The sixth book in the Patrik Hedstrom series, 2012

Translated from the Swedish by Tiina Nunnally

He had known that sooner or later it would come to light again. Something like that was impossible to hide. Every word had led him closer to what was unnameable and appalling. What he had been trying for so many years to repress.

Now escape was no longer an option. He felt the morning air fill his lungs as he walked as fast as he could. His heart was pounding in his chest. He didn�t want to go there, but he had to. So he had chosen to let fate decide. If someone was there, he would have to speak. If nobody was there, he would continue on his way to work, as if nothing had happened.

But the door opened when he knocked. He stepped inside and squinted in the dim light. The person standing in front of him was not the one he had expected to see. It was somebody else.

Her long hair swung rhythmically from side to side as he followed her into the next room. He started talking, asking questions. His thoughts were whirling round and round in his head. Nothing was what it appeared to be. This was all wrong, and yet it seemed right.

Suddenly he fell silent. Something had struck him in the solar plexus with a force that stopped his words in mid-sentence. He looked down and saw blood starting to seep out as the knife was pulled from the wound. Then a new stab, more pain, and the sharp blade twisting inside his body.

He knew it was over. It would all end here, even though there was still so much he had left to do and see and experience. At the same time there was a kind of justice in what was happening. He hadn�t deserved the good life he�d enjoyed, or all the love he�d been given. Not after what he had done.

After the pain had numbed his senses and the knife stopped moving, the water came. The rocking motion of a boat. And when he was enveloped by the cold sea, all other sensations ceased.

The last thing he remembered was her hair. Long, and dark.

�But it�s been three months! Why haven�t you found him?�

Patrik Hedstr�m gazed at the woman in front of him. She looked more exhausted every time he saw her. And she came into the police station in Tanumshede once a week. Every Wednesday. She�d been doing this ever since her husband disappeared in early November.

�We�re doing everything we can, Cia. You know that.�

She nodded without saying a word. Her hands were trembling as she held them clasped in her lap. Then she looked at him, her eyes filled with tears. It wasn�t the first time Patrik had seen this happen.

�He�s not coming back, is he?�

Now her voice was trembling as well as her hands, and Patrik had to resist the urge to go round his desk and give the fragile woman a comforting hug. Somehow, even though it went against all his protective instincts, he remained cool and professional, considering how to respond. Finally he took a deep breath and said:

�No, I don�t think he is.�

She didn�t ask any more questions, but he could see that his words had only reinforced what Cia Kjellner already knew. Her husband was never coming home. On the third of November Magnus had got up at six thirty, showered, dressed, waved goodbye first to his two children and then to his wife as they left for the day. Just after eight o�clock Magnus was seen leaving the house on the way to Tanum Windows, his place of work. After that nobody knew where he had gone. He never showed up at the house of his colleague, who was supposed to give him a ride to the office. Somewhere between his own home in the neighbourhood near the sports pitch and his colleague�s house by the Fj�llbacka miniature golf course, Magnus Kjellner had vanished.

The police had examined every aspect of his life. They had put out an APB and spoken with more than fifty people, including co-workers, family members and friends. They had searched for debts that might have compelled him to flee, and for secret lovers. They investigated the possibility that he might have embezzled money from his employer � anything that might explain why a respectable man of forty with a wife and two teenage kids would suddenly just leave the house and disappear. But the police hadn�t found a single lead. There was nothing to indicate that he had travelled abroad, nor had any money been withdrawn from the couple�s joint bank account. Magnus Kjellner had simply vanished without trace.

After Patrik had shown Cia out, he knocked cautiously on Paula Morales�s door. �Come in,� she said at once. He stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

�Was it his wife again?�

�Yes,� said Patrik with a sigh, sitting down on the visitor�s chair. He put his feet up on the desk, but after a fierce look from Paula he quickly took them down.

�Do you think he�s dead?�

�I�m afraid so,� said Patrik. For the first time voicing the suspicion he had felt ever since Magnus went missing. �We�ve checked out everything, and the guy had none of the usual reasons for disappearing. It seems he just left home one day and then� he was gone.�

�But no body has been found.�

�No, there�s no body,� said Patrik. �And where are we supposed to look? We can�t drag the whole sea or search all the woods around Fj�llbacka. All we can do is twiddle our thumbs and hope that someone finds him. Either dead or alive. Because I have no idea what else to do. And I don�t know what to say when Cia shows up here each week, expecting us to have made some sort of progress in the case.�

�That�s just her way of dealing with the situation. It makes her feel like she�s doing something instead of simply sitting at home waiting for news. I know that would drive me crazy.� Paula glanced at the photograph she kept next to her computer.

�I understand that,� said Patrik. �But it doesn�t make things any easier.�

�No, of course not.�

For a few moments silence descended over the cramped office. At last Patrik stood up. �We�ll just have to hope that he turns up. One way or another.�

�I suppose you�re right,� said Paula. But she sounded just as dejected as Patrik.

�What a fatty.�

�You should talk!� Anna pointed at Erica�s belly as she stared at her sister in the mirror.

Erica Falck turned so that she stood in profile, just like Anna, and she had to agree. Good God, she was huge. She looked like a gigantic belly with a tiny Erica stuck on to it, just for the sake of appearances. And that was exactly how she felt. By comparison, her body had been a miracle of suppleness when she was pregnant with Maja. But this time she was carrying two babies.

�I�m really not the least bit envious of you,� Anna said with the brutal honesty of a younger sister.

�Thanks a lot,� said Erica, bumping her with her stomach. Anna bumped her back, and both of them almost lost their balance. For a moment they stood flailing their arms in the air in an effort to stay on their feet, but then they started laughing so hard that they had to sit down on the floor.

�What a joke!� said Erica, wiping tears from her eyes. �Nobody should look like this. I�m a cross between Barbapapa and the man in the Monty Python film who explodes when he eats a wafer-thin mint.�

�Well, I�m eternally grateful that you�re having twins. Thanks to you, I feel like a slender nymph in comparison.�

�You�re welcome,� replied Erica, making a move to get up. But nothing came of her efforts.

�Wait, I�ll help you,� said Anna, but she too lost the battle with gravity and ended up on her backside again. They both had the same thought as they looked at each other. And then they yelled in unison: �Dan!�

�What is it?� they heard from downstairs.

�We can�t get up!� Anna called.

�What�d you say?�

They heard him coming up the stairs towards the bedroom where they were sitting on the floor.

�What on earth are you two doing?� Dan said with amusement when he caught sight of his fianc�e Anna and her sister sitting in front of the full-length mirror.

�We can�t get up,� said Erica with as much dignity as she could muster, reaching out her hand.

�Hold on, I�ll go get the forklift,� said Dan, pretending to head back downstairs.

�Cut that out,� said Erica, as Anna laughed so hard she had to lie down.

�Okay, I�ll give it a try.� Dan took hold of Erica�s hand and began to pull her up. �Erggggg!� he groaned.

�Skip the sound effects, if you don�t mind,� Erica told him as she slowly got to her feet.

�Damn, you�re huge,� exclaimed Dan, and Erica punched him in the arm.

�You�ve said that at least a hundred times, and you�re not the only one. Why don�t you stop staring at me and focus on your own little chubette instead?�

�Okay. Sure.� Dan now pulled Anna to her feet, and then gave her a big kiss on the lips.

�You guys should get a room if you�re going to do that,� said Erica, poking Dan in the side.

�This is our room,� said Dan, kissing Anna again.

�Okay. Then let�s concentrate on the reason I�m here,� said Erica, going over to her sister�s wardrobe.

�I don�t know why you think I can help you,� said Anna, waddling after Erica. �I can�t imagine that I have anything that�ll fit you.�

�So what am I supposed to do, then?� Erica was looking through the clothes on the hangers. �Christian�s book launch is tonight, and the only thing I can fit into is Maja�s wigwam.�

�Okay, we�ll work something out. The trousers you have on look fine, and I think I have a shirt that might fit you. It�s a little too big for me, at any rate.�

Anna reached for an embroidered lavender tunic hanging in the wardrobe. Erica took off her T-shirt and pulled the tunic over her head with Anna�s help. Getting it down over her stomach was like stuffing a Christmas sausage, but she managed it. Then she turned towards the mirror and stared at herself with a critical expression.

�You look fantastic,� Anna said, and Erica grunted in response. With her present figure, �fantastic� sounded way beyond reach, but at least she looked decent and as if she�d made an effort.

�It�ll do,� she said. She tried to take the tunic off by herself, but had to give up and let Anna help her.

�Where�s the party?� Anna asked as she smoothed out the tunic and put it back on the hanger.

�At the Grand Hotel.�

�Nice of the publisher to throw a launch party for a first-time author,� said Anna, heading for the stairs.

�The company is really enthusiastic about the book. And the advance orders are incredibly good for a first novel, so they�re more than happy to host a party. There seems to be plenty of support from the press as well, according to what I�ve heard from the publisher.�

�So what do you think of the book? I assume you like it, or else you wouldn�t have recommended it to your publisher. But how good is it?�

�It�s�� Erica pondered what to say about the book as she cautiously made her way down the stairs, following her sister. �It�s magical. Dark and beautiful, disturbing and powerful and� well, magical is the best word I can think of to describe it.�

�Christian must be over the moon.�

�Yes, I suppose he is.� Erica sounded a bit doubtful as she went into the kitchen. Knowing where everything was, she went straight for the coffee-maker. �At the same time he seems�� She stopped talking so she wouldn�t lose count as she spooned coffee into the filter. �He was ecstatic when his book was accepted for publication, but I get the feeling the writing process has stirred up something for him. It�s hard to say, because I don�t really know him that well. I�m not sure why he asked me for advice, but I was happy to help. And I do have a lot of experience when it comes to editing manuscripts, even though I don�t write novels. At first everything went smoothly, and Christian seemed open to all my suggestions. But towards the end he would sometimes withdraw when I wanted to discuss certain issues. I can�t really explain it. But he is a bit eccentric. Maybe that�s all there is to it.�

�Then I suppose he found the right profession,� said Anna solemnly.

Erica turned to face her. �So now I�m not only fat but eccentric too?�

�And don�t forget absent-minded.� Anna nodded towards the coffee-maker that Erica had just turned on. �It helps if you put water in it first.�

The coffee-maker puffed in agreement, and with a stern look at her sister Erica shut it off.

She was the most beautiful person he�d ever seen. She smelled so good, and her long hair was tied back with a white ribbon. It shone so brightly that he almost felt the need to squint. He took a tentative step towards her, uncertain whether he would be allowed to partake of all this beauty. She held out her arms to give him permission, and with quick steps he leapt into her embrace. Away from the blackness, away from the evil. Instead he was enveloped in whiteness, in light, in a floral scent and with silky soft hair against his cheek.

�Are you my mother now?� he said at last, reluctantly taking a step back. She nodded. �Really?� He was waiting for someone to come in and, with some brusque remark, smash everything to pieces, telling him that he�d only been dreaming. And that this wonderful creature couldn�t possibly be the mother of somebody like him.

But no voice spoke. Instead, she simply nodded, and he couldn�t help himself. He threw himself into her arms again and never, ever wanted to leave. Somewhere inside his head there were other pictures, other scents and sounds that wanted to surface, but they were drowned out by the floral perfume and the rustling of her dress. He pushed those images away. Forced them to disappear, to be replaced by all that was new and amazing. All that was unbelievable.

He looked up at his new mother, and his heart beat twice as fast with joy. When she took his hand and led him away from there, he went with her quite willingly.

�I heard that things took a rather dramatic turn last night. What was Christian thinking, getting drunk at an event like that?� Kenneth Bengtsson was late arriving at the office after a rough morning at home. He tossed his jacket on the sofa, but a disapproving glance from Erik made him pick it up again and hang it on a hook in the hall.

�You�re right. It was undeniably a lamentable end to the evening,� Erik replied. �On the other hand, Louise seemed determined to escape into an alcoholic haze, so at least I was spared that experience.�

�Are things really that bad?� asked Kenneth, looking at Erik. It was rare for Erik to confide anything personal to him. That was how he�d always been. Both when they were kids, playing together, and now that they were adults. Erik treated Kenneth as if he barely tolerated him, as if he was doing the man a favour by deigning to spend time with him. If it hadn�t been for the fact that Kenneth actually had something to offer Erik, their friendship would have been over long ago. That was exactly what had happened while Erik was studying at the university and working in G�teborg, while Kenneth had stayed in Fj�llbacka and started up his small accounting firm. A company that over the years had become a very successful business.

Because Kenneth was, in fact, quite talented. He was aware that he wasn�t particularly good-looking or charming, and he had no illusions about having more than average intelligence. But he did have a remarkable ability to work wonders when it came to numbers. He could juggle with the sums in a profit-and-loss report or balance sheet as if he were the David Beckham of the accounting world. Combined with his ability to persuade the tax authorities to see his side of things, Kenneth had suddenly, and for the first time ever, become a highly valuable person for Erik. He was the natural choice when Erik needed an associate as he entered the construction market, which had lately become such a lucrative enterprise on the west coast of Sweden. Erik had, of course, made it very clear that Kenneth needed to know his place, since he owned only a third of the company and not half � although he really should have done, considering what he contributed to the firm. But that didn�t matter. Kenneth wasn�t interested in amassing wealth or power. He was content to work with the things he was good at, and to be Erik�s associate.

�I really have no idea what to do about Louise,� said Erik, getting up from behind his desk. �If it weren�t for the children�� He shook his head as he put on his coat.

Kenneth nodded sympathetically. He knew full well what the situation was. And it had nothing to do with the children. What was stopping Erik from divorcing Louise was the fact that she would then be entitled to half of their money and other assets.

�I�m going out for lunch, and I�ll be gone for a while. A long lunch today.�

�Okay,� said Kenneth. A long lunch. Oh, right.

�You�re my handsome little boy, do you know that?� said Mother as she carefully combed his hair.

He merely nodded. Yes, he knew that. He was Mother�s handsome little boy. She�d said that over and over ever since he�d been allowed to come home with them, and he never grew tired of hearing it. Sometimes he thought about how things had been before. About the darkness, the loneliness. But all he had to do was take one look at the beautiful apparition who was now his mother, and everything else disappeared, slipped away, and dissolved. As if it had never existed.

He had just climbed out of the bath, and his mother wrapped him in the green robe with the yellow flowers.

�Would my little darling like some ice cream?�

�You�re spoiling him.� Father�s voice came from the doorway.

He huddled inside the terry-cloth robe and pulled up the hood in order to hide from the harsh tone of the words that ricocheted off the bathroom tiles. Hiding from the blackness that rose up to the surface again.

�All I�m saying is that you�re not doing him any favours by spoiling him like that.�

�Are you implying that I don�t know how to raise our son?� Mother�s eyes turned dark, bottomless. As if she wanted to ob literate Father by simply looking at him. And, as usual, her anger seemed to make Father�s own wrath melt away. He seemed to shrink and shrivel up. Becoming a little grey father.

�You know best,� he muttered and left, his eyes on the floor. Then they heard the sound of his footsteps fading and the front door quietly closing. Father was going out for a walk again.

�We won�t pay him any mind,� whispered Mother, pressing her lips close to his ear hidden under the green terry-cloth. �Because you and I love each other. It�s just you and me.�

He pressed close to her like a little animal and allowed her to comfort him.

�Just you and me,� he whispered.

�I won�t! I don�t wanna!� cried Maja, using up most of her scant vocabulary when Patrik desperately tried to leave her with Ewa, the day-care teacher, on Friday morning. His daughter clung to his trouser legs, howling, until finally he managed to prise her fingers loose, one after the other. His heart ached when she was carried off, still holding her arms out to him. Her tearful �Pappa!� echoed in his head as he walked back to the car. For a long moment he just sat there, staring out the windscreen, holding the car keys in his hand. This had been going on for two months now, and it was no doubt Maja�s way of reacting to Erika�s pregnancy.

Patrik was the one who had to bear the brunt of this struggle every morning. He had actually volunteered for the job. It was just too hard for Erika to get Maja dressed and undressed. And squatting down to help the toddler tie her shoelaces was unthinkable. So there was really no other option. But the daily tussle was beginning to wear on Patrik�s nerves, since it started well before they even reached the day-care centre. As soon as it was time to get dressed in the morning, Maja would refuse to cooperate. Patrik was ashamed to admit that sometimes he got so frustrated that he would grab her a bit brusquely, making her scream at the top of her lungs. Afterwards he felt like the world�s worst parent.

Tiredly he rubbed his eyes, took a deep breath, and turned the key in the ignition. But instead of driving toward Tanumshede, he impulsively turned off and headed for the residential area beyond Kullen. He parked in front of the house belonging to the Kjellner family and, feeling a bit unsure of himself, walked up to the front door. He really should have notified them that he was coming, but it was too late now, since he was already here. He raised his hand and gave a sharp rap with his knuckles on the white-painted wooden door. A Christmas wreath was still hanging there; apparently no one had thought to take it down.

Not a sound came from inside the house, so Patrik knocked again. Maybe no one was home. But then he heard footsteps, and Cia opened the door. Her whole body froze when she saw him, and he hurried to shake his head.

�No, that�s not why I�m here,� he told her, and they both knew what he meant. Her shoulders slumped and she stepped aside to allow him to come in.

Patrik took off his shoes and hung his jacket on one of the few hooks that wasn�t already in use, holding coats and jackets belonging to the Kjellner kids.

