It was extremely rare that Monica came to see him at the wrong time in his schedule. She couldn't recall the last time she had done so. But now she had already disturbed him, so she might as well continue.

She followed one of the paths through the stacks of magazines and sat down on the edge of the bed.

'I don't want you to talk to them anymore unless I'm with you.'

Morgan just nodded. Then he turned all the way round to face her. He was now sitting astride the chair backwards, with his arms crossed and resting on the back.

'Do you think I could have seen her if I asked to?'

'Seen who?' asked Monica, surprised.

'Sara.'

'What do you mean?' Monica could feel the room spinning.

The stress of the past few days had upset her equilibrium, and Morgan's question made her lose her self-control.

'Why would you want to see her?' She couldn't keep the anger out of her voice, but as usual he didn't react to it. She wasn't even sure that he understood that her raised voice meant she was angry.

'To see how she looks now,' he replied calmly.

'Why?' Her voice rose even higher, and she could feel her fists clenching. The fear had her in a tight grip, and every word from Morgan felt like another step towards the darkness that terrified her.

'To see how dead she looks,' he said with his gaze fixed on her.

Monica was having a hard time breathing. It felt as though the walls of the little cabin were closing in on her. She couldn't stand it any longer. She had to get some air.

Without saying a word she rushed out the door and slammed it behind her. The raw, cold air stung her throat as she took long, deep breaths. After a while she could feel her pulse begin to slow.

She cautiously peered through one of the windows. Morgan had turned round. His hands were flying over the keyboard. She pressed her face to the glass and looked at the back of his neck. She loved him so much it hurt.

There was nothing that gave Lilian as much pleasure as cleaning house. The rest of the family claimed she was manic, but that didn't particularly bother her. As long as they stayed away and didn't try to help, she was happy.

She began with the kitchen, as usual. Every day the same routine. Wipe off all surfaces, vacuum, mop the floor, and once a week take everything out of the cupboards and cabinets and wipe them inside. When she was done with the kitchen she cleaned the hall, the living room, and the veranda. The only room on the ground floor that she couldn't clean at the moment was the little guest room where Albin was asleep. She would have to do it later.

She dragged the vacuum cleaner up the stairs. Stig had wanted to buy her a smaller model; she had politely but firmly declined. She'd had this one for fifteen years and it still worked like new. Much better than the newer models that broke down every fifteen minutes. But it was definitely heavy. She was panting a bit by the time she reached the upstairs hall. Stig was awake and turned his head towards her.

'You're going to wear yourself out,' he said in a feeble voice.

'Better than sitting and twiddling my thumbs.'

It was an old ritual they went through. He would tell her to take it easy, and she would come back with some snappy response. He would certainly change his tune if she stopped taking care of everything in the house and transferred some of the responsibility to the others. Without her this house would go downhill fast. Everything would just crumble away. She was the glue that kept it all together, and they knew it. If only they would show a little gratitude sometimes. No, instead they all kept nagging her to take it easy. Lilian could feel the old familiar irritation building up. She went into Stig's room. He looked a little paler today, she saw.

'You look worse,' she said, helping him to lift his head far enough off the bed so that she could pull out the pillow. She fluffed it up and placed it under his head again.

'I know. Today is not a good day.'

'Where does it hurt the most?' she asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

'Everywhere, it feels like,' said Stig faintly, attempting a smile.

'Can't you be more precise than that?' Lilian said, annoyed. She plucked at the knots on the bedspread and gave him an imperious look.

'My stomach,' said Stig. 'It's churning about somehow, and there's a sharp pain sometimes.'

'Well, Niclas is going to have to take a look at you tonight when he comes home. You can't lie here in this condition.'

'Just no hospital.' Stig waved his hand to fend off the idea.

'That's for Niclas to decide, not you.' Lilian plucked little bits of lint from the bedspread and looked around the room, searching. 'Where's the breakfast tray?'

He pointed to the floor. Lilian leaned over him and looked.

'You haven't eaten a thing,' she said crossly.

'Couldn't face it.'

'You've got to eat or you'll never get well, you know that. Now I'm going downstairs to fix you some tomato soup. You have to get some nourishment inside you.'

He merely nodded. There was no point in arguing with Lilian when she was in this mood.

Furiously she stomped down the stairs. Why did she always have to do everything?

The reception was empty when Martin and Gösta came back to the station. Annika must have taken an early lunch. Martin saw that there was a big pile of note papers in Annika's handwriting on the desk. Probably tips that had started coming in from the public.

'Are you going to lunch soon?' Gösta asked.

'Not quite yet,' said Martin. 'Can we eat at noon?'

'I'll probably starve to death by then, but it beats eating alone.'

'Okay, it's a deal,' said Martin and went into his office. He'd had a brainstorm on the way back from Fjällbacka. After checking in the telephone book he found what he was searching for.

'I'm looking for Eva Nestler,' he told the receptionist who answered. He was told that there were calls ahead of him, and he waited patiently in the phone queue. As usual, some off-putting canned music was playing, but after a while he started thinking that it sounded pretty good. Martin glanced at the clock. He'd been waiting for almost a quarter of an hour. He decided to give it five more minutes, then he'd hang up and try again later. Just then he heard Eva's voice in the receiver.

'Eva Nestler.'

'Hello, my name is Martin Molin. I don't know if you remember me, but we met a couple of months ago in connection with an investigation of suspected child abuse. I'm ringing from the Tanumshede police station,' he hastened to add.

'Yes, I remember. You work with Patrik Hedström,' said Eva. 'I've mostly been in contact with Patrik, but I recall meeting you as well.' There was a moment's silence. 'What can I help you with?'

Martin cleared his throat. 'Are you familiar with something called Asperger's?'

'Asperger's syndrome. Yes, I'm familiar with it.'

'We have a…' he fell silent and wondered how to express himself. Morgan wasn't quite classifiable as a suspect, rather as a person of interest. He started over. 'We've encountered Asperger's in a case we're working on right now, and I'd like a little more information about what it involves. Do you think you could help me?'

'Well,' said Eva hesitantly, 'I think I'd need a little time to refresh my knowledge.' Martin could hear her paging through something that must be an appointment diary. 'I'd actually set aside an hour after lunch to do some errands, but for the police…' She paused. 'Otherwise I don't have a slot free until Tuesday.'

'Right now would be fine,' Martin hurried to say. He'd actually hoped to be able to do it on the phone, but it wasn't much trouble to drive over to Strömstad.

'So I'll see you in about 45 minutes then?'

'Of course,' said Martin. Then a thought occurred to him. 'Should I bring you some lunch?'