Niclas came home as soon as she rang. Because she hadn't wanted to say what it was about, he dashed in the front door with his heart in his throat. On the stairs he saw Lilian coming down with a tray, and she looked surprised.

'Why are you home?'

'Charlotte rang me. You don't know what it's about?'

'No, she never tells me anything,' Lilian snapped. Then she gave him an ingratiating smile. 'I was just out buying fresh buns, they're in a bag in the kitchen.'

He ignored her and took the stairs down to the cellar flat in two strides. It wouldn't surprise him if Lilian was standing with her ear to the door right now, trying to hear what they were saying.

'Charlotte?'

'I'm in here, changing Albin.'

He went to the bathroom and saw her standing at the changing table with her back to him. Even from her posture he could see that she was angry, and he wondered what she'd found out now.

'What was it that was so important? I had patients waiting.' The best defence was a good offence.

'Martin Molin rang.'

He searched his memory for the name.

'The policeman in Tanumshede,' she clarified, and now he remembered. The young, freckled chap.

'What did he want?' he said tensely.

Charlotte, who now had finished changing and dressing Albin, turned toward Niclas with their son in her arms.

They discovered that someone had threatened Sara. The day before she died.' Her voice was ice-cold and Niclas waited nervously for her to continue.

'Yes?'

'The man who threatened her was described as an older man with grey hair and black clothes. He called her the "Devil's spawn". Does that sound like anyone you know?'

Rage coursed through his veins in a fraction of a second.

'Bloody hell,' he cried and ran up the stairs. When he tore open the door to the ground floor he almost knocked Lilian unconscious. He had guessed right: the old biddy had been standing there listening. But it wasn't even worth getting excited about now. He put on his shoes without bothering to tie them, grabbed his jacket and ran out to the car.

Ten minutes later he stopped with a screech outside his parents' house after driving much too fast through town. The house stood on the side of the hill, right above the mini-golf course, and it looked exactly the same as it did when he was a boy. He shoved open the car door and jumped out without bothering to shut it. Then he rushed right up to the front entrance. For a second he paused, then he took a deep breath and knocked hard on the door. Niclas hoped his father was at home. No matter how unchristian he was, it wasn't proper to do what he intended to do in a church.

'Who is it?' called the familiar, stern voice from inside the house. Niclas tried the door handle. As usual, the door wasn't locked. Without hesitating he stepped inside and called out.

'Where are you, you cowardly old devil?'

'What in the world is going on?' His mother came into the hall from the kitchen holding a tea towel and a plate. Then he saw his father's austere figure emerge from the living room.

'Ask him.' Niclas pointed a trembling finger at his father, whom he hadn't seen other than from a distance since he was seventeen years old.

'I don't know what he's talking about,' said Arne, refusing to speak directly to his son. 'Of all the nerve, coming in here and standing there cursing and screaming. That's enough now. Get out of here.'

'You know damn well what I'm talking about, you old bastard.' Niclas saw to his satisfaction how his father flinched at his choice of words. 'And how cowardly can you be, threatening a little girl! If you're the one who killed her I'll make sure that you never walk again, you bloody fucking…'

His mother looked back and forth between the two men and then raised her voice. This was so unusual that Niclas abruptly shut up, and even his father closed his mouth without replying.

'Now can one of you be so good as to tell me what this is all about? Niclas, you can't just barge in here and start screaming, and if it's something to do with Sara, then I have a right to know.'

After taking a couple of deep breaths Niclas said through clenched teeth, 'The police found out' – he could hardly bring himself to look at his father – 'that he yelled and screamed and threatened Sara. The day before she died.' Fury took over again and he shouted, 'What the bloody hell is wrong with you? Scaring a seven-year- old out of her wits and calling her the "Devil's spawn" or some such nonsense. She was seven years old, don't you get it, seven years old! And I'm supposed to believe that it was a coincidence that you threatened her the day before she was found murdered! Is that right?'

He took a step towards his father, who hastily backed up.

Asta now stared at her husband. 'Is the boy telling the truth?'

'I don't have to stand here and answer to anyone. I answer only to the Lord,' said Arne bombastically, turning his back to his wife and son.

'Don't even try that. You answer me now!'

Niclas looked in astonishment as his mother followed Arne into the living room with her hands on her hips, ready for a fight. Arne too seemed shocked that his wife dared defy him. He was opening and closing his mouth without any sound coming out.

'Answer me,' Asta continued, backing Arne farther into the room as she came closer. 'Did you see Sara?'

'Yes, I did,' said Arne defiantly in a last attempt to assert the authority he'd taken for granted for forty years.

'And what did you say to her?' Asta seemed to grow a foot taller before their eyes. Niclas thought she was terrifying, and from the look in his father's eyes he could see that he thought the same thing.

'I had to see whether she was made of sterner stuff than her father. If she'd taken after my side of the family.'

'Your side,' Asta snorted. 'Oh yes, that would be something. Sanctimonious fawners and stuck-up females, that's what you have on your side of the family. Is that supposed to be something worth emulating? So what was your conclusion?'

With a hurt expression on his face Arne said, 'Silence, woman, I come from God-fearing folk. And it didn't take long to work out that the girl was not made of good stock. Impudent and obstinate and noisy, not the way girls should be. I tried to talk to her about God, I did, and she stuck out her tongue at me. So I told her a few truths. I still believe I was within my full right to do so. Someone had obviously not bothered to raise the child properly; it was high time somebody took her in hand.'

'So you scared the wits out of her,' said Niclas, clenching his fists.

'I saw the Devil in her recoil,' Arne said proudly.

'You God-damned…' Niclas took a step towards him, but stopped when a hard knock was heard at the door.

Time stood still for a second and then the moment passed. Niclas knew that he had been standing at the edge of the abyss and then retreated. If he'd gone after his father, he wouldn't have been able to stop. Not this time.

He left the room without looking at either his father or his mother and opened the front door. The man outside seemed surprised to see him there.

'Oh, hello. Martin Molin. We've met before. I'm from the police. I'd like to have a word with your father.'

Niclas stepped aside without a word. He felt the officer watching him as he walked to his car.

'Where's Martin?' said Patrik.

'He drove over to Fjällbacka,' Annika said. 'Charlotte identified our nasty old man without much difficulty. It's Sara's grandfather, Arne Antonsson. A bit of a nut case according to Charlotte. He and his son have evidently not spoken to each other in years.'

'Just so Martin remembers to check his alibi, both for the morning when Sara was murdered and for the incident yesterday with the little boy'