�I just thought I�d drop by for a chat,� he said, suddenly uncertain as to how to present what amounted to little more than vague speculations.

Cia nodded and led the way to the kitchen, which was to the right of the entry. Patrik followed. He�d been here before on a couple of occasions. After Magnus disappeared, they had sat at the kitchen table and gone over everything again and again. He had asked Cia questions about things that should never have been disclosed, but such things had ceased to be private matters the minute Magnus Kjellner walked out the front door and didn�t return.

The house looked unchanged. Pleasant and ordinary, a bit untidy, with traces of messy kids everywhere. But the last time Patrik and Cia had sat here together, there had still been a sense of hope. Now resignation had settled over the entire house. Also over Cia.

�There�s some cake left. It was Ludvig�s birthday yesterday,� said Cia listlessly. She got up to take out a quarter of layer cake from the fridge. Patrik tried to protest, but Cia was already setting plates and forks on the table, and he realized that he would have to have cake for lunch today.

�How old is he now?� asked Patrik as he cut himself as thin a piece as seemed polite.

�Thirteen,� said Cia, with a hint of a smile on her face as she too served herself a small piece of cake. Patrik wished he could get her to eat more, considering how thin she�d become over the past few months.

�That�s a great age. Or maybe not,� he said, hearing how strained he sounded. The whipped cream from the cake seemed to swell in his mouth.

�He�s so much like his father,� said Cia, her fork clanging against her plate. She set it down and looked at Patrik. �What is it you want?�

He cleared his throat. �I may be really off base, but I know that you want us to do everything possible, so you�ll have to forgive me if -�

�Just say what you need to say,� Cia interrupted him.

�All right. Well, there�s something that I�ve been wondering about. Magnus was friends with Christian Thydell, wasn�t he? How did they happen to meet?�

Cia looked at him in surprise, but she didn�t counter with any questions of her own. Instead she paused to think about what he�d asked.

�I don�t really know. I think they met right after Christian moved here with Sanna. She�s a Fj�llbacka girl, you know. That must be about seven years ago. Yes, that�s right, because Sanna got pregnant with Melker soon afterwards, and he�s five now. I remember we thought that happened rather fast.�

�Was it through you and Sanna that they met?�

�No, Sanna is ten years younger than me, so we were never really friends before. To be honest, I can�t actually recall how they ended up meeting. I just remember that Magnus suggested we should invite Christian and Sanna to dinner, and after that we all saw a lot of each other. Sanna and I don�t have much in common, but she�s a nice girl, and both Elin and Ludvig think it�s fun to play with the little boys. And I have a much better opinion of Christian than of Magnus�s other pals.�

�And who might they be?�

�His old childhood friends: Erik Lind and Kenneth Bengtsson. I�ve socialized with them and their wives, but only because Magnus wanted me to. They seem to be a very different sort of people, in my opinion.�

�What about Magnus and Christian? Were they close friends?�

Cia smiled. �I don�t think Christian has any close friends. He�s a rather gloomy person, and it�s not easy to get to know him. But he was completely different around Magnus. My husband had that kind of effect on people. Everybody liked him. He made people relax.� She swallowed hard, and Patrik realized that she had spoken of her husband in the past tense.

�But why are you asking me about Christian? Don�t tell me something has happened to him,� Cia added, sounding worried.

�No, no. Nothing serious.�

�I heard about what went on at his book launch. I was invited, but I would have felt strange going without Magnus. I hope Christian wasn�t offended because I didn�t show up.�

�I can�t imagine that he�d feel that way,� said Patrik. �But it seems that someone has been sending him threatening letters for more than a year now. I may be grabbing at straws, but I wanted to find out if Magnus had received anything similar. They knew each other, so there might be some kind of connection.�

�Threatening letters?� said Cia. �Don�t you think I would have told you about something like that? Why would I keep back any information that might help you find out what happened to Magnus?� Her voice rose, taking on a shrill note.

�I�m sure that you would have told us about it if you had known,� Patrik hastened to interject. �But maybe Magnus didn�t say anything because he didn�t want to worry you.�

�Then why would I be able to tell you anything about it?�

�In my experience, wives can sense things even if their husbands don�t specifically talk about what�s bothering them. My wife can do that, at any rate.�

Cia smiled again. �You have a point there. And it�s true. I would have known if something was weighing on Magnus. But he was his usual carefree self. He was the world�s most stable and reliable person, almost always cheerful and upbeat. Sometimes I�ve found that annoying, and I have to admit to occasionally trying to provoke a negative reaction from him if I was feeling angry and upset. But I never succeeded. Magnus was the way he was. If something was bothering him, he would have told me about it. If for some reason he decided not to do that, I still would have noticed that something was wrong. He knew everything about me, and I knew everything about him. We had no secrets from each other.� She spoke with great confidence, and Patrik could tell that she meant what she said. But he still had his doubts. It was impossible to know everything about another person. Even someone you loved and had chosen to share your life with.

He looked at Cia. �Please forgive me if I�m asking too much, but would you mind if I took a look around the house? Just to get a clearer picture of the kind of person Magnus was.� Even though they had already been talking about Magnus as if he were dead, Patrik regretted the way he had formulated his last remark. But Cia didn�t comment. Instead, she motioned towards the doorway and said:

�Look around as much as you like. I mean it. Do whatever you want, ask me any questions you can think of, as long as you find him.� With an almost aggressive motion she wiped away a tear with the back of her hand.

Patrik sensed that she needed to be alone for a moment, so he seized the opportunity to get up and leave the room. He started his search in the living room. It looked much like the living room in thousands of other Swedish homes. A big, dark blue sofa from IKEA. Billy bookshelves with built-in lighting. A flat-screen TV on a stand made of the same light-coloured wood as the coffee table. Little knickknacks and travel souvenirs; on the wall, photographs of the children. Patrik went over to a big, framed wedding picture hanging over the sofa. It was not a traditional, formal portrait. Magnus, wearing a morning coat, was lying on his side in the grass with his head propped on his hand. Cia stood behind him, wearing a frilly wedding dress. She had a big smile on her face, and one foot was planted solidly on top of Magnus.

�Our parents just about died of fright when they saw that wedding picture,� said Cia, and Patrik turned around to look at her.

�It�s certainly rather� different.� He glanced again at the photo. He�d met Magnus a few times since he�d moved to Fj�llbacka, but had never exchanged more than the usual polite words of greeting with him. Now, as he stood here looking at the man�s open and happy expression, Patrik knew at once that he would have liked Magnus.

�Is it okay if I go upstairs?� asked Patrik. Cia nodded from where she stood in the doorway.

The wall of the stairwell was also covered with photographs, and Patrik paused to study them. They bore witness to a rich life that was focused on family and the ordinary joys. And it was obvious that Magnus Kjellner had been tremendously proud of his children. One picture, in particular, made Patrik�s stomach knot up. A holiday photo, showing a smiling Magnus standing between Elin and Ludvig, with his arms around both of them. His face was aglow with such happiness that Patrik couldn�t bear to look at it any longer. He turned away and continued up the stairs.

The first two rooms belonged to the kids. Ludvig�s was surprisingly neat, without any clothes tossed on the floor. The bed was made, and the pen holder and everything else on the desk had been meticulously arranged. The boy was clearly a big sports fan. Pinned up over the bed in the place of honour was a football jersey from the Swedish national team, autographed by Zlatan. Otherwise, photos of the IFK team from G�teborg dominated.

�Ludvig and Magnus used to go to the games as often as they could.�

Patrik gave a start. Once again Cia�s voice had caught him by surprise. She seemed able to walk about without making a sound, because he hadn�t heard her come up the stairs.

�Quite a tidy young boy.�

�Yes, just like his father. Magnus did most of the picking up and cleaning here at home. I�m the messier one. If you have a look in the next room, you�ll see which of our children takes after me.�

Patrik opened the door to the next bedroom, in spite of the warning posted in big letters: KNOCK BEFORE ENTERING!

�Yikes!� said Patrik, taking a step back.

�Yes, that�s the right word for it,� sighed Cia, crossing her arms so as to stop herself from trying to clean up the mess. Because Elin�s room was indescribably messy. And pink.

�I thought she�d grow out of her pink phase sooner or later, but instead it just seems to have escalated. Now it ranges from pale princess pink to a shocking neon.�

Patrik blinked his eyes. Was this how Maja�s room was going to look in a few years? And what if the twins turned out to be girls? He was going to drown in pink.

�I�ve given up. I just ask that she keep the door closed so I don�t have to look at the chaos. I do a �sniff check� once in a while, to make sure that it doesn�t begin to smell like dead bodies in here.� She was obviously startled by her own choice of words, but she kept on going. �Magnus couldn�t stand knowing what a mess things were in, but I persuaded him to leave her be. I was the same way as a kid, so I knew it would just lead to nothing but nagging and quarrels. In my case, I got neater as soon as I had my own flat, and I think the same thing will happen with Elin.� She closed the door and pointed to the room at the end of the hall.

�That�s our bedroom. I haven�t touched any of Magnus�s things.�

The first thing that Patrik noticed was that they had the same bed linen as he and Erica did. Blue-and-white check, bought at IKEA. Somehow that made him very uncomfortable. It made him feel vulnerable.

�Magnus sleeps on the side next to the window.�

Patrik went over to his side of the bed. He would have preferred to look things over alone, in peace and quiet. Instead, it felt as if he were snooping around in things that were not his concern, and the feeling grew worse the longer Cia stood in the room staring at him. He had no idea what he was looking for. He just felt he needed to get closer to Magnus Kjellner, to see him as a real person, as flesh and blood, not merely a photograph on the wall in the police station. Patrik could still feel Cia�s eyes on his back, and finally he turned around to face her.

�I hope you won�t be offended, but would you mind leaving while I have a look around?� He sincerely hoped that she would understand.

�I�m sorry. Of course,� she said, smiling apologetically. �I realize it must be difficult to have me looking over your shoulder. I�ll go downstairs and take care of a few things, so you�ll have the place to yourself.�

�Thanks,� said Patrik. As soon as she left, he sat down on the edge of the bed and started with the bedside table. A pair of glasses, a stack of papers that turned out to be a copy of the manuscript of The Mermaid, an empty water glass, and a blister pack of paracetamol. That was all. Patrik pulled out the drawer and carefully studied what he found inside. Nothing of real interest. A paperback copy of �sa Larsson�s detective novel Sun Storm, a little box containing ear plugs, and a package of cough drops.

Patrik got up and went over to the wardrobes that lined one entire wall of the bedroom. He laughed when he slid open the doors and instantly saw a clear example of what Cia had said about how her attitude towards neatness differed from that of her husband. The half of the wardrobe next to the window was a miracle of organization. Everything was carefully folded and arranged in wire baskets: socks, underwear, ties and belts. Above hung neatly pressed shirts and jackets along with polo shirts and T-shirts. T-shirts on hangers � the mere thought boggled Patrik�s mind. The most he ever did was to stuff his T-shirts into a drawer, only to curse the fact that they ended up looking so wrinkled when he put them on.

In that sense, Cia�s half of the wardrobe was more like his own method. Everything was haphazardly jumbled together, as if someone had simply opened the door and tossed everything inside before quickly shutting it again.

He closed the sliding doors and turned to look at the bed. There was something so heartbreaking and sad about a bed that had obviously only been slept in on one side. He wondered if anyone ever got used to sleeping in a double bed that was half empty. The thought of sleeping alone without Erica seemed impossible to him.

When Patrik went back down to the kitchen, Cia was putting away the plates they had used. She gave him an inquisitive look, and he said in a friendly tone of voice:

�Thanks for letting me take a look around. I don�t know whether it will make any difference, but at least now I feel as if I know a little more about Magnus and who he was� is.�

�That does make a difference. To me, anyway.�

Patrik said goodbye and left. He paused on the porch to look at the withered Christmas wreath hanging on the front door. After a moment�s hesitation, he lifted it off. Considering what an orderly person Magnus was, he probably wouldn�t have wanted to see that old wreath still there.

�You�ll behave yourself when our guests arrive, won�t you?� said his mother, giving him a solemn look.

He nodded. He would never dream of behaving badly and embarrassing his mother. He wanted nothing more than to please her so that she would keep on loving him.

The doorbell rang, and his mother stood up abruptly. �They�re here.� He heard the anticipation in her voice, a tone that made him uneasy. Sometimes his mother changed into someone else after he heard the sound of that little bell vibrating between the walls in her bedroom. But that might not happen this time.

�Can I take your coat?� He heard his father�s voice downstairs in the front hall, along with the murmuring of their guests.

�Go on ahead. I�ll be there in a minute.� His mother motioned towards him with her hand, and he breathed in the scent of her perfume. She sat down at her dressing table to fix her hair and put the last touches on her make-up as she admired herself in the mirror. He stayed where he was, watching her with fascination. A furrow appeared between her brows as their eyes met in the mirror.

�Didn�t I tell you to go downstairs?� she said sharply, and he felt the darkness take hold of him for a moment.

Shamefaced, he bowed his head and headed for the murmur of voices in the front hall. He would behave himself. Mother wouldn�t have to be ashamed of him.

The cold air tore at his windpipe. He loved that feeling. Everybody thought he was crazy when he went out running in the middle of winter, but he preferred to put in his miles in the frosty weather rather than go out running in the oppressive heat of summer. And on weekends he made a point of running his route twice.

Kenneth cast an eye at his wristwatch. It held everything he needed to know to make the most of his run. It measured his pulse and counted the steps he took; it even kept track of the time from his last session.

His goal right now was to run in the Stockholm Marathon. He�d taken part twice before, and in the Copenhagen Marathon as well. He�d been running for twenty years, and if he had a choice, he�d prefer to die in the middle of a race, twenty or thirty years from now. Because the feeling he had when he ran, when his feet flew over the ground � rhythmically pounding at a steady pace that in the end seemed to merge with the beat of his heart � was like nothing else in the world. Even the fatigue, the numb sensation in his legs when the lactic acid built up, was something that he�d learned to appreciate more and more with each year that passed. He felt alive whenever he ran. That was the best way he could describe it.

As he drew close to home, he began slowing his pace. When he reached his front door, he jogged in place for a few moments and then held on to the railing to stretch out his thigh muscles. His breath formed a white cloud of ice crystals, and he felt strong and cleansed after running twelve miles at a relatively fast pace.

�Is that you, Kenneth?� He heard Lisbet�s voice from the guest room as the front door closed behind him.

�Yes, it�s me, dear. I�m just going to take a quick shower, and then I�ll come and see you.�

He turned the tap until the water was steaming hot and then stood under the needle-like spray of the shower. This was practically the most pleasurable thing of all. It felt so good that it took a real effort for him to turn off the water. He shivered as he stepped out of the shower stall. The bathroom felt like an igloo in comparison.

�Could you bring me the newspaper?�

�Of course, love.� Jeans, a T-shirt, and a sweater. He was ready. He stuck his bare feet into a pair of Crocs slippers that he�d bought last summer and went out to the letterbox. When he picked up the newspaper, he noticed a white envelope stuck in the bottom. He must have missed it yesterday. His stomach turned over at the sight of his name written in black ink. Not another one!

As soon as he was back inside, he tore open the envelope and pulled out the card inside. Standing in the front hall, he read what it said. The message was brief and strange.

Kenneth turned the card over to see if there was anything on the back. But there wasn�t. The only message was those two cryptic sentences.

�What�s keeping you, Kenneth?�

Quickly he stuffed the note back in the envelope.

�I was just checking on something. I�m coming now.�

He headed for her door, holding the newspaper in his hand. The white card with the elegant handwriting seemed to burn in his back pocket.

They were going on holiday, and he could hardly wait. He wasn�t really sure what it entailed, but the word sounded so promising. Holiday. And they would be taking the caravan that was parked outside.

He was never allowed to play in it. A few times he�d tried to peek through the windows, to see what was behind the brown curtains. But he could never actually see anything, and the caravan was always locked. Now the door stood wide open, so as to �give it a proper airing out�, as Mother said, and a bunch of cushions had been put in the washing machine to rid them of the smell of winter.

Everything seemed so unreal, like a fairy-tale adventure. He wondered if he�d be permitted to sit inside the caravan as they drove, like travelling inside a little house on wheels, headed for something new and unfamiliar. But he didn�t dare ask. Mother had been in a strange mood lately. That sharp, fierce tone in her voice was clearly audible, and Father had been taking more frequent walks, whenever he wasn�t hiding behind his newspaper.

Sometimes he�d noticed her staring at him oddly. There was something different about the way she looked at him, and it frightened him, even taking him back to the darkness that he�d left behind.

�Are you just going to stand there gaping, or were you thinking of helping me out?� Mother had her hands on her hips.

He gave a start when he heard once again that harsh tone and ran over to her.

�Take these and put them in the laundry room,� she said, tossing some foul-smelling blankets at him with such force that he almost lost his footing.

�Yes, Mother,� he said, and hurried into the house.

If only he knew what he�d done wrong. He always obeyed his mother. Never talked back, behaved properly, and never got his clothes dirty. Yet it was as if sometimes she couldn�t bear to look at him.

He�d tried to ask his father about this. Mustered his courage on one of the few occasions when they were alone and asked him why Mother didn�t like him any more. For a moment Father had put aside the newspaper to reply curtly that he was being foolish and he didn�t want to hear talk of such things again. Mother would be terribly sad if she ever heard him say that. He should be grateful that he had a mother like her.

