'I… I thought about it all weekend, and it doesn't feel right. I mean, a child is dead, isn't she? You should be told everything.'

'Yes, we should,' said Patrik. He wasn't sure that he believed her explanation, but it didn't matter. Niclas no longer had an alibi for Monday morning, and worse, he'd asked someone to give him a phoney one. That was enough to send a number of warning Hags to the top of the mast.

'Well, I must thank you for coming here to tell me this,' Patrik said, getting to his feet. Jeanette held out a dainty little hand and held onto his a bit too long as they said goodbye. Unconsciously Patrik wiped his hand on his jeans as soon as she was outside the door. There was something about that young woman that made her really disliked. But thanks to Jeanette they now had a solid lead to go on. It was time to look more closely at Niclas Klinga.

All at once Patrik remembered the note that Annika had given him. In a slight panic he felt in his back pocket. When he fished out the little piece of paper he was extremely grateful that neither he nor Erica had got around to washing clothes this weekend. He read the note and then sat down to make some phone calls.

FJÅLLBACKA 1926

The two-year-olds were shouting noisily behind her and Agnes hushed them in annoyance. She had never seen the likes of those boys for making a racket. They were surely spending too much time over at the Janssons', picking up things from their snotty kids, Agnes thought. She chose to close her eyes to the fact that the neighbouring woman had pretty much brought up her sons as her own ever since they were six months old. But things were going to change now that they were moving into town. Agnes looked back with pleasure from her seat on the moving cart. Hopefully, she would never have to set eyes on that miserable shack again. Now she would come one step closer to the life she deserved. She was at least going to live among sensible people in surroundings that were bustling and lively. The house they were renting wasn't really much to brag about, though the rooms were cleaner and brighter, and even a few square yards bigger, than those in the shack. But at least the house was located in Fjällbacka. She could step off the front porch without sinking to her ankles in mud, and she could start cultivating acquaintances who were considerably more stimulating than those simple stonecutter wives, who did nothing but produce one kid after another. Finally she would have a chance to get to know other people with completely different outlooks. Agnes chose to ignore the fact that she herself might not be an interesting acquaintance for them, since she now belonged to the crowd of cutter wives she scorned. Or perhaps she thought they would see that she was different.

'Johan, Karl, calm down. Sit still in the cart, or else you can get off and walk,' said Anders, turning halfway round to the boys. As usual Agnes thought he was much too lenient with them. If it were up to her, he would have yelled at them much louder, and even followed up his scoldings with a box on the ears. But on that issue he was unwavering. No one would raise a hand to his boys. Once Anders had caught her giving Johan a slap, and he gave her such a talking-to that she never dared do it again. In everything else she could get Anders to do as she wanted, but when it came to Karl and Johan he had the last word. He had even chosen their names. If the names were good enough for kings, they were good enough for his sons, he'd said. Agnes had merely snorted. Such foolishness. But she didn't give a damn what the boys were called, so if he wanted to name them she had no objection.

Most of all it would be lovely to get away from that busybody Mrs Jansson. Sure, it had been convenient that she took care of the kids for her, but she did it of her own free will. At the same time her reproachful glances had got on Agnes's nerves. As if she were a bad person just because she didn't view it as her sole purpose in life to wipe the shit from kids' bottoms.

They couldn't drive all the way up to the house, which stood along one of the small, narrow lanes that led down to the sea. They had to carry their belongings the last bit. Anders would be making a couple more trips to fetch their rickety furniture. Agnes said hello to the old man who owned the house and would be their landlord, and then she stepped into their new home. She never thought she'd consider two small rooms in a tiny house to be a step up in life, but compared to the dark shack the new dwelling looked like a castle.

She swept in with her skirts rustling over the threshold, was pleased to find that the previous tenant had left the place clean and neat. She detested living in messy or dirty surroundings, but in the small space of the company shack it hadn't seemed such a great idea to clean house. Besides, she wasn't inclined to clean. But if she could wheedle Anders, the skinflint, into buying some nice curtains and a rug, this house might be acceptable.

The boys raced past her legs and ran around like crazy in the empty room, chasing each other. Agnes felt herself boiling inside when she saw how the mud they tracked in on their shoes was spread all over the clean floor.

'Karl! Johan!' she yelled, and the boys froze in terror. She pressed her fists to her sides to stop herself from dealing out a resounding slap. Instead she settled for grabbing her sons by the arms and dragging them out the front door. She permitted herself to give each of them a little pinch, and saw with satisfaction how their tiny faces dissolved in tears.

'Pappa!' Karl began to wail, and Johan soon joined in the chorus. 'I want Pappa!'

'Shut up,' Agnes hissed, looking around anxiously. A fine thing it would be to disgrace herself on the first day in their new home. Hut the boys had gone past the point where they could stop crying.

'Pappa!' they wailed in unison, and Agnes had to force herself to take deep, controlled breaths so she wouldn't do anything rash. Then the boys raised the ante.

'Karin, we want Karin,' they shrieked, as they lay down on the ground and began pounding their little fists.

They were damned cry-babies, just like their father. To think that they had the nerve to prefer that rotten bitch to their own mother. She felt her foot start to twitch with an urge to kick them in the soft parts round their stomachs. Fortunately at that moment Anders appeared at the top of the hill.

'What's going on here?' he said in his melodious Blekinge accent, and the boys were up on their feet like bolts of greased lightning.

'Pappa! Mamma's mean!'

'So what happened now?' he said in resignation, giving Agnes a disapproving glance. She silently cursed him. He didn't even know what had happened, and still he took his sons' side. She couldn't be bothered to explain, but turned on her heel and went into the house to gather up the bits of mud the boys had left behind. Behind her she heard them snuffling with their faces buried in Anders's coat. Like father, like sons.

Monica took a sick day on Monday. Only a week had passed since they found the girl, but it felt like years had been added to her life since then. She heard Kaj rummaging about in the kitchen and knew that it was only a matter of time. Sure enough, here it came.

'Monica-a-a-a. Where's the coffee?'

She closed her eyes and answered with forced politeness, 'In the tin in the cupboard above the stove. Where it's been for the past ten years,' she couldn't help adding.

She heard a muttered reply from the kitchen and got up with a sigh. She'd better go help him. She couldn't understand how a grown man could be so helpless. How he'd been able to run a business with thirty employees was beyond her comprehension.