Something had happened the year before Alex moved away, and nobody had ever bothered to tell Erica what it was. The whispering had always stopped as soon as she came near; she had been shielded from something that she now desperately needed to understand. The problem was that she didn’t know where to start. The only thing she remembered from her attempts to eavesdrop on conversations that were conducted in whispers by the adults, was that she heard the word ‘school’ mentioned more than once. It wasn’t much to go on, but it was all she had. Erica knew that the teacher she and Alex had had in middle school was still living in Fjällbacka. That was probably as good a place to start as any.

The wind had picked up and despite her thick layers of clothing the cold began to creep in. Erica felt that it was time to start moving. She glanced one last time at Fjällbacka nestled in its protected position with the mountain towering behind. In the summer it was usually bathed in golden light, but now it was grey and bare; yet Erica thought it was even lovelier like this. In the summertime the area was more reminiscent of an anthill with its constant activity. Now a quiet peace had settled over the little town, and she could almost imagine it hibernating. At the same time she knew that the peace was illusory. Under the surface there was just as much evil as anywhere else inhabited by human beings. Erica had seen a good deal of that in Stockholm, but she believed that it was even more sinister here. Hatred, envy, greed and revenge, all of it concealed underneath a huge lid that was created by sentiments such as: ‘what would people say?’ All the evil, pettiness and malice was quietly allowed to ferment beneath a surface that always had to look so neat and clean. Now that Erica was standing on the rocks of Badholmen and looking back at the snow-covered little town, she wondered in silence what secrets it was guarding.

She gave a shiver, stuck her hands deep in her pockets and headed back towards town.

Life had become more and more threatening with each year that passed. Axel Wennerström was always discovering new dangers. It had started when he became acutely aware of all the billions and trillions of bacilli and bacteria swirling around him. Having to touch anything became a challenge; if he was forced to do so, he saw armies of bacteria rushing over him, threatening to bring along a myriad of known and unknown diseases that would surely cause him a long and painful death. Then his very surroundings became a threat. Big surfaces presented certain dangers, small surfaces presented others. Ending up in a crowd of people made sweat seep from all the pores on his body, and his breathing would get fast and shallow. The only environment Axel could even partially control was his own home. He quickly realized that he could actually live his life without ever having to set foot outside his door again.

The last time Axel went outside was eight years ago. He had so effectively repressed all possible desire to venture out that he no longer knew whether the rest of the world was there or not. He was content with his life and saw no reason to change a thing.

Axel Wennerström spent his days following a routine that was well practised by now. Each day followed the same schedule, and today was no different. He got up at seven o’clock and ate breakfast. Then he cleaned the whole kitchen with strong cleaning solutions in order to eradicate any possible bacteria that the food he’d eaten for breakfast might have spread after it was taken out of the refrigerator. He spent the next few hours dusting, wiping off and putting in order the rest of the house. Not until one o’clock could he grant himself a break and sit down with his newspaper on the veranda. According to a special arrangement with Signe, the letter-carrier, he got his newspaper in a plastic bag each morning. That allowed him to repress at least partially the image of all the filthy human hands that had handled the paper before it landed in his letter-box.

A knock on the door made his adrenaline skyrocket. Nobody was supposed to come at this time of day. The person who delivered his food normally came early on Friday mornings. That was the only visitor he usually had. Laboriously, Axel made his way inch by inch towards the door. The knocks came again, insistently. He reached out a shaky hand towards the top lock and unfastened it. He wished he had a peephole, the kind usually found in the doors of more modern flats, but in his old building there wasn’t even a window in the door through which he could view the intruder. He also unlocked the bottom bolt and with a pounding heart he opened the door. He had to check a desire to close his eyes to shut out whatever appalling, nameless creature awaited him out there.

‘Axel? Axel Wennerström?’

He relaxed. Women were less threatening than men. For safety’s sake he kept the security chain on.

‘Yes, what is it?’

He tried to sound as discouraging as possible. He just wanted this person, whoever she was, to go away and leave him in peace.

‘Hello, Axel. I don’t know if you remember me, but I was in your class at school. Erica Falck?’

He searched his memory. That was so many years ago, and there had been so many pupils. Faintly, the image of a little blonde girl began to appear. That was it, Tore’s girl.

‘I wonder whether I could have a word with you.’

She gave him an urgent look through the crack in the door. Axel sighed deeply, unhooked the door chain and let her in. He tried not to think of how many unknown organisms she was bringing with her into his clean home. He pointed to a shoe rack to indicate that she should take off her shoes. She obeyed politely and also hung up her coat and scarf. To avoid getting her dirt in the rest of the house he showed her to the wicker furniture on the veranda. She sat down on the sofa, and he made a mental note to wash the cushions as soon as she left.

‘It’s certainly been a long time.’

‘Yes, it must be twenty-five years since you were in my class, if I’m figuring correctly.’

‘Yes, that’s right. The years go by so fast.’

Axel found small talk frustrating, but reluctantly resigned himself to it. He wished that she would get to the point and tell him why she came here. Then she would leave and he could have his home to himself again. For the life of him he couldn’t comprehend what she wanted from him. Old pupils had come and gone by the hundreds over the years; until now, he had been spared actually seeing any of them in person. But now Erica Falck was sitting here before him. He felt on pins and needles as he sat on the wicker armchair facing her. He was so eager to get rid of her. His eyes kept looking at the cushion underneath her, and he could literally see all the bacteria she had brought in creeping and crawling and spreading down from the sofa across the floor. It probably wouldn’t be enough to wash the cushion; he would have to clean and disinfect the entire house after she left.

‘You’re probably wondering why I’m here.’

He merely nodded in reply.

‘You must have heard that Alexandra Wijkner was murdered.’

He had heard about it, and it had stirred up things that he had spent a good part of his life trying to repress. Now he wished even more that Erica Falck would get up and walk out the door. But she was still sitting there, and he had to fight a childish impulse to put his hands over his ears and hum loudly to shut out all the words he knew were going to come.

‘I have my own reasons for investigating a number of things associated with Alex and her death, and I’d like to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind.’

Axel closed his eyes. He had known that this day would come eventually.

‘All right. That will be fine.’

He didn’t want to ask what her reasons were for asking about Alex. She could keep them to herself, if she wanted to; he wasn’t interested. She could ask her questions, but there was nothing forcing him to answer them. At the same time he felt to his astonishment a strong urge to tell everything to the blonde woman sitting across from him. To unload onto someone, anyone, everything he had been holding on to for twenty-five years. It had poisoned his life. It had grown like seeds deep inside his conscience and then slowly spread like a poison through his body and his mind. In his more lucid moments, he knew that this was at the root of his mania for cleanliness and his increasing terror of anything that might endanger the control he had over his surroundings. Erica Falck could ask what she liked, but he would do his utmost to check every impulse to answer. He knew that if he started to lose his grip, dams would burst and threaten to eradicate the shield he had so carefully constructed. That must not happen.