Eira Sjödin tugged down her sweatpants, put on a fresh pair of underwear and desperately rummaged through her wardrobe for something slightly more appropriate for an investigator with Violent Crimes. Her top was stained and probably smelled slightly of sweat, but these were the sorts of things she rarely thought about while she was sitting alone in front of her computer at home, relegated to so-called desk duty.

She brewed a pot of coffee and took some sliced bread out of the freezer.

A body in the river, her neighbour had said on the phone. He was with the divers who’d found it right now.

‘Have you called it in?’ Eira had already found her shoes and was on her way out before Allan Westin had time to explain that the person was very much dead.

‘OK,’ she said. ‘Bring them over.’

A cool breeze blew through the kitchen as she opened the window to let some fresh air in. Strictly speaking, a body in the river wasn’t a case for Violent Crimes. Not unless they suspected there was foul play involved. It fell under the jurisdiction of the local police, and she no longer worked for them. Just the thought of her old job made Eira long to get back out on the road, driving mile upon mile, never knowing what might be waiting around the next bend.

She moved her laptop to one side and cleared the case files from the kitchen table. Bank statements, names, telephone numbers. A large drug ring that grew bigger and bigger the more she pulled the thread. It was important work, vital for building a case against their prime suspect down in Sundsvall, but Eira hadn’t become a police officer in order to sit in front of a computer all day. It left her feeling restless and drowsy, whether she was in her cramped booth at the station or at the kitchen table – the latter of which had become perfectly acceptable since the pandemic.

Sure, a pregnant woman could go out and speak