He didn�t ask any more questions. Making his mother sad was the last thing he wanted to do. He just wished that she would be happy and that she would stroke his hair like she used to and call him her handsome little boy. That was all he wanted.

He put the blankets down in front of the washing machine and pushed aside all his gloomy, dark thoughts. They were going on holiday. In the caravan.

Christian drummed his pen on the top of the small table where he was sitting. Next to him was a big stack of copies of The Mermaid. He still couldn�t get enough of looking at the book. It seemed so unreal that his name was actually on the cover. The cover of a real book.

There wasn�t yet any rush to buy copies, and he didn�t think there would be. It was only authors like Liza Marklund and Jan Guillou who attracted large crowds. He was perfectly happy with the five copies that he�d signed so far.

Although he had to admit that he did feel a bit lost as he sat there. People hurried past, giving him curious looks, but they didn�t stop. He wasn�t sure whether he should say �Hello� when he felt them staring at him or just pretend that he was busy with something else.

Gunnel, the owner of the bookshop, came to his rescue. She walked over and nodded at the stack of books.

�Would you mind signing a few of those? It�s so nice to have signed copies to sell later.�

�Sure. How many should I sign?� asked Christian, happy to have something to do.

�Hmm. Let�s say ten,� replied Gunnel, straightening the stack, which had got a bit crooked.

�That�s no problem.�

�We did a proper amount of advertising for the book-signing,� said Gunnel.

�I have no doubt that you did,� Christian told her with a smile. He could see that she was concerned he would think the meagre turnout could be blamed on the shop�s lack of PR for the event. �I�m not exactly a household name, so I didn�t have very high expectations.�

�At least we�ve sold a few copies,� she said kindly, heading back to the checkout counter.

He reached for a book, removed the cap on his pen, and began signing. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that someone was standing in front of the table. When he looked up, he found a big, yellow microphone thrust in his face.

�We�re here in the bookshop where Christian Thydell is signing his first novel, The Mermaid. Christian, your name is all over the newspaper placards today. How worried are you about the threats that have been levelled against you? Have the police been brought in?�

The reporter hadn�t yet introduced himself, but judging by the label on the microphone, he was from the local radio station. He was peering at Christian with an urgent expression on his face.

Christian felt his mind go blank. �The newspaper placards?� he said.

�Yes, you�re on GT�s placard. Haven�t you seen it?� The reporter didn�t wait for Christian to reply but just repeated the question he�d asked initially. �Are you worried about the threats? Have the police provided special protection for you today?�

The reporter glanced around the shop, but then turned back to Christian, who was holding his pen above the book he�d been just about to sign.

�I don�t know how -� he stammered.

�But it�s true, isn�t it? You�ve received threats while you were writing the book, and you passed out on Wednesday when another letter was delivered to you at the book launch.�

�Er, yes, well�� Christian could feel himself gasping for air.

�Do you know who sent the threats? Do the police know?� The microphone was again only about an inch from Christian�s mouth, and he had to restrain himself from shoving it away. He didn�t want to answer these questions. He had no idea how the press had found out about any of this. He thought about the letter in his jacket pocket. The letter that had come yesterday and that he�d managed to retrieve from the stack of post before Sanna discovered it.

Panic-stricken, he looked for some way to escape. He caught Gunnel�s eye, and she seemed to realize at once that something was wrong.

She came over to them and asked, �What�s going on here?�

�I�m doing an interview,� said the reporter.

�Have you asked Christian whether he wants to be interviewed?� She glanced at Christian, who shook his head.

�He�s not interested.� She fixed her eyes on the reporter, who had lowered the microphone. �And besides, Christian is busy. He�s signing books for our shop. So I�m going to ask you to leave him alone.�

�Yes, but�� the radio reporter began. Then he stopped. He pressed one of the buttons on his recording equipment. �We were unable to do a short interview because��

�Get lost,� said Gunnel, and Christian couldn�t help grinning.

�Thanks,� he said after the reporter had left.

�What was that all about? He seemed really determined.�

Christian�s feeling of relief that the reporter was gone quickly faded, and he swallowed hard before saying:

�He claimed that my name was on the GT placard. I�ve received a few threatening letters, and apparently the press found out about it.�

�Oh my.� Gunnel looked first upset and then worried. �Would you like me to go out and buy you a copy of the newspaper so you can see what they wrote?�

�Would you do that?� he said, his heart pounding.

�Sure, I�ll be right back.� She gave him a comforting pat on the shoulder and left.

Christian sat motionless for a moment, staring into space. Then he picked up his pen and began writing his signature in the books as Gunnel had requested. After a while he realized he needed to go to the toilet. Since there were still no customers heading for his table, he didn�t think a brief absence would be noticed.

He hurried through the employees� break room at the back of the bookshop. A few minutes later he was already on his way back to his post. He sat down at the table. Gunnel hadn�t yet returned with the newspaper, but he was steeling himself for what was to come.

Christian reached for his pen, but then looked with surprise at the books he was supposed to sign. Had he really left them lying on the table like that? They didn�t look the same as when he�d dashed off to the toilet, and he thought that maybe someone had taken the opportunity to swipe a copy while he was gone. Yet the stack didn�t look any smaller, so he decided he was just imagining things. He picked up the top copy and opened it to write a greeting to the reader.

The page was no longer blank. And the handwriting was all too familiar. She had been here.

Gunnel was coming towards him with the newspaper, and he saw a big picture of himself on the front page. He knew what the article would say. The past was about to catch up with him. She would never give up.

He wasn�t allowed to ride in the caravan. And that was only the first of many disappointments during the so-called holiday. Nothing turned out the way he had hoped. The silence, broken only by harsh words, seemed even more oppressive when it didn�t have a whole house to move around in. Being on holiday felt like having more time for quarrels, more time for Mother�s outbursts. And Father seemed even smaller and greyer.

This was the first time he went along, but as he understood it, every year Mother and Father would take the caravan to the place with the peculiar name. Fj�llbacka. The name meant �Mountain Hill� in Swedish, but he saw no mountains and only a few hills. The ground was completely flat in the camping area where they parked the caravan, squeezed in among scores of other campers. He wasn�t sure that he liked it. But Father had explained that Mother�s family was from the area, and that was why she wanted to go there.

But that was strange too, because he didn�t meet any relatives. During one of the arguments inside the cramped space of the caravan, he finally understood that someone called the Old Bitch lived here, and that she was what his mother meant by �family�. What a funny name that was. The Old Bitch. But it didn�t sound as if his mother cared much for her, because her voice got even harsher when she talked about the woman, and they never did see her. So why did they have to come to this place at all?

Yet what he hated most about Fj�llbacka and being on holiday was having to go swimming. He�d never swum in the sea before. At first he wasn�t sure what to think. But his mother admonished him. Said she refused to have a wimp for a son, and she told him to stop whining. So he took a deep breath and timidly waded into the frigid water, even though the feeling of cold and salt on his legs made him gasp for air. When the water reached up to his waist, he stopped. It was too cold, he couldn�t breathe. And he could feel something moving around his feet, touching the calves of his legs, something creeping and crawling over him. Mother waded out to him from shore, laughing, and then took his hand to lead him further out. All of a sudden he felt happy. She was holding his hand, and her laughter bounced off the surface of the water and off of him too. His feet now seemed to move of their own accord, as if they left the sandy bottom and were floating. At last he couldn�t feel anything solid under his feet, but that didn�t matter, because Mother had hold of him, she was carrying him, she loved him.

Then she let go. He felt the palm of her hand slide over his, then her fingers slipped past his fingertips until not only his feet but his hands were fumbling with nothingness. Again he felt the cold pressing against his chest, and the water seemed to rise up. It reached his shoulders, his neck, and he raised his chin to prevent the water from reaching his mouth, but it rose too fast, and he couldn�t stop it. His mouth filled with salt and cold, which raced down his throat, and the water kept rising � over his cheeks, his eyes, and he felt the water close like a lid over his head, until all sound vanished and the only thing he heard was the roar of what was crawling and creeping.

He flailed his arms, lashing out at whatever it was that wanted to pull him downward. But he was no match for the massive wave of water, and when he finally felt someone�s skin against his own, a hand on his arm, his first instinct was to defend himself. Then he was yanked upward, and the top of his head surfaced. The first breath was brutal and painful, then he greedily gasped for air. Mother had a tight grip on his arm, but that didn�t matter. Because the water was no longer trying to get him.

He looked up at her, grateful that she had rescued him, that she hadn�t let him disappear. But what he saw in her eyes was contempt. Somehow he�d done something wrong, he had disappointed her again. If only he knew why.

He had black and blue marks on his arm for days afterward.

�Did you really have to drag me over here today?� It was rare for Kenneth to let his annoyance show. He believed in staying calm and focused in every situation. But Lisbet had looked so sad when he told her that Erik had phoned and he�d have to go over to the office for a couple of hours even though it was Sunday. She hadn�t complained, and in a sense, that just made it worse. She knew how few hours they had left together. How important they were, how precious. And yet she offered no objections. Instead, he saw how she summoned the strength to be able to smile and say: �Of course you have to go. I�ll be fine.�

He almost wished that she had got angry and screamed at him. Told him that it was about time for him to get his priorities straight. But she didn�t have it in her to do anything like that. He couldn�t recall a single occasion in their twenty-year marriage when she had raised her voice to him. Or to anyone else, for that matter. She had accepted all setbacks and sorrows with equanimity, and she�d even comforted him when he was the one to break down. Whenever he lacked the energy to carry on, she had mustered enough strength for both of them.

Now he�d left her at home because he needed to go to work. He was going to waste a few precious hours they could have spent together, and he hated himself because he always came running whenever Erik snapped his fingers. He couldn�t understand why. It was a pattern that had been established so early on that by now it was practically part of his personality. And Lisbet was always the one who had to suffer for it.

Erik didn�t even bother to answer his question. He just kept staring at the computer screen, as if he were in another world.

�Was it really necessary for me to come in today?� Kenneth repeated. �On a Sunday? Couldn�t it wait until tomorrow?�

Erik slowly turned to face Kenneth.

�I have the utmost respect for your personal situation,� he said at last. �But if we don�t take care of all the arrangements before the bidding this week, we might as well pack up the whole company. We all have to make sacrifices.�

Kenneth silently wondered what sort of sacrifices Erik ever made. And nothing was as dire as Erik was predicting. He could have easily put together the documents on Monday. His claim that the company was on the verge of ruin was pure exaggeration. Most likely Erik merely needed a pretext to get out of the house. But why had he felt compelled to drag Kenneth over here too? The answer was obvious: because he could.

Then they each returned to their respective tasks and worked in silence for a while. The office consisted of one large room, so there was no possibility of closing a door for some privacy. Kenneth cast a surreptitious glance at Erik. There was something different about him. It was hard to pinpoint, but Erik looked somehow less distinct, more worn out. His hair was not as perfectly combed as usual, and his shirt was slightly wrinkled. No, he was not himself today. Kenneth considered asking him if everything was okay at home, but he restrained himself. Instead he said as calmly as he could:

�Did you see the news about Christian yesterday?�

Erik gave a start. �Yes.�

�How terrible. To be threatened like that by some nutcase,� said Kenneth, his tone of voice casual, almost easygoing. But his heart was pounding hard.

�Hmm�� Erik kept his eyes on the computer screen. But he didn�t touch the keyboard or the mouse.

�Did Christian mention anything about that to you?� It was like trying to make himself stop picking at a scab. He didn�t want to talk about this topic, and Erik clearly didn�t want to discuss it either. Yet Kenneth couldn�t stop himself. �Did he?�

�No, he never told me about any sort of threats,� said Erik, beginning to sort through the documents on his desk. �But he�s been really preoccupied with his book, so we haven�t seen much of each other lately. And I suppose most people would prefer to keep something like that to themselves.�

�Shouldn�t he talk to the police about it?�

�How do you know that Christian hasn�t already done that?� Erik continued aimlessly riffling through the piles of documents.

�True. That�s very true�� Kenneth subsided into silence for a moment. �But what could the police do if the letters were anonymous? I mean, they could have come from any lunatic.�

�How would I know?� said Erik, swearing as he got a paper cut. �Shit!� He sucked on the injured finger.

�Do you think the threats are serious?�

Erik sighed. �Why do we have to speculate about all this? I told you, I have no idea.� His voice rose slightly, quavering on the last words. Kenneth looked at him in surprise. Erik really was not himself. Did it have something to do with the company?

Kenneth had never trusted Erik. Had he done something stupid? He instantly dismissed the idea. He was much too familiar with the firm�s accounts; he would have noticed if Erik had decided to make any crazy moves financially. It was probably something to do with Louise. It was a mystery how those two had managed to stay together for so long. Everyone except Erik and Louise could see that the couple would do themselves a big favour if they said goodbye and went their separate ways. But it wasn�t Kenneth�s place to point this out. He had enough worries of his own.

�I was just wondering,� said Kenneth.

He clicked open the Excel file with the latest monthly statements. But his thoughts were somewhere else entirely.

Weren�t they ever going back home? The caravan seemed to get smaller with every day that passed, and he�d already explored every corner of the camping area. Maybe once they were home they�d start to like him again. Here it felt as if he didn�t exist at all.

Father sat around solving crossword puzzles, and Mother was ill. At least, that was the explanation he�d received when he tried to go in and see her. She spent the days inside the caravan�s cramped sleeping area. And she hadn�t gone swimming with him again. Even though he couldn�t forget the terror or the feeling of something wriggling past his feet, he would have preferred that to being constantly banished from the caravan.

�Mother is ill. Go out and play.�

So he would take off, filling the hours of the day on his own. At first the other children at the campground tried to play with him, but he wasn�t interested. If he wasn�t allowed to be with his mother, then he didn�t want to be with anybody.

When she didn�t get better, he started to worry more and more. Sometimes he�d hear her throwing up. And she looked so pale. What if it was something serious? What if she too was going to die and leave him behind? Just like his mamma did.

The mere thought made him want to crawl into a corner and hide. Shut his eyes tight, so tight that the darkness couldn�t grab hold of him. He refused to think about that. His beautiful mother could not die. Not her too.

He�d found a special place for himself. Up on the slope, with a view of the campground and the water. If he craned his neck, he could even see the roof of their caravan. That�s where he now spent his days, in the one place where he was left in peace. Up there he could make the hours fly by.

Father wanted to go home too. He�d heard him say that. But Mother refused. �I�m not going to give the Old Bitch that satisfaction,� Mother said as she lay on the bunk, looking pale and thinner than usual. She wanted the Old Bitch to know that they�d been here all summer, as usual, though they hadn�t visited her even once. No, they weren�t going home. She�d rather die than leave early.

There was no further discussion. Once Mother had decided something, that was how it had to be. Each day he went out to his special place and sat there with his arms wrapped around his knees as all sorts of thoughts and fantasies raced through his mind.

If only they could go back home, then everything would be the way it used to be. He was sure of it.

�Don�t run off too far, Rocky!� G�te Persson shouted, but the dog wasn�t listening, as usual. G�te just managed to catch a glimpse of the golden retriever�s tail before Rocky turned left and disappeared behind a boulder. G�te tried to pick up the pace, but his right leg made that impossible. Since his stroke, his leg had a hard time keeping up with the rest of his body, and yet he still considered himself lucky. The doctors had given him very little hope of ever being able to move much on his own again because his entire right side had been affected. But they hadn�t counted on how stubborn a man he was. Thanks to his God-given tenacity and his physiotherapist, who had pushed him as if he were training for the Olympics, he�d gained greater mobility for every week that passed. Occasionally he�d suffered setbacks, and he had to admit that several times he�d been close to giving up. But he had soldiered on, continually making progress that brought him closer to his goal.

By now he was taking daily one-hour walks with Rocky. He walked slowly, and with a noticeable limp, but he kept on going. They went out no matter what the weather, and each yard forward was a victory.

The dog had come back into view. He was on the beach now, sniffing about near the S�lvik swimming area and glancing up once in a while to make sure his master hadn�t got lost. G�te took the opportunity to pause and catch his breath. For the hundredth time he put his hand in his pocket to touch the mobile phone he�d brought along. Yes, it was still there. Just to make sure, he took it out and checked to see that it was switched on and that he hadn�t accidentally turned off the ringer. He didn�t want to miss a call, but no one had tried to phone him. Impatiently he stuffed the mobile back in his pocket.

He knew it was ridiculous to check the phone every five minutes. They�d promised to ring when they left for the hospital. His first grandchild. His daughter Ina was almost two weeks past her due date, and G�te couldn�t understand how she and her husband could stay so calm. To be honest, he�d heard a trace of annoyance in his daughter�s voice when he�d called for the tenth time that day to ask if anything was happening yet. But he seemed to be considerably more concerned than they were. He�d spent the better part of the last few nights wide awake, staring alternately at the alarm clock and his mobile phone. These kinds of things tended to happen in the middle of the night. And what if he was sleeping too soundly to hear when they called?

He yawned. The night-time vigils had started to take their toll on him. So many emotions had been stirred up inside him when Ina and Jesper announced that they were expecting a child. They�d told him a couple of days after he collapsed and was rushed by ambulance to the hospital in Uddevalla. They had actually planned on waiting to tell him, since it was so early in Ina�s pregnancy, and they�d only just found out themselves. But no one had thought that G�te would survive. They weren�t even sure that he could hear them as he lay in the hospital bed, hooked up to all sorts of tubes and machines.

