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“It may not even be important,” she said as she continued her discussion.

“I guess,” Sammy said but Lindell heard his doubt.

“What should we do?” she asked.

“What should you do?” Sammy shot back, grinning.

They discussed the matter for a long time. Lindell felt a growing sense of relief. Her judgment and decision to keep this information to herself had been hers and hers alone and she was the one who would perhaps end up taking the heat for it but talking about the problem made her feel better.

“I don’t believe in this queen plot,” Sammy said for a second time.

“Who does?”

“Ander and Allan,” Sammy said. “They sound like a circus act. ‘Come and see tonight’s act: Ander and Allan!’”

He made her laugh. Erik stood by her feet and laughed along.

“We’ll talk more later?”

“You bet we will,” Sammy said, and Lindell was touched by his words.

Thirty seconds after she put the phone down the phone rang. She picked up, convinced it was Sammy who had thought of something else, but the call came from Ödeshög.

“Hello Ann, I just wanted to see how you were doing. I’ve seen on the television how things are going there in Uppsala.”

Ann sat down at the kitchen table. Yet another thing she felt guilty about. Ann called her parents all too seldom and she visited them even more rarely. Since Erik was born they had of course come for several visits but the contact between them was getting thinner and thinner. She didn’t know why. Odeshog was a finished chapter. She had no ties there anymore other than the fact that her parents still lived there.

Ann had no siblings and felt some pressure to be a good daughter. Erik’s birth had done some good in deflecting her mother’s at times intrusive though well-meaning intentions, even if her mother had a great deal to say about the circumstances. She touched frequently on the fact that the boy didn’t have a father.

Ann talked about the murder case for a while, shooting down the worst exaggerations of the media and trying to present the work in as sanitized a form as was humanly possible. Her parents were never curious in a positive way. They lamented the fact that Ann had such a depressing job. Ann was never quite clear on what profession they would have been pleased with. Most likely they would have complained about any job that she had had.

Her mother was in good health, her father somewhat unwell as usual. He had not stopped smoking despite his doctor’s orders. Bertholdsson’s youngest had moved away from home. The nearest neighbor had chopped away at the spirea hedge they had in common so it would probably never flower again.

That was, in short, the information that Ann received. Why don’t you tell someone who gives a damn, she thought unkindly, but tried to sound attentive.

They ended the conversation with the usual exhortations from her mother’s side, directed mostly at Erik’s well-being, and Ann’s half promises to visit soon.

Görel turned up and while Ann finished getting ready they chatted about this and that. Görel was like that, she mixed up big and small things into a single conversation. It could be the Prime Minister Göran Persson, discussions about the House of Music, or a new laundering technique.

“You can use regular dishwashing liquid,” she claimed and pinched Ann’s skirt at the same time. “This one is really cute. Where did you get it?”

“I can’t remember,” Ann said truthfully.

“It’ll be coming off quick tonight,” Görel said with a guffaw.

“What are you talking about?”

“This is the second time you’re seeing him. And you aren’t exactly a nun.”

“But Görel, I don’t want to . . .”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to embarrass you. Bring the man home if you like and I’ll sneak off without a word. I promise! But I do want to see what he looks like.”

At exactly eight o’clock—the cathedral on the other side of the Fyris River announced the time—Ann Lindell stepped into the I & I Kitchen and Bar.

Charles Morgansson was sitting at the bar, but could just as well have been sitting