'Double pawn?' said Veronika, looking bewildered.

'I told you it was dumb and Sara didn't understand. But it was nasty, that's what she said. And he didn't talk regular with her, he yelled at her. Really loud. So it made her ears hurt.' Now Frida demonstrated by holding her hands over her ears.

Carefully Veronika took her hands away and said, 'You know, this may be a secret that you'll have to tell other people besides me.'

'But you said…' Frida sounded upset and her eyes once again nervously sought out the grey sky outdoors.

'I know I said that, but you know what? I really think that Sara would want you to tell this secret to the police.'

'Why?' asked Frida, still looking worried.

'Because when somebody dies and goes to heaven, the police want to know all the secrets that person had. And people usually want the police to know all their secrets too. It's the job of the police to find out everything.'

'So they're supposed to know all the secrets?' said Frida in amazement. 'Do I have to tell them about the time I didn't want to eat all my sandwich and hid it under the sofa cushion?'

Veronika couldn't help smiling. 'No, I don't think the police need to know that secret.'

'I don't mean while I'm alive, but if I die, would you have to tell them about that?'

The smile vanished from Veronika's face. She shook her head. The conversation had taken an unpleasant turn. Gently she stroked her daughter's blonde hair and whispered, 'You don't have to worry about that, because you're not going to die.'

'How do you know that, Mamma?' asked Frida.

'I just know.' Veronika got up abruptly from her chair and with her heart clenched up so hard that she had difficulty breathing, she went out to the hall. Without turning round, so that her daughter couldn't see her tears, she called in a voice that came out unnecessarily brusque, 'Put on your coat and shoes. We're going to talk to the police right now.'

Frida obeyed. But when they went out to the car she involuntarily flinched beneath the heavy grey sky. She hoped that Mamma was right. She hoped that Sara wouldn't be mad.

FJÅLLBACKA 1928

Lovingly he dressed the boys and combed their hair. It was Sunday, and he was going to take the boys out for a walk in the sunshine. It was hard to get their clothes on because they were jumping up and down with joy at being able to go out with their father, but at last they were dressed and ready to set off. Agnes didn't answer when the boys called goodbye to her. It cut Anders to the quick to see once more the thirsting, disappointed look in their eyes when they looked at their mother. She didn't seem to understand it, but they longed for her – longed to smell her close to them and to feel her arms around them. The idea that she might be aware of this but deliberately denied them was a possibility he didn't even want to imagine, but it was a thought that kept intruding more and more often. Now that the boys were four years old, he could only surmise that there was something unnatural about the way she related to them. At first he'd thought that it was because of the difficult childbirth, but as the years passed she still hadn't seemed to bond with them.

He himself never felt so rich as when he walked off down the hill with a little child's hand firmly gripped in each of his own. The boys were still so small that they would rather run than walk. Sometimes he had to jog to keep up with them, even though his legs were so much longer than theirs. People smiled and tipped their hats when they came scurrying along the main street. He knew that they made a pleasant sight – the father, big and tall in his Sunday best, and the boys, also as finely dressed as a stonecutter's sons could be, and with their tousled blond hair that was exactly the same shade as his own. They even had his brown eyes. Anders was often told how they were his spitting image, and he swelled with pride every time. Sometimes he permitted himself a sigh of gratitude that they didn't take after Agnes either in appearance or manner. Over the years he'd noticed a hardness in her, which he sincerely hoped the children wouldn't inherit.

When he passed by the village shop he hastened his steps and carefully avoided looking in that direction. Naturally he had to go there now and then to buy the things they needed, but since he'd heard what people were saying he tried to limit his visits as much as possible. If only he believed that there was no truth to what the gossips were saying, he could have walked in there with his head held high. The worst thing was that he didn't doubt the rumours for a minute. And even if he had doubted, the shopkeeper's superior smile and bold tone of voice would have been enough to convince him. Sometimes Anders wondered if there was any limit to how much he had to take. If it hadn't been for the boys he would have cleared out long ago. But the twins forced him to look for another option to leaving his wife, and he believed that he had found it. Anders had a plan. It had taken a year of hard work to carry it out, but now he was getting close. As soon as some last pieces fell into place he would be able to offer his family a new beginning, a chance to make everything right. Maybe he would then be able to give Agnes more of what she longed for so that the darkness that seemed to be growing inside her heart would disappear. He thought he could already see how their new life would look and how it would offer all of them so much more than this one here.

He squeezed the boys' hands extra hard and smiled at them when they tilted their heads back to look up at him.

'Pappa, could we get a cola?' said Johan in the hope that his father's good mood would make him favourably disposed to such a request. And it did. After pondering for a moment Anders nodded his assent, and the boys whooped and jumped up and down in anticipation. Buying a couple of colas would necessitate a visit to the village shop, of course, but it would be worth it. Soon he would be done with all that.

Gösta sat in his office, slumped at his desk. The mood had been tense to say the least since Ernst's screw-up had been revealed. Gösta shook his head. His colleague had made any number of mistakes over the years, but this time he'd gone too far in ignoring how a police officer should carry out his job. For the first time Gösta believed that Ernst actually might be fired because of his actions. Not even Mellberg could back him up after this.

Despondently he looked out of the window. This was the time of year he hated most. It was even worse than winter. He still had the memory of summer fresh in his mind, and he could still reel off the scores of pretty much every round of golf he'd played. By the time winter arrived at least a merciful forgetfulness had begun to roll in, and he sometimes wondered whether he'd really made those perfect shots on the golf course, or whether it was all just a beautiful dream.

The telephone interrupted his ruminations.

'Gösta Flygare.'

'Hi, Gösta, it's Annika. Look, I've got Pedersen on the line and he's looking for Patrik, but I can't get hold of him right now. Could you talk to Pedersen?'

'Sure, put him on.' He waited a couple of seconds. Then he heard the click on the line and the medical examiner's voice.

'Hello?'

'Yes, I'm here. It's Gösta Flygare.'

'I heard that Patrik was out on a job. But you're working on the investigation of the murder of the little girl too, aren't you?'

'Everyone at the station is, more or less.'

'Good, then you can take down the information we just got in, but it's important that everything be sent on to Hedström.'

Gösta wondered for a second whether Pedersen had heard about Ernst's fiasco, but then realized it was impossible. He probably just wanted to emphasize that the head of the investigation should get all the information. And Gösta had no intention of making the same mistake as Lundgren, that's for sure. Hedström was going to hear about everything, even the slightest clearing of his throat.