But he did hear them; he�d heard every single word. And the news had given his stubborn nature something to hold on to. Something to live for. He was going to be a grandfather. His only daughter, the light of his life, was going to have a baby. How could he miss such an import ant occasion? He knew that Britt-Marie was waiting for him, and he actually wouldn�t have minded letting go of life so he could see her again. He had missed her every day, every minute since she died and left him and Ina on their own. But he was needed now, as he explained to Britt-Marie, telling her that he couldn�t join her yet because their daughter needed him here.

Britt-Marie understood. As he knew she would. He had regained consciousness, waking from the sleep that had been so different and in many ways so enticing. He had climbed out of bed, and every step he�d taken since then was for the sake of the little grandson or granddaughter. He had so much to give, and he was planning to use every extra minute of life he�d been granted to spoil his grandchild. Ina and Jesper could protest as much as they liked. It was a grandfather�s prerogative.

The mobile phone in his pocket rang shrilly, making him jump and tearing him away from his thoughts. Eagerly he pulled out the phone, almost dropping it on the ground. He looked at the display. His shoulders sagged with disappointment when he saw the name of a good friend. He didn�t dare answer. He didn�t want his daughter to get a busy signal if she rang.

He couldn�t see Rocky any more, so he put the mobile back in his pocket and limped towards the spot where he�d last seen the dog. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the flash of something bright, and he turned his head to look at the water.

�Rocky!� he shouted, alarm evident in his voice. The dog had wandered out on to the ice. He was almost twenty yards out, standing there with his head lowered. When he heard G�te yelling, he started barking wildly and pawing at the ice. G�te held his breath. If it had been a bitterly cold winter, he wouldn�t have been so concerned. Many times, usually just after New Year�s, he and Britt-Marie had packed sandwiches and a thermos of coffee and walked across the ice to one of the nearby islands. But this year the water had alternately frozen and thawed, and he knew the ice wasn�t to be trusted.

�Rocky!� he shouted again. �Come here!� He tried to sound as stern as he could, but the dog ignored him.

G�te now had only one thought in his head. He couldn�t lose Rocky. The dog would die if he fell through the ice and landed in the frigid water, and G�te simply couldn�t bear for that to happen. They�d been companions for ten years, and in his mind he had pictured so many scenes of his future grandchild playing with the dog. He just couldn�t imagine being without Rocky.

He walked along the shoreline, then put out one foot to test the ice. Thousands of hairline cracks instantly appeared on the surface, but the ice held. Apparently it was thick enough to bear his weight, so he headed towards Rocky, who was still barking and pawing at the ice.

�Come here, boy,� coaxed G�te, but the dog stayed where he was, refusing to budge.

The ice felt more solid here than near the shoreline, but G�te still decided to minimize the risk by lying down on his stomach. With an effort he dropped down and then stretched out, trying to ignore the cold that pierced right through him even though he was bundled up in his winter clothes.

It was difficult to move forward on his stomach. His feet kept slipping when he tried to get some traction, and he wished that he�d been a little less vain and had worn shoes with cleats. That was what every sensible retiree did in Sweden when it was slippery outside.

He glanced about and discovered two sticks that he might be able to use instead. He managed to drag himself over to them and then began using them as improvised ice cleats. Now it was easier, and inch by inch he made his way towards the dog. Occasionally he tried calling Rocky again, but the dog was so interested in whatever he had found that he refused to take his eyes off it even for a second.

When G�te had almost reached Rocky, he heard the ice start to crack and protest under his weight. He allowed himself to think how ironic it would be if he�d spent months and months regaining his mobility, only to fall through the ice at S�lvik and drown. But the ice continued to hold, and he was now so close that he could stretch out his hand to touch Rocky�s fur.

�Okay, boy, you shouldn�t be out here,� he said soothingly, sliding forward a little more in an attempt to grab the dog�s collar. He had no idea how he was going to drag both himself and an intractable dog back to shore. But somehow he would manage.

�Now what�s so interesting out here, anyway?� He grabbed Rocky�s collar. Then he looked down.

At that moment his mobile rang in his pocket.

Finally the holiday was over. Father had packed up all their things, stowing them away inside the car and the caravan. Mother was lying in bed, as usual. She was even thinner, even paler. Now she said that all she wanted was to go home.

At last Father had told him why she looked so ill. It turned out that she wasn�t really sick. She had a baby inside her stomach. A little brother or little sister. He didn�t understand why that should make her feel so bad. But Father said that it did.

At first he was happy. A brother or sister to play with. But then he heard them talking, Mother and Father, and he understood. He now knew why he was not his mother�s handsome little boy any more, why she no longer stroked his hair, and why she looked at him the way she did. He knew who had taken her away from him.

Yesterday he had returned to the caravan, moving like an Indian brave. He sneaked up without making a sound, tiptoeing in his moccasins with a feather stuck in his hair. He was Angry Cloud, and Mother and Father were the palefaces. He could see them moving around inside the caravan behind the curtains. Mother was not in bed. She was up, talking, and Angry Cloud was glad, because maybe now she was feeling better, maybe the baby wasn�t making her sick any more. And she sounded happy, tired but happy. Angry Cloud crept closer, wanting to hear more of the paleface�s joyful voice. One step at a time, he moved closer until he was right under the open window. With his back pressed against the caravan, he shut his eyes and listened.

But he opened his eyes when they started talking about him. Then all of the blackness came pouring over him full force. He was back with her again, he had the horrid smell in his nostrils, he heard the silence echoing in his head.

Mother�s voice pierced through the silence, pierced through the darkness. As young as he was, he understood exactly what she was saying. She regretted becoming his mother, now they were going to have a child of their own. If only she�d known ahead of time, she would never have brought him home. And Father, with his grey and tired-sounding voice, said: �But the boy is here now, so we�ll just have to make the best of things.�

Angry Cloud didn�t move as he sat there, and at that moment his hatred was born. He couldn�t have put the feeling into words, but he knew that it felt both wonderful and terribly painful.

So while Father packed the car with the camp stove and their clothes and the tins of food and all sorts of other stuff, he packed his hatred. It filled up the entire seat where he was sitting in back. But he didn�t hate Mother. How could he? He loved her.

He hated the one who had taken her away from him.

Erica had driven over to the Fj�llbacka library. She knew that Christian wasn�t at work. He�d done a good job on the Morning show, at least up until the end. When they started asking him about the threats, his nervousness became all too obvious. In fact, it was so painful to watch him turning bright red and starting to sweat that Erica had turned off the TV even before the interview was over.

And now here she was, pretending to scan the titles of the books on the shelves while she worked out how she was going to broach the real purpose of her visit: talking to Christian�s colleague, May. Because the more Erica thought about the letters, the more convinced she was that it couldn�t be a stranger who was threatening Christian. No, it felt too personal; the culprit had to be found among people who were part of Christian�s life, now or in the past.

The problem was that he�d always been extremely reluctant to talk about himself. This morning she�d decided to write down everything she�d ever heard about Christian and his background. She ended up sitting in front of a blank piece of paper, holding her pen in her hand. She realized that she really knew nothing about him. Even though she and Christian had spent a lot of time together editing his manuscript, and even though, in her opinion, they had become good friends, he had never told her anything about his private life. He never mentioned where he was from or the names of his parents or what sort of work they did. He hadn�t said where he�d gone to school, or whether he�d played any sports in his younger days. He never talked about friends he�d had or mentioned whether he was still in contact with any of them. She knew nothing about him.

That in itself set off the alarm bells. Because people always reveal little titbits about themselves in conversation, scraps of information that show what they were once like and what had made them who they�d become. The fact that Christian was so guarded about what he said made Erica even more certain that he was hiding something. The question was whether he�d been equally successful in keeping up his guard with everybody else. Maybe a colleague who worked with him every day might have learned something.

Erica cast a sidelong glance at May, who was typing at her computer. Fortunately they were the only two people in the library at the moment, so they could talk un disturbed. Finally she decided on a possible tactic. She couldn�t very well just come right out and ask May about Christian; she needed to take a more circuitous approach.

She pressed her hand to the small of her back, sighed heavily, and sank on to one of the chairs in front of the counter where May was sitting.

�It must be hard for you. I heard you�re having twins,� said May, giving Erica a look of maternal sympathy.

�That�s right. I�ve got two of them inside here.� Erica patted her stomach, trying to look as though she really needed to rest for a while. It didn�t take much acting on her part. Whenever she sat down, her whole back would relax in gratitude.

�Just sit there and rest for a while.�

�Thanks, I will,� said Erica with a smile. After a moment she added, �Did you see Christian on TV this morning?�

�No, I missed it, unfortunately. I was here at work. But I set up my DVD player to record the programme. At least I think it will. I�ll never be comfortable with all these modern machines. Did he do a good job?�

�He certainly did. It�s great that his book is getting so much attention.�

�Yes, I�m really proud of him,� said May, her face lighting up. �I had no idea that he was a writer until I heard about his book being published. And what a book! The reviews have been fantastic.�

�It�s really amazing, isn�t it?� Erica fell silent for a moment. �Everybody who knows Christian must be so happy for him. I hope his former colleagues are too. Where was it he worked before he came to Fj�llbacka?� She tried to look as if she knew but just couldn�t remember.

�Hmm�� Unlike Erica, May seemed to be actually searching her memory. �You know what? Now that I think of it, I�ve actually never heard where he used to work. How strange. But Christian was already working here at the library by the time I was hired, and we�ve never talked about what he did before.�

�So you don�t know where he�s from, or where he lived before moving to Fj�llbacka?� Erica could tell that she sounded a bit too interested, so she fought to maintain a more neutral tone. �I just happened to think about it today as I was watching the interview. I�ve always thought that he speaks with a Sm�land accent, but I suddenly seemed to hear traces of a different dialect, and I couldn�t really place it.� Not a very good lie, but it would have to do.

May seemed to accept her explanation. �Well, he�s not from Sm�land, that much I can say with certainty. But otherwise I have no idea. Of course we talk to each other here at work, and Christian is so pleasant and amiable.� She looked as if she were considering how to put her next thought into words. �Yet he always seems to put up a barrier with other people. As if he�s saying: �It�s okay to come this close, but no closer.� Maybe I�m being silly, but I�ve never asked him about personal matters because he has somehow signalled that those types of questions wouldn�t be welcome.�

�I know what you mean,� replied Erica. �So he�s never mentioned anything in passing?�

May paused to think. �No, I can�t recall� Wait a minute��

�Yes?� said Erica, silently cursing her own impatience.

�It was just a little thing. But I got the feeling that� One time we were talking about Trollh�ttan because I�d gone to visit my sister, who lives there. And he seemed to know the town. Then he looked as if he�d been caught off guard, and he started talking about something else. I specifically remember noticing that. The fact that he changed the subject so abruptly.�

�Did you have the feeling that he might have lived there?�

�I think so. Although, as I said, I can�t be sure.�

It wasn�t much to go on. But at least it gave her somewhere to start. In Trollh�ttan.

He held his hands over his ears. He couldn�t understand how something so tiny could produce such a racket, and how something so ugly could attract so much attention.

Everything had changed after those holiday weeks spent at the campground. Mother got fatter and fatter until she disappeared for a week and then came home with little sister. He�d wondered a bit about that, but no one had bothered to answer his questions.

Nobody paid the slightest attention to him any more. Father was the same as always. And Mother only had eyes for the wrinkled little bundle. She was always walking about, carrying little sister, who never stopped crying. She was always holding her and feeding her and changing her and cuddling her and cooing to her. He was just in the way. The only time he caught his mother�s attention was when she scolded him. He didn�t like it when she did that, but anything was better than when she looked right through him, as if he were nothing but air.

What angered her the most was when he ate too much. She was very finicky about food. �You need to pay attention to your weight,� she always said when Father asked for another helping of gravy.

Nowadays he always helped himself to more food. Not just once, but two or three times. At first Mother had tried to stop him. But he simply stared at her as he slowly and deliberately poured himself more gravy or shovelled more mashed potatoes on to his plate. Finally she�d given up and merely glared at him angrily. And the servings got bigger and bigger. Part of him enjoyed the disgust he saw in her eyes whenever he opened his mouth wide and stuffed in the food. At least she was looking at him. But nobody called him �my handsome little boy� any more. He was no longer handsome. He was ugly. Both inside and out. But at least she didn�t ignore him.

After putting the baby in her cot, Mother often lay down to take a nap. Then he would go over to look at little sister. Otherwise he wasn�t allowed to touch her, not when Mother was looking. �Take your hands away, they might be dirty.� But when Mother was asleep, he could look at the baby. And touch her.

He tilted his head to one side and studied her. Her face looked like an old woman�s. Slightly chapped and red. As she slept, she clenched her hands into little fists and moved about a bit. She had kicked off the blanket. He didn�t pull it back over her. Why should he do that? She�d taken everything away from him.

Alice. Even her name filled him with disgust. He hated Alice.

�I want you to give my jewellery to Laila�s girls.�

�Lisbet, sweetheart, can�t this wait?� He took her hand, which was lying on top of the covers. He squeezed it gently, feeling how fragile her bones were. Like bird bones.

�No, Kenneth, it can�t wait. I can�t rest until I know that everything is in order. I�ll never find peace if I know that I�ve left you with a big mess.� She smiled.

�But�� He cleared his throat and tried again. �It�s so�� Again his voice broke, and he could feel tears filling his eyes. He quickly wiped them away. He needed to remain in control, he had to be strong. But the tears fell on to the flowered duvet cover, which they�d had from the very beginning. By now it was faded from being laundered so many times. He always put it on her bed, because he knew how much she loved it.

�You don�t need to pretend in front of me,� she said, stroking his head.

�Are you rubbing my bald spot again?� he said, attempting to smile. She gave him a wink.

�I�ve always thought that hair on the head is overrated. You know that. A nice, shiny head is much more attractive.�

He laughed. She�d always been able to make him laugh. Who was going to do that now? Who would stroke his head and say that it was lucky God had made a landing strip for her caresses in the middle of his head? Kenneth knew that he wasn�t the most attractive man in the world. But in Lisbet�s eyes he was. And he still marvelled at the fact that he had such a beautiful wife. Even now, after the cancer had stripped her of everything it could take, and eaten away at every part of her body. She had been so unhappy to lose her hair, and he�d tried to make the same joke about her. Telling her that God had now made a landing strip for his caresses. But her smile had not reached her eyes.

Her hair had always been her pride and joy. Blonde and curly. He saw her eyes fill with tears when she stood in front of the mirror and slowly ran her hand over the sparse wisps that remained after the treatment. He still found her beautiful, but he knew that it made her sad. So the first thing he did when he had occasion to drive to G�teborg was to go into a shop and buy her a Herm�s scarf. She had been longing for a scarf like that, but had always objected when he wanted to buy her one. �It�s not right to pay so much money for a small piece of fabric,� she had told him when he tried to insist.

Nonetheless, when he went to G�teborg he bought her a scarf. The most expensive one in the shop. With an effort she had climbed out of bed and opened the package, taking out the scarf and carrying it over to the mirror. With her eyes fixed on her own face she had wrapped the glossy silk square with the yellow and gold pattern around her head. It had hidden the hair loss and dulled the cold. And it had brought back the gleam in her eye, which the harsh treatment had taken away, along with her hair.

She hadn�t said a word, just walked over to him as he sat on her bed, leaned down, and kissed him on the top of his head. Then she had crawled back into bed. Ever since, she had always worn that scarf wrapped around her head.

�I want Annette to have that heavy gold necklace, and give Josefine the pearls. They can divide up the rest as they see fit. Let�s just hope that they don�t end up fighting as a result.� Lisbet laughed, certain that her sister�s daughters would be able to agree on how to share the jewellery she was leaving behind.

Kenneth gave a start. He�d been lost in his own memories, and her words came as a cruel awakening. He understood his wife and her need to make arrangements for everything before she died. At the same time, he couldn�t bear being reminded of the inevitable, which was no longer very far away, according to those who knew about such things. He would have given anything not to be sitting here, holding her frail hand in his own and listening to his beloved wife dividing up her earthly goods.

�And I don�t want you to live alone for the rest of your life. Get out once in a while so you have a chance to see what�s available. But stay away from those Internet dating services, because I think that -�

�Okay, that�s enough of that,� he said, stroking her cheek. �Do you really think that any other woman could ever measure up to you? It�s better not even to go looking.�

�I don�t want you to be alone,� she said solemnly, gripping his hand as hard as she could. �Do you hear me? You have to go on with your life.� Beads of sweat appeared on her forehead, and he gently wiped them away with the handkerchief lying on the bedside table.

�You�re here with me right now. And that�s the only thing that matters.�

They sat in silence for a while, gazing into each other�s eyes and seeing their whole life together. The great passion in the beginning, which had never really disappeared, even though daily life sometimes nibbled away at the edges. All the laughter, all the friendship, all the companionship. All the nights they had lain close, so close to each other as she rested her cheek on his chest. All the years of yearning for children that never came, their hopes flushed away in torrents of red, until finally they had reached a stage of calm acceptance. Their lives filled with friends, shared interests, and love for one another.

His mobile was ringing out in the front hall. He didn�t get up, though he let go of her hand. But the phone kept ringing, and finally she nodded at him.

