tell-tale signs of alcoholism.

‘According to the report from the school, Per assaulted a fellow pupil.’

‘Oh, dear God,’ she said, gripping the armrests of her chair. ‘How…? The boy, is he…’ She couldn’t finish the sentence.

‘He’s being taken to the hospital. Apparently he was severely beaten.’

‘But why?’ She swallowed hard, shaking her head.

‘That’s what we aim to find out. We have Per in one of the interview rooms here, and we need your permission to ask him some questions.’

Carina nodded. ‘Yes, of course.’ She swallowed hard again.

‘All right then. Let’s go and have a talk with Per.’ Martin led the way. He paused in the corridor to knock on the door jamb of Gösta’s office. ‘Come with us. We’re going to have a talk with the boy.’

Carina and Gösta shook hands, and then all three of them went into the room where Per was waiting, trying to look as if the whole business bored him. But he lost his composure the minute he saw his mother come in. Not entirely, but there was a slight twitch at the corner of his eye. A trembling in his hands. Then he forced himself to resume the indifferent expression and turned his gaze towards the wall.

‘Per, what have you done now?’ Carina’s voice rose in pitch as she sat down next to her son and went to put her arm around him. He shook her off and refused to answer.

Martin and Gösta sat across from Per and Carina, and Martin switched on the recorder. From habit, he had also brought along a pen and notepad, which he placed on the table. Then he rattled off the date and time for the sake of the recording and cleared his throat.

‘All right, Per, can you tell us what happened? By the way, Mattias has been taken to the hospital. In case you were wondering.’

Per merely smiled.

‘Per!’ His mother poked him in the side with her elbow. ‘You need to answer the question. And of course you were worried about the boy! Right?’ Her voice was shrill, and her son still refused to look at her.

‘Let’s give Per time to answer,’ said Gösta, winking at Carina to calm her down.

They sat in silence, waiting for the fifteen-year-old to respond. Finally he tossed his head and said, ‘That Mattias talks a load of shit.’

‘What kind of “shit”?’ said Martin, keeping his voice friendly. ‘Could you be a little more precise?’

Another lengthy pause. Then: ‘He was chatting up Mia, bragging about how fucking brave he was when he and Adam broke into that old guy’s house and found his body and how nobody else would have dared! I mean, what the fuck was that about? They only got the idea because I’d already been inside. Their ears were as big as satellite dishes when I told them about all the cool stuff he had. Everybody knows they weren’t the first to break in. Those fucking nerds.’

He threw back his head and laughed, while his mother stared shamefaced at the tabletop.

‘Are you talking about Erik Frankel’s house?’ said Martin, incredulous.

‘Yeah, the guy that Mattias and Adam found dead. The one with all the Nazi stuff. Really cool stuff,’ said Per, his eyes shining. ‘I was hoping to pick up a few nice pieces, but then the old guy showed up and locked me in and called my father and…’

‘Whoa – hold on,’ said Martin, holding up his hands. ‘Slow down a bit. Are you saying that Erik Frankel caught you when you broke into his house? And that he locked you up?’

Per nodded. ‘I didn’t think he was home, so I went in through a basement window. But he came downstairs while I was in that room with all the books and shit, and he closed the door and locked it. Then he made me give him my father’s phone number so he could call him.’

‘Did you know about this?’ Martin turned to Carina, giving her a sharp look.

She nodded reluctantly. ‘I only found out yesterday. Kjell, my ex-husband, didn’t tell me about it before, so I had no idea. And I can’t understand why you didn’t give him my number, Per, instead of getting your father mixed up in this!’

‘You wouldn’t have been able to handle it,’ said Per, looking at his mother for the first time. ‘You just lie around drinking all the time and don’t give a shit about anything else. You reek of booze, by the way. Just so you know!’ Per’s hands started shaking, his composure cracking again.

Tears rolled down Carina’s cheeks. ‘Is that the only thing you have to say about me, after all I’ve done for you? I gave birth to you, fed you, dressed you, and took care of you all those years when your father didn’t want anything to do with us.’ She turned to Martin and Gösta. ‘One day he just up and left. Packed his suitcases and took off with some twenty-five-year-old tart that he’d got pregnant. He walked out on me and Per without so much as a backward glance. Got on with starting a new family while we were left behind like yesterday’s rubbish.’

‘It’s been ten years since Pappa left,’ said Per wearily. He suddenly looked much older than his fifteen years.

‘What’s your father’s name?’ asked Gösta.

‘My ex-husband is Kjell Ringholm,’ replied Carina tensely. ‘I can give you his phone number, if you like.’

Martin and Gösta exchanged glances.

‘Would that be the same Kjell Ringholm who writes for Bohusläningen?’ said Gösta, the pieces falling into place in his mind. ‘The son of Frans Ringholm?’

‘Frans is my grandfather,’ said Per proudly. ‘He’s so cool. He’s even been to prison, but now he does political work instead. They’re going to win the next council election, and then those black fuckers are going to be driven out of the district.’

‘Per!’ exclaimed Carina, shocked. Then she turned to the officers. ‘He’s at that age when he’s testing things. And Frans isn’t a good influence on him. Kjell has forbidden Per to see his grandfather.’

‘As if that would stop me,’ muttered Per. ‘And that old man with the Nazi stuff? He got what he deserved. I heard the way he talked to my father when he came to get me. All that shit about how he could give my father good material for the articles he was writing about Sweden’s Friends, and especially about Frans. They didn’t think I was listening, but I heard them make an appointment to meet again. Fucking traitors, the pair of them. I can understand why Grandpa is ashamed of my father,’ said Per hostilely.