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The Huss family was celebrating. As one might expect, given their connections to the restaurant business, the table was adorned with artistically folded linen napkins and flickering candles, along with a range of glasses and cutlery to go with each course. Needless to say the menu was pretty special too, thanks to the two chefs in the family.
      Krister raised his glass and cleared his throat. “Right now we have plenty to celebrate. Jenny, your mom and I are so pleased that you’ve completed your training to become a chef, and found an apartment and a job. Congratulations!”
      Everyone joined in the toast, sipping vintage Champagne, while Jenny stuck to alcohol-free cider. When she was a teenager she had followed a strict vegan diet. Her training in vegetarian cuisine had softened her approach somewhat, but she still refused to touch alcohol.
      Krister allowed the delicious sparkling wine to linger on his palate for a moment.
      “And of course we want to congratulate Katarina and Felipe, even though it’s been a month since you got engaged. We wish you every happiness!”
      Once again the glasses were raised.
      “And on Wednesday Irene and I celebrated our silver wedding anniversary. Twenty-five years. And you’ve been with us for twenty-four of those years,” Krister went on, winking at his daughters.
      That wasn’t quite true; the twins had been there throughout their marriage. Irene recalled the wedding photo with a shudder; she had been seven months pregnant, and had looked like the battleship Potemkin in the full-length shot. She hadn’t framed it, but had chosen a close-up where she and Krister were both smiling into the camera. We were so young, she often thought when she glanced at the picture. She had been almost a year younger than the twins were now when she became a mother. Somehow they had managed to steer their little family through a quarter of a century; it hadn’t always been easy, but now it seemed as if things were beginning to fall into place for all of them—not least Krister.
      “My turn, I think,” Irene said, smiling at her husband. He rolled his eyes, but couldn’t hide his pleasure.
      “We all want to congratulate you, my darling, on becoming the owner of Glady’s. You’ve run the place for many years, so I have no doubt that it will be a success. Here’s to you, my love!”
      With that she kissed Krister on the lips as the others whistled and cheered.
      “Why did Månsson suddenly decided to sell the place to you?” Jenny asked when things calmed down.
      Krister’s expression immediately grew serious.
      “He didn’t have a choice. I had no idea, but apparently he gambled, and he was heavily in debt. That was the reason behind the divorce, and that was also why he moved here just under two years ago. He must have gotten a good price for the restaurants he owned in Stockholm, because he was able to pay off his debts and buy both Glady’s and Sjökrogen. Or maybe he borrowed some of the money . . . I don’t know.”
      “So now he’s sold both restaurants here in Göteborg in order to pay off new debts?” Katarina said.
      “Presumably. He had some counseling to help him beat his addiction back in the spring, and he seems to have sorted out his finances; he and his new girlfriend . . . what was her name . . . Jeanette Stenberg, that’s it. She worked as head waitress at Glady’s for a while before she took over at Sjökrogen, that’s how I know her. Nice girl.”
      Krister took a sip of Champagne before going on:
      “Anyway, Janne and Jeanette are moving to Majorca on Monday. He called me yesterday to say goodbye. He was still packing and I was working, so we didn’t even manage to get together for a beer.”
      “What are they going to do over there?” Irene was curious.
      She didn’t know Jan-Erik Månsson very well; he was an old friend of Krister’s. They had worked well together in Stockholm, and had become friends. Irene and Krister had met while she was doing her police training in Stockholm, and she had seen Janne a few times. He was a friendly, likeable, outgoing guy. When Irene completed her training she wanted to move back to Göteborg, and Krister joined her. Janne worked overseas for a few years, then returned to the capital where he had a brilliant career. A lot of people were surprised when he suddenly sold his two-star restaurants and relocated to Göteborg, his hometown, following his divorce.
      “They’re going to run a restaurant in an upmarket hotel in a small town called Puerto Pollensa. Apparently the owner is an old friend of Janne’s,” Krister said.
      It was time to serve the starter. Krister headed for the kitchen to grill Jenny’s herb and tofu stuffed tomatoes and the omnivores’ lobster, almost tripping over Egon, who suddenly appeared, moving at top speed.
      “Egon!” Krister exclaimed, saving himself by grabbing hold of the doorpost.
      The little dachshund stopped dead. In his mouth he was carrying his beloved blue ball, which he had inherited from Sammie, the family’s first dog. He sat down and tilted his head to one side, his tail swishing to and fro as he kept his eyes expectantly fixed on his master. Naturally Krister melted as usual. He bent down and picked up the dog.
      “Not now, little man. Later. Let’s find you some food first,” he said, burying his nose in Egon’s soft coat.
      The word “later” wasn’t part of Egon’s vocabulary, but he heard “food” very clearly and started yapping. It was one of his favorite words.
      “I’ll come and feed Egon so you can concentrate on dinner,” Irene said, getting to her feet.

*

Through the half-open bedroom door, Irene watched as Egon scrambled up onto the bed. He belched a couple of times, then rolled over on his back with his paws in the air. His meal of dog biscuits mixed with morsels of tender saddle of venison had obviously been delicious; he had eaten every scrap and licked the bowl clean.
      Egon fell asleep on the bed as the conversation and laughter continued in the living room.
 
*

The insistent sound of the telephone woke
Irene early on Sunday morning.
      “Leave it,” Krister murmured, trying to pull her close.
      “I can’t. It might be important,” Irene said, fumbling for the receiver. Her head felt heavy, and she knew she had drunk more than usual the previous evening. But it had been a family party; they didn’t get together very often now that the girls were grown up and living their own lives. It was hard to find an opportunity when everyone was available at the same time.
      A glance at the alarm clock told her she had slept for less than four hours, so it was hardly surprising she wasn’t firing on all cylinders.
      “Irene Huss,” she said, trying to sound brighter than she felt.
      “Morning—it’s Fredrik. I’m really sorry, but you’re going to have to come in today,” said Detective Inspector Fredrik Stridh, as full of life as ever.
      “But it’s my day off. Krister and I celebrated our silver wedding anniversary yesterday.” Irene didn’t even try to hide the yawn that made her jawbone crack.
      “So you’re a little the worse for wear? I do understand, but there’s no one else. Hannu, Sara and Jonny are still on vacation. I’ve checked the roster; Jonny and Sara are due back tomorrow, but I can’t get hold of either of them. I’m afraid you’re the only member of the team who’s available.”
      Krister had been right; she shouldn’t have answered the phone.
      “Okay. What’s it about?” she said with an audible sigh.
      “There was a barbecue at Gothia MC’s old place out at Ringön late last night,” Fredrik replied.
      “A barbecue?”
      “They decided to flame-grill some guy.”