�You might as well take the call. It sounds like someone is really trying to get hold of you.�

Kenneth reluctantly stood up, went out to the hall, and picked up his mobile from the bureau. �Erik�, it said on the display. Again he felt annoyance wash over him. Even now he insisted on intruding.

�Yes?� he said, making no effort to hide his feelings. But his mood changed as he listened to what Erik had to say. He asked a few, brief questions and then ended the conversation before going back into Lisbet�s room. He took a deep breath as he fixed his gaze on her face, so ravaged by illness but in his eyes so beautiful, framed by a halo of yellow and gold.

�It seems that they�ve found Magnus. And he�s dead.�

Alice kept on crying, both day and night. He heard Mother and Father talking about it. They said she had something called colic. No matter what that meant, it was unbearable listening to the racket she made. The sound was encroaching on his whole life, taking everything away from him.

Why didn�t Mother hate her when she cried so much? Why did she hold her, sing to her, rock her to sleep, and look at her with such a gentle expression, as if she felt sorry for the baby?

There was no reason to feel sorry for Alice. She behaved that way on purpose. He was convinced of that. Sometimes when he leaned over her cot and peered down at her as she lay there like an ugly little beetle, she would stare back at him. She gave him a look that said she didn�t want Mother to love him. That was why she cried and demanded everything from her. So that there would be nothing left for him.

Now and then he could see that Father felt the same way. That he too knew that Alice was acting like that on purpose, so that Father would have no share of Mother either. Yet Father did nothing. Why didn�t he do anything? He was big and grown up. He should be able to make Alice stop.

Father was hardly allowed to touch the baby either. Occasionally he would try, picking her up and patting her bottom and stroking her back to get her to calm down. But Mother always said that he was doing it wrong, that he should leave Alice to her. And then Father would retreat again.

But one day Father decided to take charge of her. Alice had been crying worse than ever, for three whole nights in a row.

He had lain awake in his room, pressing the pillow over his head to block out the sound. And under the pillow his hatred had grown. It began spreading, settling so heavily on top of him that he could hardly breathe, and he had to lift the pillow away to gasp for air. By now Mother was worn out after being awake for three nights. So she had made an exception, leaving the baby to Father while she went to bed. And Father had decided to give Alice a bath, asking him if he�d like to watch.

Father carefully tested the temperature of the water before filling the bathtub. He looked at Alice, who for once was quiet, with the same expression on his face as Mother usually had. Never before had Father seemed so important. He was usually an invisible figure who disappeared in Mother�s radiance, someone who had also been shut out from the relationship that Mother and Alice shared. But now he was suddenly important. He smiled at Alice, and she smiled back.

Father cautiously lowered the tiny naked body into the water. He placed her in a baby bath seat lined with terry-cloth, almost like a little hammock, so she was partially sitting up. Tenderly he washed her arms, her legs, her plump little belly. She waved her hands and kicked her feet. She wasn�t crying. Finally she had stopped crying. But that didn�t matter. She had won. Even Father had left his place of refuge behind the newspaper to come out and smile at her.

He stood quietly in the doorway. Couldn�t take his eyes off Father�s hands touching that little body. Father, who had been the closest thing to an ally after Mother had stopped looking at him. The doorbell rang and he gave a start. Father looked from the bathroom door to Alice, unsure what to do. Finally he said:

�Could you look after your little sister for a minute? I just need to go see who that is. I�ll be right back.�

He hesitated a second. Then he felt his head nodding. Father got up from where he was kneeling beside the tub and told him to come closer. His feet moved automatically to carry him the short distance over to the tub. Alice looked up at him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Father leave the bathroom.

They were alone now, he and Alice.

Erica stared at Patrik in disbelief.

�In the ice?�

�Yes, the poor man who found him must have had a real shock.� Patrik had given Erica a brief summary of the day�s events.

�I guess he did!� She dropped heavily on to the sofa, and Maja immediately tried to climb on to her lap. And that was not an easy task.

�Hello! Hello!� shouted Maja, pressing her mouth against her mother�s stomach. Ever since they�d explained to her that the babies could hear her, she�d seized every opportunity to communicate with them. Since her vocabulary was limited, and that was putting it mildly, there wasn�t much variety to her conversations.

�They�re probably sleeping, so let�s not wake them,� said Erica, holding her finger to her lips.

Maja imitated the gesture, and then pressed her ear against her mother�s stomach to hear if the babies really were asleep.

�Sounds like it was a terrible day,� said Erica in a low voice.

�Yes, it was,� said Patrik, trying to push aside his memory of the expressions he�d seen on the faces of Cia and her children. Especially the look in Ludvig�s eyes. He was so much like Magnus, and that look was going to stay with Patrik for a very long time. �At least now they know. Sometimes I think that uncertainty is worse,� he said, sitting down next to Erica so that Maja ended up between them. She slid happily on to his lap, which offered a little more room, and burrowed her head into his chest. He stroked her blonde hair.

�You�re probably right. At the same time, it�s hard when hope disappears.� Erica hesitated, then asked, �Do the police have any idea what happened?�

Patrik shook his head. �No, at this point we know nothing. Absolutely nothing.�

�What about the letters that were sent to Christian?� she asked, wrestling a bit with herself. Should she say anything about her excursion to the library today and what she�d been thinking about Christian�s past? She decided not to mention either of those things until she�d found out a bit more.

�I still haven�t had time to think about the letters. But we�re going to have another talk with Magnus�s family and friends, so I can take up the subject when I interview Christian.�

�They asked him about the letters this morning on the TV talk show,� said Erica, shuddering when she thought about her own role in provoking the questions that Christian had been subjected to on live television.

�What did he say?�

�He dismissed the whole thing, even when they pressured him to discuss it.�

�I�m not surprised.� Patrik kissed his daughter on the top of her head. �So, what do you think, Maja? Shall we go and cook dinner for Mamma and the babies?� He got up, holding Maja in his arms. She nodded eagerly. �What shall we make? Poop sausages with onions?�

Maja laughed so hard that she hiccupped. She was bright for her age and had recently discovered the pleasures of poop and pee humour.

�Hmm�� said Patrik. �No, I think we�ll cook fish sticks and mashed potatoes instead. Okay? We�ll save the poop sausages for another day.�

His daughter thought about this for a moment and then graciously nodded her agreement. Fish sticks it was.

She smiled at him. A big smile, no teeth, just gums. But he wasn�t fooled. He knew what she wanted. She wanted to take and take until he no longer had anything left.

Suddenly he noticed the smell in his nostrils. That sweet, repulsive smell. It had been there back then, and it was here now. It must be coming from her. He looked down at the soft, shiny little body. Everything about her disgusted him. The plump belly, the notch between her legs, the hair that was dark and unevenly sprinkled over her head.

He put his hand on her head. He felt a pulsing under the skin. Close and fragile. His hand pressed harder, and she slid farther down. Still she laughed at him. The water closed around her legs, splashing as her heels struck the bottom of the tub.

He could hear Father�s voice, far far away, at the front door. It rose and fell and didn�t sound as if it would return for a few minutes yet. He could still feel the pulsing under his palm, and she had started to whimper. Her smile came and went, as if she wasn�t sure whether she was happy or sad. Maybe she could feel through his hand how much he hated her, how much he detested every second he had to spend in her presence.

It would be so much better without her, and without all that crying. He wouldn�t have to see the joy on Mother�s face when she looked at the baby, or the absence of joy when Mother turned to look at him. It was so obvious. Whenever Mother shifted her gaze from Alice to him, it was as if a light went out. The light died.

Again he listened for Father. Alice seemed to have decided not to burst into tears yet, and he smiled back at her. Then he carefully placed his arm under her head, for support, just as he�d seen Mother do. With his other hand he pulled away the seat that was holding her in a reclining position. It wasn�t easy. She was slippery and kept squirming about.

At last he got the bath seat out and cautiously pushed it aside. Now all of her weight was resting on his left arm. The sweet, suffocating smell was getting stronger. Feeling sick, he turned his head away. He felt her eyes burning his cheek and her skin was wet and slippery against his arm. He loathed her because she brought that smell back to him, because she forced him to remember.

Slowly he pulled his arm away and looked at her. Her head fell back towards the tub, and just before it struck the water, she took a breath to scream. But by then it was too late, and her little face disappeared under the surface. Her eyes stared up at him through the rippling water. She flailed her arms and legs, but she couldn�t pull herself up. She was too little, too weak. He didn�t even have to hold her head down. It came to rest on the bottom, and the only thing she could do was move it from side to side.

He squatted down, leaned his chin on the edge of the bathtub, and watched her struggle. She shouldn�t have tried to take his beautiful mother away from him. She deserved to die. It wasn�t his fault.

After a while her arms and legs stopped moving and slowly sank. He felt a great calm spread through him. The smell was gone and he could breathe again. Everything would be the way it used to be. With his head tilted, resting against the cold enamel, he looked at Alice, who now lay very still.

�Come in, come in,� said Ulf Rosander, looking groggy with sleep, although he was fully dressed. He motioned for Patrik and Paula to enter.

�Thanks for agreeing to see us on such short notice,� said Paula.

�No problem. I just had to phone my workplace to say that I�d be a little late. Considering the circumstances, they understood completely. We�ve all lost a colleague.� He headed for the living room, and they followed.

It looked as if a bomb had gone off in the room. Toys and all sorts of other items were scattered everywhere. Ulf shoved aside a pile of children�s clothing so that they could sit down on the sofa.

�It�s always chaotic in the morning before the kids have to go off to the day-care centre,� he apologized.

�How old are they?� asked Paula as Patrik leaned back, letting her take the lead. As a police officer, he never underestimated the value of small talk.

�Three and five,� said Rosander, his face lighting up. �Two girls. They�re my second brood. I also have two sons from a previous marriage who are fourteen and sixteen. But they�re living with their mother at the moment, or the house would look even worse.�

�How are the kids getting along, since there�s such a big age difference?� wondered Patrik.

�Much better than expected, actually. The boys are real teenagers, so things don�t always go smoothly. But the girls worship them, and the boys like their little sisters too. In fact, the girls call them the Elk Brothers.�

Patrik laughed, but Paula looked mystified. �It�s from a children�s book,� he told her. �Just wait a few years, and you�ll understand.�

Then he turned serious as he said to Rosander, �Well, as you probably heard, we�ve found Magnus.�

The smile on Rosander�s face instantly disappeared. He ran his hand through his hair, which was dishevelled enough already.

�Do you know how he died? Did he go down in the sea?�

That was an old-fashioned way of referring to a shipwreck, but a common expression for people who lived in a community so close to the water.

Patrik shook his head. �We don�t know yet. But right now it�s more important to find out what happened on the morning he disappeared.�

�I understand. But I don�t really know how I can help.� Rosander threw out his hands. �The only thing I know is that he phoned to tell me he was running late.�

�Was that unusual?� asked Paula.

�For Magnus to be late?� Rosander frowned. �Now that you mention it, I don�t think it had ever happened before.�

�How long had you been driving to work together?� Patrik discreetly removed a little plastic ladybird that he�d been sitting on.

�Ever since I started working at Tanum Windows five years ago. Before that, Magnus always took the bus, but we got to talking at work, and I said that he could ride with me. In return he could pay his share of the petrol.�

�And during these five years, had he ever phoned before to say that he�d be late?� Paula repeated her question.

�No, not once. I should have thought of that earlier.�

�How did he sound when he rang?� asked Patrik. �Calm? Upset? Did he say why he was delayed?�

�No, he didn�t. I can�t be sure about this, because it�s been a while now, but I don�t think he sounded quite himself.�

�What do you mean by that?� Patrik leaned forward.

�Upset is probably too strong a word, but I got the impression that something was wrong. I thought maybe he�d had a row with Cia or the kids.�

�Was there something he said to give you that idea?� asked Paula, exchanging a glance with Patrik.

�No, not really. The conversation lasted about five seconds. Magnus phoned and said that he was running late and that I should just go on ahead if he took too long. He�d make it to work on his own. Then he hung up. I waited for a while, and then I left. That was all. I assume it was his tone of voice that made me think that there�d been some sort of trouble at home.�

�Do you know whether they had any problems in their marriage?�

�I never heard Magnus say a single bad thing about Cia. On the contrary. They seemed to get on really well. Of course it�s impossible to tell what goes on in other families, but I�ve always thought of Magnus as a happily married man. Mind you, we didn�t talk much about those sorts of things. It was more about the weather and football.�

�Would you say that the two of you were friends?� asked Patrik.

Rosander hesitated before answering. �No, I wouldn�t really say that. We drove to work together and we chatted now and then at lunch, but we never socialized or anything like that. I don�t really know why not, because we enjoyed each other�s company. But everyone has their own circle of friends, and it�s hard to change things like that.�

�So if something was bothering him, or if someone had upset him, he wouldn�t have confided in you?� Paula asked.

�No, I don�t think he would have. But I did see him five days a week, so I should have been able to tell if he was worried about something. He was just the same as always. Cheerful, calm, and confident. A really great guy, to put it simply.� Rosander looked down at his hands. �I�m sorry I can�t be of more help.�

�You�ve been extremely cooperative.� Patrik got up and Paula followed suit. They shook hands with Rosander and thanked him for his time.

Back in the car, they went over what they�d heard as they drove.

�So what do you think?� said Paula, glancing at Patrik�s profile as he sat next to her in the passenger seat.

�Hey, keep your eyes on the road!� Patrik grabbed the door handle as Paula barely managed to avoid colliding with a lorry in the narrow curve just before M�rhult.

�Whoops,� said Paula, all of her attention now fixed on the windscreen and the road ahead.

�Women drivers,� muttered Patrik.

Paula knew that he was just teasing her and chose to ignore his remark. Besides, she�d been a passenger in the car when Patrik was driving, and she thought it was a miracle he even had a licence.

�I don�t think Ulf Rosander has anything at all to do with the murder,� said Patrik, in answer to her question.

Paula nodded. �I agree. In this instance Mellberg is really barking up the wrong tree.�

�So we�ll just have to convince him of that.�

�But it was still good that we went out there. G�sta must have missed that bit of information. There has to be a reason why Magnus was late for the first time in five years. It was Rosander�s impression that he sounded upset, or at least not like himself when he phoned. I don�t think it�s a coincidence that he disappeared that very morning.�

�You�re right. I just don�t know how we should go about finding out what had upset him. I asked Cia the same question earlier, whether anything in particular happened that morning, and she said no. She did leave for work before Magnus did, but what could have happened in the short period of time when he was home alone?�

�Has anyone checked the phone records?� asked Paula, careful to keep her eyes focused on the road.

�Several times. No one rang their house that morning. No one rang his mobile. The only phone call was when Magnus rang Rosander. After that, nothing.�

�Do you think someone came over to see him in person?�

�I don�t think so.� Patrik shook his head. �The neighbours had a good view of the house. They were eating breakfast when Magnus left. Of course it�s possible that they might have missed seeing someone who rang the doorbell, but they were quite confident they hadn�t.�

�What about his email?�

Again Patrik shook his head. �Cia gave us permission to look through his computer, but there were no emails that aroused any interest.�

They drove in silence for a while, both of them lost in thought. What could have happened to make Magnus Kjellner disappear one day without a trace, only to turn up three months later, his body frozen in the ice? What actually happened on that morning?

He thought she looked rather sweet as she lay there so still, no longer crying or demanding or taking. He reached out his hand to touch her forehead. His movement stirred up the water again, and her features were blurred by the ripples on the surface.

It sounded like Father was saying goodbye to whoever it was at the front door. He could hear footsteps approaching. Father would understand. He too had been shut out. She had taken from him too.

He drew his fingers through the water, making patterns and waves. Her hands and feet were resting on the bottom. Only her knees and a small part of her forehead stuck out of the water.

Now he heard Father just outside the bathroom door. He didn�t look up. Suddenly it felt like he couldn�t take his eyes off her. He liked her this way. For the first time he liked her. He pressed his cheek even harder against the edge of the tub. Listening and waiting for Father to realize that they were free of her now. They had Mother back, both he and Father. Father would be happy; he was sure of that.

Then he felt someone yanking him away from the bathtub. Surprised, he looked up. Father�s face was contorted with so many feelings that he didn�t know how to interpret them. But he didn�t look happy.

�What have you done?� Father�s voice roared and he grabbed Alice out of the tub. Helplessly he held her slack body in his arms, and then he gently set her down on the rug. �What have you done?� Father said again, without looking at him.

�She took Mother away.� He felt the words stick in his throat, unable to come out. He didn�t understand a thing. He thought Father would be pleased.

Father didn�t say a word. Just gave him a quick glance, a look of disbelief on his face. Then he leaned down and pressed his fingers lightly on the baby�s chest. He held her nose, blew gently into her mouth, and then pressed on her chest again.

�Why are you doing that, Father?� He could hear how whiny his voice sounded. Mother didn�t like it when he whined. He pulled his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them as he leaned his back against the tub. This wasn�t how it was supposed to go. Why was Father giving him such strange looks? He wasn�t just angry at him; Father also looked scared of him.

Father kept on blowing into Alice�s mouth. Her hands and feet lay motionless on the rug, just as still as when they were resting on the bottom of the tub. Every once in a while they jerked a bit when Father pressed his fingers on her chest, but that was Father moving them. She wasn�t moving them on her own.

But the fourth time that Father stopped blowing, one of her hands quivered. Then came the coughing, and after that the scream. That oh-so-familiar, shrill, demanding scream. He didn�t like her any more.

