Each of them is holding a photo of Göran Andersson; three pictures that they’ve brought along, given to them by Lena Lundberg. Kerstin Holm is half-reclining on the bed. In her hands she’s holding a group photo of the staff at the bank in Algotsmåla from the summer of 1992. They’re posing outside the bank, all four of them smiling pleasantly. It’s a PR shot. In the front stands Lisbet Heed and a young woman who is Mia Lindström; at the back are Albert Josephson and Göran Andersson. Andersson is tall, blue-eyed, blond, wearing a nice suit. He has one hand on Lisbet Heed’s shoulder, and his wide smile shows very white teeth. The bridge in his mouth is apparently in place. There’s nothing special about him. Just like hundreds of similar-looking Swedish bank tellers. ‘He was always a model employee,’ Lena Lundberg had said, speaking in the distinct, broad accent of Småland as she glanced up from her coffee cup for a moment. ‘Almost a perfectionist, you might say. Never a day’s absence, except after the accident.
