“Yes,” Morelius said. “Her mom should be here any moment.”

“Well… in that case,” said the doctor, starting to leave.

“Thank you, Doctor,” Bartram said.

They watched the doctor disappear through the swinging doors.

“Arrogant bastard,” Bartram said.

“He no doubt thinks the same about you.”

Bartram muttered something inaudible and looked at his colleague. It was shortly after eleven and Morelius’s face seemed speckled in the bright light of the waiting room.

“So she’s the vicar’s daughter, is she? Are you sure? Hanne Östergaard, who heals our suffering souls.”

“There’s no need to be sarcastic.” Morelius had the girl’s purse in his hand. He’d examined her ID card. “Maria Ostergaard. An address in Orgryte. Our police chaplain is called Hanne Ostergaard and lives in Orgryte. And she has a daughter called Maria.”

“How do you know all that?”

“Does it matter?”

“No, no.”

“I’m not a hundred percent certain.” A woman hurried in through the door. “Now I’m certain,” said Morelius, and went over to Hanne.

“Where’s Maria?” she asked. “Where is she, Simon?”

“She’s still in the treatment room, or whatever it’s called,” Morelius said. “But everything seems to be all right.”

“All right? Everything seems to be all right?” Hanne looked as if she were close to hysterics. “Is there anybody here who can show me where to go?” A nurse had just come in through the swinging doors and the police officers watched as Hanne half-ran into the corridor leading to the treatment room.

The boy who’d been hovering in the background followed her. He glanced over his shoulder, then disappeared into the corridor.

“You were right, dammit,” Bartram said. “And you’re on first-name terms.”

Morelius didn’t answer.

“Not even vicars are spared,” Bartram said.