Mother�s footsteps could be heard coming down the stairs. Father picked up Alice, holding her so close that the front of his shirt was soaked. She was shrieking so loudly that the bathroom seemed to vibrate, and he wished that she would stop, that she would be as quiet and sweet as she was before Father did what he had done to her.

As Mother approached, Father squatted down in front of him. His eyes were big and frightened as he leaned forward and whispered: �We will never talk about what happened here. And if you ever do it again, I�m going to send you away so fast that you won�t even hear the door close after you. Do you understand? You are never to touch her again!�

�What�s going on here?� Mother�s voice in the doorway. �The minute I go upstairs to take a nap for a moment�s respite, pure hysteria breaks out down here. What�s wrong with her? Did he do something?� She turned to look at him sitting on the floor.

For several seconds the only answer was Alice screaming. Then Father stood up, still holding her in his arms, and said, �No, I just didn�t get the towel wrapped around her fast enough when I took her out of the bath. She�s just angry.�

�Are you sure he didn�t do anything?� She stared at him, but he just bowed his head and pretended to be busy tugging at the fringe of the rug.

�No, he was just helping me out. He�s been very nice with her.� Out of the corner of his eye, Father gave him a warning look.

Mother seemed satisfied with that response. Impatiently she reached out for Alice, and after a moment�s hesitation, Father handed the baby to her. When she had left the room to calm the child, they looked at each other. Neither of them said a word. But he saw in Father�s eyes that he meant what he had said. They would never speak of what had just happened.

�Kenneth?� Her voice broke as she tried to call her husband�s name.

No answer. Was she imagining things? No, she was sure that she�d heard the door open and then close again.

�Hello?�

Still no answer. Lisbet attempted to sit up, but her strength had been seeping away so fast over the past few days that she couldn�t manage it. What energy she had left, she saved for the hours when Kenneth was at home. All for the purpose of convincing him that she was doing better than she actually was, so that he�d let her stay home a little while longer. So she could escape the smell of the hospital and the feel of the starched sheets against her skin. She knew Kenneth so well. He would drive her to the hospital in an instant if he knew how bad she was really feeling. He would do it because he was still clinging desperately to hope.

But Lisbet�s body told her that her time was near. She�d used up all her reserves, and the disease had taken over. Victorious. All she wanted was to die at home, with her own blanket over her body and her own pillow under her head. And with Kenneth sleeping next to her in the night. She often lay awake, listening, trying to memorize the sound of each breath he took. She knew how uncomfortable it was for him to sleep on that rickety camp-bed. But she couldn�t get herself to tell him to go upstairs to sleep. Maybe she was being selfish, but she loved him too much to be away from him in these last hours that she had left.

�Kenneth?� she called out again. She had just persuaded herself that it was all in her imagination when she heard the familiar creak of the loose floorboard out in the hall. It always protested whenever anyone stepped on it.

�Hello?� Now she was starting to get scared. She looked around for the telephone, which Kenneth usually remembered to leave within reach. But lately he�d been so tired in the morning that he sometimes forgot. Like today.

�Is someone there?� She gripped the edge of the bed and again tried to sit up. She felt like the main character in one of her favourite stories, The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka, in which Gregor Samsa is changed into a beetle and can�t turn over if he lands on his back. He just lies there, helpless.

Now she heard footsteps in the hall. Whoever it was moved cautiously, but was still getting closer and closer. Lisbet felt panic taking over. Who would refuse to answer her calls? Surely Kenneth wouldn�t try to tease her in that way. He had never subjected her to any sort of practical jokes or surprises, so she didn�t think he would start now.

The footsteps were very close. She stared at the old wooden door, which she had personally sanded and painted what now seemed like an entire lifetime ago. When the door didn�t move, she again thought that her brain must be playing tricks on her, that the cancer had spread there too, so that she could no longer think clearly or tell what was real and what wasn�t.

But then, very slowly, the door began to open. Someone was standing on the other side, pushing it open. She screamed for help, screamed as loud as she could, trying to drown out the terrifying silence. When the door swung all the way open, she stopped. And the person began to speak. The voice was familiar and yet not, and she squinted to see better. The long dark hair she saw made Lisbet instinctively touch her own head to make sure the yellow scarf was in place.

�Who are you?� she asked, but the person held up a finger. And Lisbet fell silent.

The voice spoke again. Now it was coming from the edge of the bed, speaking close to her face, saying things that made her want to cover her ears with her hands. Lisbet shook her head, didn�t want to listen, but the voice continued. It was spellbinding and relentless. It told a story, and something about its tone and the narrative�s movement, both backward and forward, made her understand that the story was true. And the truth was more than she could bear.

Paralysed, she listened to the inexorable outpouring of words. The more she heard, the weaker was her hold on the fragile lifeline that had been keeping her going. She�d been living on borrowed time and sheer force of will, relying on love and her faith in it. Now that it had been taken from her, she let go of her grip. The last thing Lisbet heard was the voice. And then her heart burst.

�When do you think we can talk to Cia again?� Patrik looked at his colleague.

�I�m afraid we can�t wait,� said Paula. �I�m sure she understands that we need to keep working on the investigation.�

�You�re probably right,� said Patrik, but he didn�t sound convinced. It was always a difficult balance. Doing his job, which might involve intruding on someone�s grief, or showing compassion and thereby putting his work in second place. At the same time, Cia�s steadfast Wednesday visits to the police station had shown him what she considered the top priority.

�What should we do? What haven�t we done yet? Or is there anything we need to do over? Have we missed something?�

�Well, to begin with, Magnus spent his whole life here in Fj�llbacka, so if he had any secrets, either now or in the past, we should be able to find them here. And that makes things easier. The local gossip mill is usually highly efficient, and yet we haven�t found out a single thing about him. Nothing that might give us a motive for why someone would want to harm him, much less take the drastic step of killing him.�

�He seems to have been a real family man. A stable marriage, well-behaved children, a normal social circle. But in spite of all that, somebody went at him with a knife. Could it have been an act of insanity? Some mentally deranged person who snapped and then chose a victim at random?� Paula presented this theory without a great deal of confidence.

�We can�t rule that out, but I don�t think so. The most significant thing contradicting that premise is the fact that Magnus phoned Rosander to say that he�d be late. And besides, Rosander said that Kjellner didn�t sound like himself. No, something happened on that morning.�

�In other words, we need to focus on the people he knew.�

�Easier said than done,� replied Patrik. �Fj�llbacka has approximately a thousand inhabitants. And everybody knows everybody else, more or less.�

�Oh, great. I�m beginning to see the problem,� laughed Paula. She was a relative newcomer in Tanumshede, and she was still trying to get used to the shock of losing the anonymity of a big city.

�But in principle, you�re right. So I suggest that we start at the centre and then make our way outwards. We�ll talk to Cia as soon as we can. And to the children, if Cia will allow it. Then we�ll move on to Magnus�s closest friends: Erik Lind, Kenneth Bengtsson, and especially Christian Thydell. There�s something about those threatening letters��

Patrik opened his top desk drawer and took out the plastic bag containing the letter and the card. He told his colleague the whole story about how Erica had acquired them. Paula listened in disbelief. In silence she read the hostile words.

�This is serious,� she said then. �We should send these to the lab for analysis.�

�I know,� said Patrik. �But let�s not jump to any hasty conclusions. I just have a feeling that everything might be connected somehow.�

�I agree,� said Paula, getting up. �I don�t think it�s a coincidence either.� She paused before leaving Patrik�s office. �Should we talk to Christian today?�

�No, I�d like us to spend the rest of the day gathering all the information we can find about all three of them: Christian, Erik, and Kenneth. Then we�ll go through all the material together tomorrow morning, to see whether there�s anything we can use. I also think both of us should read through all the notes from the interviews that were conducted right after Magnus disappeared. Then we�ll be able to catch anything that doesn�t jibe with what people said the first time around.�

�I�ll talk to Annika. I�m sure she can help with the background material.�

�Good. I�ll phone Cia and find out if she can bear to meet with us.�

With a meditative expression on his face, Patrik sat and stared at the phone for a long time after Paula had left.

�I said there�s nothing wrong with her!� Mother�s voice was angry and she was on the verge of tears. He slipped away and sat down behind the sofa some distance away. But not so far that he couldn�t hear what they said. Everything having to do with Alice was important.

He liked her better now. She never gave him that look any more that meant she wanted to take something from him. Mostly she lay still and made very little noise, and he thought that was wonderful.

�She�s eight months old, and she hasn�t made a single attempt to crawl or move about. We need to have a doctor take a look at her.� Father was speaking in a low voice. The voice he used when he wanted to persuade Mother to do something that she didn�t want to do. He placed his hands on her shoulders so she would be forced to listen to what he was saying.

�Something isn�t quite right with Alice. The sooner we get help, the better. You�re not doing her any good by closing your eyes to what�s wrong.�

His mother shook her head. Her shiny dark hair hung down her back, and he wished that he could reach out and touch it. But he knew that she wouldn�t like it; she would pull away from his touch.

Mother kept on shaking her head. The tears rolled down her cheeks, and he knew that in spite of everything, she had begun to relent. Father turned to look over his shoulder, casting a swift glance at him as he sat behind the sofa. He smiled at Father, not knowing what he meant. But apparently it was wrong to smile, because Father frowned and looked angry, as if wishing his expression were different.

Nor did he understand why Mother and Father were so worried and sad. Alice was so calm and nice now. Mother didn�t have to carry her around all the time, and she lay peacefully wherever they put her. But Mother and Father weren�t happy. And even though there was now space for him too, they treated him like he was air. He didn�t really care so much that Father did that; Father wasn�t the one who mattered. But Mother didn�t see him either, and if she did, it was only with a look of disgust and loathing on her face.

Because he couldn�t seem to stop himself. He couldn�t resist lifting his fork again and again, stuffing the food in his mouth, chewing, swallowing, taking more, feeling his body filling out. The fear was too great, the fear that she would never see him. He was no longer Mother�s handsome little boy. But he was here, and he took up space.

It was quiet when he came home. Lisbet was probably sleeping. He considered going in to see her right away, but he didn�t want to wake her if she�d just fallen asleep. It would be better to do it just before he left. She needed all the rest she could get.

Kenneth paused in the front hall for a moment. This was the silence that he would soon have to live with. Of course he�d been home alone in the past. Lisbet had been very involved with her job as a teacher, and she�d often worked overtime in the evenings. But it was a different sort of silence when he�d arrived home before she did. It was a silence full of promise, full of anticipation, waiting for that moment when the front door opened and she would come in, saying: �Hi, sweetheart, I�m home.�

He would never again hear those words. Lisbet would leave this house, but she would never come home again.

Suddenly he was overcome with grief. He had put so much energy into keeping his sorrow at bay, not wanting to let it in ahead of time. But now he couldn�t stop it. He leaned his forehead against the wall and felt the tears rising. And he let them come, weeping silently, the tears falling to his feet. For the first time he allowed himself to feel what it would be like when she was gone. In many ways she was already gone. Their love was as great as ever, but it was different. Because the Lisbet who lay in the guest-room bed was only a shadow of the woman he had loved. She no longer existed, and he missed her terribly.

He stood there for a long time with his forehead pressed against the wall. After a while his sobs subsided, the tears fell more slowly. When they stopped altogether, he took a deep breath, raised his head, and wiped his wet cheeks with his hand. That was enough. That was all he could allow himself right now.

He went into the workroom. The letters were in the top desk drawer. His first instinct had been to throw them out, to ignore them. But something had stopped him. And when the fourth one arrived the other night, delivered inside his home, he was glad that he�d kept the others. Because now he realized that he needed to take them seriously. Someone wanted to harm him.

He knew that he should have turned over the letters to the police right away, and not worried so much about upsetting Lisbet as she waited to die. He should have protected her by taking the matter seriously. It was lucky that he�d realized this in time, that Erik had made him realize it in time. If anything had happened to her because, as usual, he had failed to act, he would never have forgiven himself.

With trembling fingers he picked up the letters, walked quietly down the hall to the kitchen, and placed all of them inside an ordinary one-gallon plastic bag. He considered leaving immediately so as not to wake Lisbet. But he couldn�t go without looking in on her. He needed to make sure that everything was all right, to see her face, he hoped peacefully asleep.

Cautiously he opened the door to the guest room. It opened without a sound, and gradually more and more of his wife came into view. She was sleeping. Her eyes were closed, and he took in every feature, every detail of her face. She was gaunt and her skin was parched, but she was still beautiful.

He quietly took a few steps inside the room, unable to resist the urge to touch her. But suddenly he sensed that something was wrong. Lisbet looked the way she always did when she slept, but now he realized what was different. It was so silent. He didn�t hear a sound. Not even a breath.

Kenneth rushed forward. He placed two fingers on her throat, moved his fingers to the wrist of her left hand, fumbling, moved his hand back to her throat, wishing with all his heart that he would find the life-giving pulse. But in vain. There was nothing. It was silent in the room and silent in her body. She had left him.

He heard a sobbing sound, as if from an animal. Guttural and filled with despair. And he realized that the sound was coming from him. He sat down on the edge of the bed and lifted her up, cautiously, as if she could still feel pain.

Her head rested heavily on his lap. He stroked her cheek and felt his tears return. Grief overcame him with a force that erased everything he had ever felt before; he was consumed by sorrow. It was a physical sorrow that spread through his whole body, wringing every nerve. The pain made him scream out loud. The sound of his cries echoed through the small room, bouncing off the floral coverlet and the pale wallpaper to be thrown back at him.

Her hands were clasped over her breast, and gently he pulled them apart. He wanted to hold her hand one last time. He felt her rough skin against his own. Her skin had lost its softness after the treatments, but it still felt so familiar.

He lifted her hand to his lips, kissing the back of it, as his tears fell on both of their hands, joining them together. He closed his eyes and tasted the salt of his tears mixing with her scent. He would have liked to sit there for ever, never letting go. But he knew that was impossible. Lisbet was no longer his, she was no longer here, and he had to let her go. At least she was no longer in pain; that was over now. The cancer had won, but it had also lost because it was forced to die with her.

He put her hand down, placing it gently at her side. Her right hand still lay on her breast, and he picked it up to move it to her other side.

But he gave a start when he noticed something in her hand, something white. His heart began pounding wildly. He wanted to clasp her hands again and hide what he saw, but he couldn�t. With trembling fingers he opened her right hand. The white object tumbled out and fell on to the coverlet. A small piece of paper, folded in half so the message was hidden. But he knew what it was. He could feel the presence of evil in the room.

Kenneth reached for the slip of paper. He hesitated for a moment, and then he read what it said.

Alice still demanded so much. Mother devoted hours to training her, bending her joints, doing exercises with pictures and music. She had moved heaven and earth before she finally accepted the situation. Things were not as they should be with Alice.

But he no longer got so angry. He didn�t hate his sister, in spite of all the time she required from Mother. Because the look of triumph in her eyes was gone. She was calm and quiet. She mostly sat by herself, plucking at something, repeating the same movement for hours, staring out of the window or straight at the wall, looking at something only she could see.

And she did learn things. First how to sit up, then how to wriggle forward, finally how to walk. The same as other children. It just took longer for Alice.

Now and then Father would happen to look at him over her head. For a moment, just an instant, their eyes would meet, and there was something in Father�s expression that he couldn�t decipher. But he understood that Father was keeping watch over him, keeping watch over Alice. He wanted to tell Father that it wasn�t necessary. Why would he do anything to her, now that she was so nice?

He didn�t love her. He loved only Mother. But he tolerated her. Alice was now part of his world, a small part of his reality, in the same way as the TV set with its noise, the bed he crawled into at night, or the rustling of the newspapers that Father read. She was just as much a natural part of daily life, and she meant just as little.

Alice, on the other hand, adored him. He couldn�t understand it. Why had she chosen him instead of their beautiful mother? Alice�s face lit up whenever she saw him, and she would stretch out her arms to him, wanting to be picked up. Otherwise she didn�t like to be touched. She often recoiled and pulled away when Mother came near, wanting to caress her and hold her. He didn�t understand it. If Mother had wanted to touch him and caress him in that way, he would have crept into her embrace and closed his eyes, never wanting to leave.

Alice�s unconditional love for him was surprising. And yet it gave him a certain feeling of satisfaction that at least somebody wanted him. Sometimes he would test her love. On those few occasions when Father forgot to keep an eye on them and went to the toilet or out to the kitchen to get something, he would test how far her love extended. He would see how far he could go before the light in her eyes was extinguished. Sometimes he would pinch her, sometimes he would pull her hair. Once he had cautiously removed her shoe and scratched the sole of her foot with the little pocket knife he had found and always carried in his pocket.

He didn�t really like hurting her, but he knew how shallow love could be, and how easily it could be blown away. To his great amazement, Alice never cried; she didn�t even give him a reproachful look. She simply put up with whatever he did. Silently, with those bright eyes staring at him.

And no one ever took any notice of the little black and blue marks or the tiny cuts on her body. She was constantly getting bumps and bruises, toppling over, running into things, and cutting herself. It was as if she moved about with a couple of seconds� time lag in her awareness, and she often didn�t react until she was already knocking into something. But she never cried, even then.

There were no signs on the outside, nothing that was visible. Even he had to admit that she looked like an angel. If Mother took Alice out in her pushchair � and she was really too big for it by now, but she was still allowed to ride in it because she took so long to walk anywhere on her own � strangers would always comment on the way Alice looked.

