Finally he had gone over to the Janssons and asked Karin, Jansson's wife, if she'd consider coming over occasionally to see how his family was doing at his place. She'd given him a searching look and then promised to do so. Anders was eternally grateful to her for this. Not that she didn't have enough to do with her own children. The eight kids took up almost all her time, and yet she promised without hesitation to look in on his two as often as she could. A stone had been lifted from his heart with that promise. Sometimes he thought he saw a strange gleam in Agnes's eyes, but it vanished so quickly that he convinced himself it was just his imagination. But sometimes he would picture that look as he stood and worked, and then he had to stop himself from throwing down his sledgehammer and running home, just to make sure that the boys were sitting there on the floor and playing, rosy- cheeked and healthy.

Lately he had taken on even more work than usual. Somehow he had to find a way to make Agnes more satisfied with her life, otherwise she would make all of them unhappy. Ever since they moved to the company compound she had nagged him to rent a place somewhere in town instead, and Anders had decided to do all he could to grant that wish. If it would make her even a bit more kindly disposed to him and the boys, his long hours of work would be more than worth it. He put aside every extra öre he could spare. Now that he had control of the household funds it was possible to save, even though it meant that their meals became rather monotonous. His mother hadn't taught him how to cook many dishes, and he always bought the cheapest ingredients he could find. Agnes reluctantly began to take on some of a wife's duties, and after some practice, what she cooked began to be actually edible, so Anders had some hope that he could give up responsibility for making dinner in the near future.

If they could only move into the town of Fjällbacka, where things were a little more lively, the situation might get brighter.

Maybe they could even have a real married life again, something she had denied him for over a year.

Before him the stone parted in a perfect cleavage right down the middle. He took it as a good omen – his plan was leading him in the right direction.

At precisely ten past ten, the train rolled in. Mellberg had already been waiting for half an hour. Several times he had been on the verge of turning the car around and driving back home. But that wouldn't have served any purpose. His whereabouts would have been asked about and soon the gossip would have started. It was just as well to confront this entire disagreeable situation head on. At the same time he couldn't ignore the fact that something resembling eagerness was stirring in his breast. At first he hadn't even been able to identify the feeling. It was so foreign to him to feel anticipation for something, anything, that it took him a long moment to work out what the bubbling sensation was. It came as a big surprise when he finally identified it.

Sheer nervousness made it impossible for him to stand still on the platform awaiting the train's arrival. He constantly shifted position, and for the first time in his life wished he smoked, so that he could have calmed his nerves with a cigarette. Before he left the house he had cast a wistful glance at the bottle of Absolut vodka, but managed to restrain himself. He didn't want to smell of liquor the first time they met. First impressions were important.

Then the thought popped into his head again and took root. What if what she had said wasn't really true? It was confusing not to know what he was even hoping for, whether he wanted it to be true or not. He had already vacillated back and forth many times, but right now he was leaning towards hoping that the letter was right. No matter how strange that felt.

A toot of the horn in the distance signalled that the train from Göteborg was approaching the station. Mellberg gave a start, which made the hair he had combed over the top of his scalp slide down over one ear. With a swift and practised motion he flipped the strands of hair back into place and made sure that they were properly positioned. He didn't want to disgrace himself right from the start.

The train came rolling in at such speed that at first Mellberg didn't think it was even going to stop. Maybe it would keep on going into the unknown and leave him standing there, with his feelings of eagerness and uncertainty. But at last the train slowed and with much screeching and general racket it came to a halt. He swept his eyes over all the doors. All at once it struck him that he didn't even know if he would recognize him. Shouldn't she have put a carnation in his buttonhole or something? Then he realized that he was the only one waiting on the platform, so at least the arriving passenger would be able to find Mellberg.

The door furthest back opened, and Mellberg felt his heart stop beating for a second. A lady of retirement age carefully climbed down the steps. The disappointment at seeing her got his heart started again. But then he emerged. And as soon as Mellberg saw him, all doubt was erased. He was filled with a quiet, strange, aching joy.

The weekends went by so fast, but Erica enjoyed having Patrik at home. Saturday and Sunday were the days she focused on. Then Patrik could take care of Maja in the mornings, and one of the nights she usually used the breast pump so that he could give Maja the milk. That meant that she got a whole night of blessed sleep, even though she paid a price by waking up with two aching, leaking breasts that felt like cannonballs. But it was worth it. She never would have imagined that nirvana was being allowed to sleep a whole night undisturbed.

But this weekend had felt different. Patrik had gone in to work a few hours on Saturday, and he was silent and tense. Even though she understood why, it annoyed her that he was unable to devote himself completely to her and Maja. Her disappointment in turn gave her a guilty conscience and made her feel like a bad person.

If Patrik's brooding might lead to Charlotte and Niclas finding out who had murdered their daughter, then Erica ought to be generous enough to excuse his lack of attention. But logic and rationality didn't seem to be her strong suit these days.

On Sunday afternoon the overcast weather that had lasted all week finally broke, and they went for a long walk in town. Erica couldn't help being amazed at how the appearance of the sun could suddenly transform their surroundings so completely. In the storm and rain Fjällbacka looked so barren, so implacable and grey, but now the town sparkled once again, wedged in at the base of the monolithic hill. No trace remained of the breakers that had crashed against the docks and caused temporary flooding of Ingrid Bergman Square. Now the air was clear and fresh, and the water lay placid and gleaming as if it had never looked any other way.

Patrik pushed the pram, and Maja for once had acquiesced to fall asleep in it.

'How are you doing, actually?' Erica asked, and Patrik jumped, as if he were far, far away.

'I'm the one who should be asking you that question,' Patrik said, sounding guilty. 'You have a hard enough time without worrying about me too.'

Erica stuck her arm in under his and leaned her head on his shoulder. 'We both worry about each other, okay? And to answer your question first, things have been better, I have to admit. But they've been worse too. So now answer my question.'

She recognized Patrik's state of mind. It had been the same during the last murder investigation he'd handled, and this time it was a child who was the victim. And on top of everything, she was the daughter of one of her own friends.