Anders left yesterday after I told him everything.

He said he just needed to clear his mind and think and he would call me later. I won’t let myself think about the way he looked at me as he left. I don’t have time yet.

She’ll knock on the door any second. What do I do?

I know. I know I’m right. Everything fell into place, everything I had noticed but hadn’t because even though I thought I was investigating, thought my little talks with Ida and Torsten and von Dursen were achieving something, really I was stumbling around in the darkness chained to the ground by my terror of my own guilt.

But it’s nothing concrete. I can’t go to the police with half baked suspicions, so what do I do? I called her on impluse, it all came together in a blinding flash and I called her, thinking – what? She would come over for coffee and confess girly secrets such as she has murdered three people?

Maybe I should leave the apartment. I should have suggested meeting in a coffee shop, somewhere public. It’s not too late, I could text and say I changed my mind.

Or would that make her suspicious? Only if she has any clue what I am thinking. Why would she? I’m the moron who obediently trotted along to the memorial with my Columbo hat on all set to meet Fritjof and learn about Jenny’s death and his suspicion of Anders; who dutifully reported here the story of Hanna hitting on Anders, conveniently placing him outside with Hanna and angry at her; who believed the cock and bull story about von Dursen and the will. I’ve been playing into her hands all along.

She’ll be here any second. What the hell do I do?