�What a lovely child,� they would chirp. Leaning over her, they would look at Alice with hungry eyes, as if they wanted to inhale all her sweetness. And he used to glance up at Mother, noticing how for a second she would beam with pride as she nodded.

Then everything would be destroyed in an instant. Alice would reach out towards her admirers with drool hanging from her lips. Then they would abruptly step back, casting first a shocked and then a sympathetic glance at Mother, while her proud expression vanished.

They never looked at him at all. He was just somebody walking behind Mother and Alice, if he was even allowed to go along. A fat, shapeless mass, and no one gave him a thought. But he didn�t care. It was as if the anger that had burned inside his chest had died the moment the water had covered Alice�s face. He never noticed the smell in his nostrils any more. That sweet smell had disappeared, as if it had never existed. That too the water had washed away. Although the memory was still there. Not like a memory of something real, but more like a feeling of something displaced. He was someone else now. Someone who knew that Mother no longer loved him.

They got started early. Patrik had refused to listen to any protests about holding the meeting at seven o�clock sharp.

�I have a very ambiguous picture of who�s behind all of this,� he said after having summarized the case. �We seem to be dealing with an individual who is seriously mentally unbalanced, but at the same time extremely cautious and well organized. And that�s a dangerous combination.�

�We don�t know for sure that the same person who killed Magnus is also responsible for the letters and the break-in at Kenneth�s house,� said Martin.

�No, but there�s nothing to contradict that theory either. I suggest that for the present we assume there�s a connection.� Patrik rubbed his face with his hand. He�d lain in bed tossing and turning most of the night, and he felt more tired than ever. �I�ll phone Pedersen after we�re done here and find out if we can get a definitive answer about the cause of death for Magnus.�

�It�s probably going to take a few more days to get Pedersen�s report,� said Paula.

�I know, but it doesn�t hurt to lean on him a bit.� Patrik pointed at the corkboard on the wall. �We�ve wasted far too much time already. It�s been three months since Magnus disappeared, but only in the past few days did we find out about the threats to other individuals.�

Everyone�s eyes were fixed on the photographs that were pinned up next to each other.

�We have four friends: Magnus Kjellner, Christian Thydell, Kenneth Bengtsson, and Erik Lind. One is dead. The other three have received threatening letters from someone who we believe to be a woman. Unfortunately we don�t know whether Magnus received similar letters. At any rate his wife, Cia, isn�t aware of any. So it�s unlikely we�ll ever know for sure.�

�But why these four?� Paula squinted her eyes at the photos.

�If we knew that, we�d probably know who�s behind everything,� said Patrik. �Annika, have you found out anything interesting about their backgrounds?�

�Not really. At least not yet. No surprises when it comes to Kenneth Bengtsson. There�s a lot about Erik Lind, but nothing that seems relevant for us. Mostly suspicions regarding shady financial dealings and that sort of thing.�

�I�ll bet that Erik is involved in some way,� said Mellberg. �He�s a slippery devil. I�ve heard plenty of rumours about his business enterprises. He�s also a real ladies� man. So obviously we ought to take a closer look at him.� He tapped his finger against the side of his nose.

�But why was Magnus murdered?� asked Patrik, receiving an annoyed look in reply.

�I haven�t found much on Christian so far,� Annika went on calmly. �But I�ll keep at it, and of course I�ll let you know if I find out anything that might be useful.�

�Don�t forget that he was the first to receive a letter.� Paula was still staring at the corkboard. �They started arriving a year and a half ago. Christian has also received more letters than his friends. At the same time, it seems odd that the others would be dragged into the situation if only one person was the target. I have a strong feeling that there�s something linking all four of them together.�

�I agree. And it also seems significant that it was Christian who first drew the attention of whoever this person is.� Patrik wiped his forehead. It was hot and stuffy in the room, and he�d begun to sweat. He turned to Annika. �Focus on Christian for now.�

�I still think we need to concentrate on Erik,� said Mellberg. He glared at G�sta. �What do you say, Flygare? You and I are the ones with the most experience. Don�t you think Erik Lind should be given some extra attention?�

G�sta squirmed. He�d made it through his whole career as a police officer by adopting the policy of always taking the path of least resistance. But after wrestling with himself for a few seconds, he finally shook his head.

�Well, even though I see your point, I�m afraid I�ll have to agree with Hedstr�m that Christian Thydell seems the most interesting at the moment.�

�All right, if you want to waste more time, then go ahead,� said Mellberg, getting up with a hurt expression on his face. �I have better things to do than to sit here casting pearls before swine.� And he left the room.

What Mellberg apparently regarded as �better things to do� involved taking a lengthy nap. But Patrik had no intention of stopping him. The more Mellberg kept out of the investigation, the better.

�Okay, so you�ll focus on Christian,� Patrik reiterated, nodding at Annika. �When do you think you�ll have something for me?�

�By tomorrow I should have a much clearer picture of his background.�

�That�s great. Martin and G�sta, I�d like you to go and see Kenneth at his home. Try to find out more details about what happened yesterday, and about the letters. Eventually we should also have another talk with Erik Lind. For my part, I�m going to phone Pedersen as soon as it�s eight o�clock.� Patrik cast a glance at his watch. Only another half-hour. �Then I think Paula and I should drive over to see Cia.�

Paula nodded. �Just let me know when you�re ready, and we�ll head over there.�

�Good. So now everyone knows what they should be doing.�

Martin raised his hand.

�Yes?�

�Shouldn�t we provide some sort of police protection for Christian and the others?�

�I�ve thought of that, of course. But we just don�t have the resources, and we don�t have much to go on yet. So we�ll wait on that. Anything else?�

No one spoke.

�Okay, then let�s get busy.� Patrik wiped the sweat from his brow again. Next time, in spite of the winter weather, they would really need to open one of the windows to let in some air.

After the others had left, Patrik remained seated at the table for a while, studying what was posted on the corkboard. Four men. Four friends. One of them dead.

What was it that linked all of them together?

He was ten years old when everything changed. He had actually adapted quite well by that time. He wasn�t happy, not the way he thought he would be when he saw his beautiful mother for the first time, or the way he had been before Alice started growing inside of her stomach. But he wasn�t unhappy either. He had a place in life, able to dream himself far away through the world of books, and he was content with that. And the fat on his body protected him; it was an armour against what was chafing inside.

Alice loved him as much as always. She followed him like a shadow but didn�t say much, which suited him just fine. If he needed anything, she was right there. If he was thirsty, she would bring him some water; if he wanted something to eat, she would slip into the pantry and fetch the pastries that Mother had hidden away.

Occasionally Father would still have that strange look in his eyes, but he no longer kept watch over him. Alice was big now. She was five years old, and she had finally learned to walk and talk. But she looked like other children only if she stood still and didn�t speak. Then she looked so sweet that people would stop and stare at her, just as they had done when she was little and sat in the pushchair. If she moved or said something, a look of pity would appear on their faces as they shook their heads.

The doctor had said that she would never be right. Of course he wasn�t allowed to go to the doctor appointments. He was never allowed to go with them anywhere, but he hadn�t forgotten how to creep about like an Indian brave. He moved through the house without making a sound, and he was always listening. He heard their discussions and knew everything that was said about Alice. It was mostly Mother who talked. She was the one who took Alice to all the doctor appointments, trying to find some new treatment, a new method or new type of exercise that might help Alice and make her movements, her speech, and her abilities better match the way she looked.

No one ever talked about him. That was also something he learned by eavesdropping. It was as if he didn�t exist; he merely took up space. But he had learned to live with that. The few times that he felt hurt, he would think about the smell and what was now starting to seem more and more like an evil fairy tale. A distant memory. That was enough to enable him to live with being invisible to everyone except Alice. Now that he had made her be nice.

A phone call changed everything. The Old Bitch had died, and her house now belonged to Mother. The house in Fj�llbacka. They hadn�t been there since Alice was born, not since that summer in the caravan when he had lost everything. Now they were going to move there. Mother was the one who made the decision. Father tried to object, but as usual nobody listened to him.

Alice didn�t like change. She wanted everything to always remain the same, the same things every day, the same routines. So when all of her possessions were packed up and they were sitting in the car with Father behind the wheel, Alice turned around and pressed her nose against the back window, peering at the house until it was lost from sight. Then she turned around to face forward again, moving close to him. She laid her cheek on his shoulder, and for a moment he considered consoling her, giving her a little pat on the head or taking her hand. But he didn�t do it.

She leaned against him all the way to Fj�llbacka.

�You certainly embarrassed me yesterday,� said Erik. He was standing in front of the mirror in the bedroom, trying to knot his tie.

Louise didn�t respond. She merely turned her back to him, rolling over on to her side.

�Did you hear what I just said?� He raised his voice a bit, but not enough so the girls could hear him from their rooms across the hall.

�I heard you,� she said in a low voice.

�Don�t do that again. Ever! It�s one thing for you to behave like a drunk here at home in the daytime. As long as you can stay on your feet when the girls are around, I don�t care what else you do. But I bloody well won�t have you coming over to the office.�

No answer. It annoyed him that she offered no defence. He preferred her caustic remarks to this silence.

�You disgust me. Do you know that?� The knot of his tie ended up too far down, and he swore as he tore it apart to try again. He cast a glance at Louise. She was still lying on the bed with her back turned, but now he saw that her shoulders were shaking. Damn it. This morning was just getting better and better. He despised her hangovers, which were always accompanied by tears and self-pity.

�Stop that. You need to pull yourself together.� He could feel how the same old admonitions, repeated over and over, were starting to wear out his patience.

�Are you still seeing Cecilia?� Her voice was muffled by the pillow. Then she turned over to face him to hear his answer.

Erik looked at her with distaste. Without make-up and without the disguise of expensive clothes, she looked ghastly.

She repeated her question. �Are you still seeing her? Are you fucking her?�

So she knew. That was more than he�d expected from her.

�No.� He thought about the last conversation that he�d had with Cecilia. He didn�t want to talk about it.

�Why not? Are you already tired of her?� Louise had taken hold of the topic like a pit bull.

�Let�s just drop it!�

There was no sound from the girls� rooms, and he hoped that they hadn�t heard. He realized that he must have been shouting. But he didn�t want to think about Cecilia or the child that he was going to be forced to support in secret.

�I don�t want to talk about her,� he said in a calmer tone of voice as he finally got his tie knotted.

Louise was staring at him, her mouth agape. She looked old. Tears had collected at the corners of her eyes. Her lower lip was quivering as she kept looking at him without saying a word.

�I�m going to the office now. Get your arse out of bed and make sure the girls get to school on time. If you can manage that.� He gave her a cold stare and then turned away. Maybe it would be worth the money to be rid of her after all. There were plenty of women who would be overjoyed to accept what he had to offer. She would be easy to replace.

�Out of the way, Fatty!�

The boys deliberately bumped into him as they passed in the corridor. He tried to ignore them, to be as invisible at school as he was at home. But it didn�t work. It was as if they had been waiting for someone like him, someone who stuck out, a scapegoat they could pick on. He understood. After spending so many hours reading books, he knew more and understood more than most kids his age. He excelled in all his classes, and the teachers loved him. But what good was that when he couldn�t kick a ball, run fast, or spit far? Those were the sorts of skills that counted, the talents that mattered.

Slowly he made his way home. He kept looking around to see if anyone was waiting to ambush him. Luckily he didn�t have a long walk to school. The route was filled with dangers, but at least it was short. All he had to do was go down the slope of H�ckebacken, head left towards the wharf that faced Badholmen, and there was his house. The house they had inherited from the Old Bitch.

Mother still called her by that name. She had said that name with great satisfaction every time she discarded any of the old woman�s possessions, tossing them into the big rubbish bin they had placed in the yard when they moved in.

�If only the Old Bitch could see this. Here go all her fancy chairs,� said Mother, cleaning and clearing things out as if she�d gone mad. �Now I�m throwing away your grandmother�s china. See that?�

He had never heard why she�d been given that name: the Old Bitch. Or why Mother was so angry with her. Once he had timidly asked Father, but he had merely muttered a few vague words in reply.

�You�re already home?� Mother was combing Alice�s hair when he came in.

�School was out the same time as always,� he said, ignoring Alice�s smile. �What�s for dinner?�

�You look like you�ve already eaten enough for the rest of the year. No dinner for you today. You can just live on your fat.�

It was only four o�clock, and already he could feel how hungry he was going to be. But when he looked at Mother, he could tell that it would do no good to protest.

He went up to his room, closed the door, and lay down on his bed with a book. Filled with hope, he stuck his hand under the mattress. If he was lucky, he might have missed something. But there was nothing there. She was very clever. She always found the food and sweets that he stashed away, no matter where he tried to hide them.

A couple of hours later, his stomach was growling noisily. He was so hungry that he was on the verge of tears. From downstairs came the smell of freshly baked buns, and he knew that Mother was making cinnamon rolls just so that the fragrance would drive him crazy with hunger. He sniffed at the air, then turned on to his side and buried his face in the pillow. Sometimes he thought about running away. No one would care. Alice might miss him, but he didn�t give a damn about her. She had Mother.

Mother devoted all her free time to Alice. So why couldn�t Alice look at her instead of him with those adoring eyes of hers? And why did she take for granted what he would have given anything to have?

He must have dozed off, because he was awakened by a light tap on the door. His book had fallen over his face, and he had been drooling in his sleep, because the pillow was wet with saliva. He wiped his cheek with his hand and groggily got up to open the door. Alice was standing there. In one hand she had a bun, which she held out to him. His mouth watered, but he hesitated. Mother would be angry if she found out that Alice had slipped upstairs to bring him something to eat.

Alice stared at him with her eyes wide. She wanted him to see her, to love her. An image appeared in his mind. An image and the feeling of a baby�s slippery, wet body. Alice staring up at him from the water. The way she flailed about and then lay still.

He grabbed the bun and closed the door in her face. But it didn�t help. The images were still there.

Patrik had sent G�sta and Martin to Uddevalla to see if Kenneth was feeling well enough to talk to them. Torbj�rn Ruud�s team of crime techs was on the way. The team would have to split up in order to deal with both the place where Kenneth had fallen and the house belonging to Christian and Sanna. G�sta hadn�t wanted to leave; he would have preferred to stay and have a talk with Christian. But Patrik wanted Paula to stay instead. He thought it would be good to have a woman speak with Sanna and the children. Nevertheless he had been impressed with G�sta�s handling of the situation, and especially his finding the rag and bottle in the basement. With luck, these items would give them the perpetrator�s fingerprints and DNA. Up until now he or she had been too careful to leave a trace.

He stared at the man sitting at the kitchen table facing him. Christian looked worn-out and old. He seemed to have aged ten years since Patrik last saw him. He hadn�t bothered to tie the belt of his bathrobe properly, and his bare chest made him look even more vulnerable. Patrik wondered if he ought to tell Christian, for his own sake, to close up his bathrobe, but he decided not to say anything. His clothing was undoubtedly the last thing on Christian�s mind at the moment.

�The boys have calmed down. My colleague Paula is going to talk to them and your wife. She�ll be careful what she says and do her best to make sure they won�t be further frightened or upset. Okay?� Patrik tried to catch Christian�s eye to see if he was listening. At first there was no response, and he considered repeating what he�d just said. But finally Christian nodded.

�In the meantime, I thought you and I should have a little chat,� Patrik went on. �I know that you haven�t been keen to talk to us before, but this time you really have no choice. Someone came into your house and went into the room where your sons were sleeping. The boys weren�t harmed physically, but it must have been a terribly scary experience for them. If you have any idea about who might be behind this, you need to tell me. Don�t you understand that?�

Again a long pause before Christian finally nodded. He cleared his throat as if to speak, but no words came.

Patrik continued: �It was only yesterday that we found out that Kenneth and Erik had also received threatening letters from the same person who sent letters to you. And this morning Kenneth was seriously injured while he was out taking a run. Someone set a trap for him.�

Christian glanced up, looking startled, but then lowered his eyes again.

�We have no information that Magnus received similar threats, but we�re working from the assumption that the same person was involved with his death. And I have a feeling that you know more than you�re telling us. Maybe because it�s something you don�t want to drag out into the light, or it�s something you think is trivial, but you need to let us decide what�s important. Even the slightest lead could be significant.�

Christian was tracing circles on the table with his finger. Then he raised his head and met Patrik�s glance. For a moment it looked as though there was something Christian wanted to say. Then he shut down again.

�I have no idea,� he said. �I don�t know any more than you do who could be doing this.�

�Are you aware that both you and your family are in grave danger as long as this person is at large?�

An uncanny calm had settled over Christian�s face. All trace of worry or concern had vanished. Instead, his expression was what Patrik could only describe as determined.

�I understand. And I�m sure that you�ll do your best to find out who the guilty party is. But I�m afraid that I can�t help you. I just don�t know anything.�

�I don�t believe you,� said Patrik bluntly.

Christian shrugged. �Well, there�s nothing I can do about that. I�m just telling you how it is. I don�t know anything.� As if suddenly aware that he was practically naked, he closed up his bathrobe and pulled the belt tight.

Patrik felt like shaking the man, out of sheer frustration. He was convinced that Christian was holding something back. He didn�t know what it was, or even if it was relevant to the case. But there was definitely something he didn�t want to discuss.

