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. . .’
    She poured water into her own cup and took the kettle over to the island. Halfway back to the table she stopped.
    ‘Do you take milk?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘I can heat it up if you want? Like a latte.’
    ‘No, it’s fine.’
    ‘Sure?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Okay.’
    She smiled, sat down opposite him, picked up a tea bag – lemon and ginger – popped it in her cup and dunked it up and down a few times. Once again she caught Sebastian’s eye and smiled. In return he managed something which with a certain amount of goodwill could be interpreted as a smile, then looked away. He didn’t want to be here. He usually avoided situations like this. Now he remembered why. He couldn’t bear the false sense of togetherness, the idea that they had something in common, in spite of the fact that they would never see each other again – not if he had anything to do with it. He fixed his gaze on one of the kitchen cupboards and allowed his mind to wander while Ellinor stirred a spoonful of honey into her tea. She took a mini-baguette out of the basket, split it in two, spread butter on it, then added cheese, ham and two rings of yellow pepper. She took a bite, gazing at Sebastian as she chewed. Sebastian, who was still staring out into the room beyond her.
    ‘Sebastian?’
    He gave a start and looked at her enquiringly.
    ‘What are you thinking about?’
    He really had disappeared. Again. To the place where he always ended up. To the thing that seemed to occupy his every waking hour these days. It was a virtually unknown feeling for Sebastian. The obsession. Even during the most successful phase of his career, when he had been totally committed, he had never had any difficulty in pushing aside unwelcome thoughts. If a case was threatening to take over his life in a way he didn’t like, he simply stopped thinking about it for a few days. Did something else. Reclaimed the initiative.
    Sebastian Bergman was a man who did not lose control. Not for anything, not to anyone. At least, that was how things used to be.
    Now things had changed.
    Life had shaken him up. Damaged him.
    Not just once. Twice.
    He’d been nowhere near finding his way back after the disaster in Thailand on Boxing Day 2004 when he went to Västerås three months ago. The purpose of the trip had been to sell his parents’ house, and as he was clearing the place out he had found some letters. Letters sent to his mother in 1979. From a woman who said she was pregnant with his child. Letters he had not received at the time. Three months ago he had done all he could to trace the sender. Sebastian’s former colleagues from Riksmord had been in Västerås to investigate the brutal murder of a young boy, and he had wormed his way into the case in order to make use of all the resources available to the police so that he could put a face to the sender of those letters. To find an address. Information.
    He had found it all. A woman at Storskärsgatan 12 had opened the door to him. A face. Anna Eriksson’s face. He had been given information. Yes, he had a daughter, but she would never know that Sebastian was her father. She already had a father. Valdemar Lithner. Valdemar, who knew that Vanja was not his.
    So they would never meet, Sebastian and his daughter. It would destroy so much. Destroy everything. For everyone. Sebastian had to more or less promise that he would never seek her out.
    The problem was that they had already met.
    More than that.
    They had worked together.
    In Västerås. He and Vanja Lithner, an investigator with Riksmord. Smart, driven, efficient, strong.
    His daughter.
    He had a daughter.
    Again.
    Since then he had been more or less stalking her. He couldn’t really explain why, not even to himself. He got to see her, but that was all. He never let her know he was there. What would he say? What could he say?
    Now he looked at Ellinor, who had gently asked what he was thinking about, and responded with the word that would probably provoke the minimum