�What time did all of you go to bed last night?� asked Patrik, deciding to move on to another topic, but only for the moment. He wasn�t going to let Christian off the hook so easily. He�d seen how terrified the children were as they sat in the bathtub. Next time it might not be a question of red paint. He had to make Christian understand how serious the situation was.

�I went to bed late, just after one o�clock. I have no idea when Sanna went to bed.�

�Were you home all evening?�

�No, I went out for a walk. Sanna and I are having a few� problems. I needed to get some air.�

�Where did you go?�

�I�m not really sure. No place in particular. I just wandered around a bit, and then I walked through town.�

�Alone? In the middle of the night?�

�I didn�t want to be in the house. Where was I supposed to go?�

�So you came back home around one? And you�re sure about the time?�

�I�m positive. I looked at the clock over on Ingrid Bergman Square, and it said quarter to one. It takes about ten or fifteen minutes to walk home from there. So it should have been just about one o�clock when I got back.�

�Was Sanna asleep?�

Christian nodded. �Yes, she was asleep. And the boys were too. The house was quiet.�

�Did you look in on the kids when you came home?�

�I always do that. Nils had kicked off the covers, as usual, so I tucked him in.�

�And you didn�t notice anything odd or out of the ordinary?�

�You mean like big red letters on the wall?� he said sarcastically.

Patrik could feel himself getting annoyed.

�I�ll repeat my question: You didn�t see anything unusual, anything you reacted to, when you came home?�

�No,� said Christian. �I didn�t see anything that I reacted to. If I had, do you think I would have just gone to bed?�

�No, probably not.� Patrik was sweating again. Why did everyone have to keep their homes so hot? He tugged at his shirt collar. It felt like he wasn�t getting enough air.

�Did you lock the door after you got home?�

Christian paused to think. �I don�t know,� he said. �I think so. I usually lock the door. But� but I don�t really recall doing it.� Now all sarcasm was gone from his voice. He was almost whispering when he said, �I don�t remember locking the door.�

�And you didn�t hear anything during the night?�

�No, nothing. At least I didn�t. I don�t think Sanna did either. We�re both very sound sleepers. I didn�t wake up until Sanna started screaming this morning. I didn�t even hear Nils��

Patrik decided to try again. �And you have no idea why anyone would do this? Or why someone would send you threatening letters for a year and half? No suspicions at all?�

�Why the hell aren�t you listening to what I�m saying?�

The outburst came out of the blue, and Patrik actually jumped. Christian had shouted so loudly that Paula called from upstairs:

�Is everything okay?�

�We�re fine,� Patrik called in reply, hoping he was right. Christian looked on the verge of collapse. His face was bright red, and he was vigorously scratching the palm of his hand.

�I don�t know anything,� Christian repeated, as if he were trying desperately not to shout. He was scratching so hard that he was leaving marks on his skin.

Patrik waited for Christian to relax a bit, and for the colour of his face to return more or less to normal. When he stopped scratching, he looked in surprise at the marks on the palm of his hand, as if he couldn�t understand where they�d come from.

�Is there anywhere you and your family could stay until we find out more?� asked Patrik.

�Sanna and the boys could go to her sister�s house in Hamburgsund and stay there for a while.�

�What about you?�

�I�m staying here.� Christian sounded as if he�d made up his mind.

�That doesn�t seem like a good idea,� said Patrik, his voice equally firm. �We can�t offer you police protection 24/7. I�d rather you stayed at a different location where you would feel safer.�

�I�m staying here.�

Christian�s tone of voice indicated there was no room for discussion.

�All right,� said Patrik reluctantly. �Make sure that your family leaves as soon as possible. We�ll try to keep an eye on the house as best we can, but we don�t have the resources to -�

�I don�t need police protection,� Christian interrupted him. �I�ll be fine.�

Patrik fixed his eyes on him. �A seriously disturbed person is on the loose. This individual has already committed one murder, possibly two, and seems determined to make sure that you and Kenneth, and maybe Erik, end up dead too. This is not a game. You don�t seem to understand that.� He spoke slowly, clearly enunciating every word to make sure his message got through.

�I assure you that I fully understand how serious this is. But I�m staying here.�

�If you change your mind, you know where to find me. And as I said, I don�t believe you for a minute when you say that you know nothing about this. I hope you realize what you�re putting at risk by not speaking up. No matter what it is you�re keeping back, we�ll find out what it is sooner or later. It�s just a matter of whether we find out before or after somebody else gets hurt.�

�How�s Kenneth?� muttered Christian, avoiding looking Patrik in the eye.

�All I know is that he was injured. Nothing more.�

�What happened?�

�Someone stretched a cord across the path and spread a thick layer of broken glass on the ground. So maybe now you�ll understand why I�m asking for your cooperation.�

Christian didn�t reply. He turned away and looked out of the window. His face was as pale as the snow outside, and his jaws were clenched. But his voice was cold and devoid of any emotion as he repeated, his eyes fixed on some distant spot:

�I know nothing. I. Know. Nothing.�

All that mattered was to survive. But it required more effort with each year that passed. The move had been good for everyone but him. Father had found a job he enjoyed, and Mother liked living in the Old Bitch�s house, remodelling it until the place was no longer recognizable, since she had erased all trace of the woman. Alice seemed to be doing well in the calm and peaceful atmosphere in Fj�llbacka, at least for nine months of the year.

Mother was teaching her at home. At first Father had been against the idea, saying that Alice needed to get out and meet children her own age. She needed to be around other people. But Mother had merely looked at him and said in a cold voice:

�I�m the only one Alice needs.�

That was the end of the discussion.

In the meantime, he kept getting fatter, and he was constantly eating. It was as if his craving for food had taken on a life of its own. He stuffed into his mouth everything he could get his hands on. But it no longer drew any attention from Mother. Occasionally she would cast a disgusted glance in his direction, but she mostly ignored him. It had a been a long time since he�d thought of her as his beautiful mother and yearned for her love. He had given up, accepting the fact that he was someone that nobody could love; he didn�t deserve to be loved.

The only person who loved him was Alice. And she was a monstrosity, just like him. She lurched about, slurring her words, and she couldn�t manage even the most basic tasks. She was eight years old and couldn�t even tie her shoes. She was always following him like a shadow. In the morning when he left to catch the school bus, she would sit in the window to watch him, the palms of her hands pressed against the glass and a wistful expression on her face. He didn�t understand it, but he didn�t try to make her stop.

School was a torment. Every morning when he got off the school bus, it felt like he was on his way to prison. He looked forward to the classes, but the rest filled him with terror. They were always after him, teasing and punching him, vandalizing his locker and yelling taunts at him in the schoolyard. He wasn�t stupid; he knew that he was the perfect scapegoat. His fat body made him guilty of the worst sin of all: he was different. He understood it, but that didn�t make things any easier.

�Can you find your dick when you have to piss, or does your stomach get in the way?�

Erik. Perched on one of the tables out in the schoolyard, where he was surrounded by a bunch of eager hangers-on, as usual. He was the worst of the lot. The most popular boy, handsome and self-confident. He talked back to the teachers and had ready access to cigarettes, which he smoked and also handed out to his followers. He didn�t know who he detested most. Erik, who seemed driven by sheer wickedness and was always looking for new ways to hurt him. Or the sneering idiots who sat next to Erik, filled with admiration for their popular classmate and basking in his glory.

At the same time, he knew that he�d give anything to be one of them. To be allowed to sit on the table with Erik, accept the cigarette he offered, and comment on the girls going past, who would respond with delighted giggles and flushed cheeks.

�Hey! I�m talking to you. Answer me when I ask you a question!� Erik got down from the table, and the two others watched him with excitement. The athletic one, Magnus, actually met his eyes. Sometimes he thought he saw a glimpse of sympathy in the boy�s expression, but if so, it wasn�t enough to make Magnus risk falling out of favour with Erik. Kenneth was simply a coward and always avoided looking him in the eye. Right now he was staring at Erik, as if waiting to follow orders. But today Erik didn�t seem to have the energy to cause any trouble, because he sat down again and said with a laugh:

�Get out of here, you disgusting fatso! If you hurry up and take off now, you won�t get a beating today.�

He wanted nothing more than to stand his ground and tell Erik to go to hell. With precise and powerful movements, he would give Erik such a thrashing that everyone standing around would realize that their hero was heading for a fall. Then with great effort Erik would lift his head up from the ground, with blood running from his nose, and look at him with new respect. After that he would have a place in the group. He would belong.

Instead, he turned tail and ran. As fast as he could, he lumbered across the schoolyard. His chest hurt, and the rolls of fat on his body jiggled up and down. Behind him he could hear them laughing.

Erica drove past the roundabout at Korsv�gen, with her heart in her throat. The traffic in G�teborg always made her nervous, and this particular junction was the worst. But she got through it without a problem and then drove slowly up Eklandagatan, looking for the street where she needed to turn.

Rosenhillsgatan. The block of flats stood at the end of the street, facing Korsv�gen and Liseberg. She checked the address and then parked her car right in front. She glanced at her watch. The plan was to ring the doorbell and hope that someone was at home. If not, she and G�ran had agreed that she�d spend a couple of hours visiting with him and his mother before trying again. If that proved necessary, she wasn�t going to get home until late in the evening, so she crossed her fingers that she�d be lucky enough to find the current tenant at home. She had memorized the name from the phone calls she�d made on her way to G�teborg, and she found it at once on the building intercom. Janos Kov�cs.

She pushed the button. No answer. She tried again, and then she heard a crackling sound and a voice with a strong accent said: �Who is there?�

�My name is Erica Falck. I�d like to ask you a few questions about someone who used to live in your flat. Christian Thydell.� She waited tensely. Her explanation sounded a bit fishy, even to her own ears, but she hoped the man would be curious enough to let her in. A buzzing sound from the door showed that she was in luck.

The lift stopped at the second floor, and she got out. One of the three doors was ajar, and peering at her through the gap was a short and slightly overweight man in his sixties. When he caught sight of her enormous belly, he lifted off the safety chain and opened the door wide.

�Come in, come in,� he said earnestly.

�Thank you,� said Erica and stepped inside. A heavy aroma from many years of cooking spicy food reached her nostrils, and she felt her stomach turn over. The smell wasn�t really unpleasant, but her pregnancy had made her nose sensitive to particularly pungent odours.

�I have coffee. Good strong coffee.� He pointed towards a small kitchen right across the hall. She followed him, casting a glance inside what appeared to be the only other room in the flat, functioning as both living room and bedroom.

So it was here that Christian lived before he moved to Fj�llbacka. Erica felt her heart beating faster with anticipation.

�Sit.� Janos Kov�cs more or less pushed her down on to a straight-backed chair and then served her coffee. With a triumphant whoop he set a big plate of cakes in front of her.

�Poppy-seed cakes. Hungarian speciality! My mother often sends me packages of poppy-seed cakes because she knows that I love them. Have one.� He motioned for her to help herself, so she took a cake from the plate and tentatively bit into it. Definitely a new taste, but good. She suddenly realized that she hadn�t eaten anything since breakfast, and her stomach rumbled gratefully as she swallowed the first bite of cake.

�You�re eating for two. Take another, take two, take as many as you want!� Janos Kov�cs pushed the plate closer to her, his eyes sparkling. �Big baby,� he said with a smile as he pointed at her belly.

Erica smiled back. His good humour was infectious.

�Well, I�m actually carrying two, you see.�

�Ah, twins.� He clapped his hands with delight. �What a blessing.�

�Do you have children?� asked Erica, her mouth full of cake.

Janos Kov�cs lifted his chin and said proudly, �I have two fine sons. Grown up now. Both have good jobs. At Volvo. And I have five grandchildren.�

�And your wife?� said Erica cautiously, glancing around. It didn�t look as if any woman lived in the flat. Kov�cs was still smiling, but his smile was not as bright.

�About seven years ago she came home one day and said, �I�m moving out.� And then she was gone.� He threw out his hands. �That�s when I moved here. We lived in this building, in a three-room flat downstairs.� He pointed to the floor. �But when I had to take early retirement, and my wife left me, I couldn�t stay there any more. And since Christian met a girl at the same time and was going to move, well, I moved in here. Everything turned out for the best,� he exclaimed, looking as if he truly meant it.

�So you knew Christian before he moved?� asked Erica, sipping her coffee, which was delicious.

�Well, I wouldn�t say that I really knew him. But we often ran into each other here in the building. I�m very handy.� Kov�cs held up his hands. �So I help out when I can. And Christian couldn�t even change a light bulb.�

�I can imagine,� said Erica, smiling.

�Do you know Christian? Why are you asking me questions about him? It was many years ago that he lived here. I hope nothing has happened to him.�

�I�m a journalist,� said Erica, assuming the role that she�d decided on during the drive to the city. �Christian is an author now, and I�m writing a big article about him, so I�m trying to find out a little about his background.�

�Christian is an author? How about that! He always did have a book in his hand. And one whole wall in the flat was covered with books.�

�Do you know what he did when he lived here? Where he worked?�

Janos Kov�cs shook his head. �No, I don�t know. And I never asked. It�s important to respect a neighbour�s privacy. Not get too nosy. If someone wants to talk about himself, he will.�

That sounded like a healthy philosophy, and Erica wished that more people in Fj�llbacka shared his attitude.

�Did he have a lot of visitors?�

�Never. I actually felt a little sorry for him. He was always alone. That�s not good for people. We all need company.�

He�s certainly right about that, thought Erica, hoping that Janos Kov�cs himself had someone who came to visit now and then.

�Did he leave anything behind when he moved? Maybe in the storage room?�

�No, the flat was empty when I moved in. There was nothing.�

Erica decided to give up. Janos Kov�cs didn�t seem to have any more information about Christian�s life. She thanked him and then politely but firmly refused his offer to take a sack of cakes home with her.

She was just stepping out the door when Kov�cs stopped her.

�Wait! I don�t know how I could have forgotten. Maybe I�m starting to get a little senile.� He tapped his finger on his temple, then turned around and went into the main room of the flat. After a moment he came back, holding something in his hand.

�When you see Christian, could you give these to him? Tell him that I did as he said and threw out all the post that came for him. But these� Well, I thought it seemed a bit odd to toss them in the bin. Considering that one or two have arrived every year since he moved out, it seems clear that someone is really trying to get hold of him. I never did get Christian�s new address, so I just put them aside. So if you wouldn�t mind giving them to him with my greetings.� He smiled cheerfully and handed her a bundle of white envelopes.

Erica felt her hands start to shake as she took them from Janos.

There was suddenly an echoing silence in the house. Christian sat down at the kitchen table and rested his head in his hands. His temples were throbbing, and the itching had started up again. His whole body was burning, and he felt a stinging sensation when he began rubbing the cuts on the palm of his hand. He closed his eyes and leaned forward, laying his cheek against the tabletop. He tried to sink into the silence and push away the feeling that something was trying to crawl out of his skin.

A blue dress. It fluttered past under his eyelids. Disappeared and then came back. The child in her arms. Why didn�t he ever see the child�s face? It was blank and featureless. Had he ever been able to picture it properly? Or had the child always been overshadowed by his enormous love for her? He couldn�t remember. It was so long ago.

He began to weep quietly, his tears slowly making a little puddle on the table. Then the sobs came, rising up from his chest and pouring out until his whole body was shaking. Christian raised his head. He had to make the images go away, make her go away. Otherwise he would burst and fall apart. He let his head sink heavily back on to the table, letting his cheek strike the surface full force. He felt the wood against his skin, and he raised his head again and again, pounding it against the hard tabletop. Compared with the itching and the burning inside his body, the pain almost felt good. But it did nothing to get rid of the images. She stood there just as clearly, large as life, right in front of him. She smiled and held out her hand towards him, so close that she could have touched him if only she reached a bit further.

Was that a sound from upstairs? Abruptly he stopped moving, with his head only centimetres from the table, as if someone had suddenly pressed the pause button on the film of his life. He listened, not moving a muscle. Yes, he did hear something overhead. It sounded like faint footsteps.

Christian slowly sat up. His entire body was tensed, on high alert. Then he got up from his chair and as quietly as possible made his way to the stairs. Holding on to the banister, he started up, keeping close to the wall where the creaking would be less. Out of the corner of his eye he saw something fluttering, quickly slipping past upstairs in the hall. Or was he imagining things? It was gone now, and the house was again silent.

A step creaked underfoot, and he held his breath. If she was up there, she would know that he was coming. Was she waiting for him? He felt a strange calm settle over him. His family was gone now. She couldn�t harm them any more. He was the only one here; it was between the two of them, just as it had been from the beginning.

A child whimpered. Was it really a child? He heard it again, but now it was more like one of the many sounds that an old house makes. Christian slowly climbed a few more steps to reach the next floor. The hallway was empty. The only sound was his own breathing.

The door to the boys� room stood open. It was a mess inside. The techs from the police had made things even worse, with black spots from the fingerprint powder now covering the whole room. He sat down in the middle of the floor, facing the words written on the wall. At first glance, the paint still looked like blood. You don�t deserve them.

He knew that she was right. He didn�t deserve them. Christian kept on staring at the words, letting the message sink into his consciousness. He needed to put everything right. Only he could make everything right. In silence he read the words again. He was the one she was after. And he knew where she wanted him to go. He would give her what she wanted.

He and Alice had something in common. They both loved summertime. In his case, it was because he was out of school and free from his tormenters. For Alice, it was because she could go swimming in the sea. She spent every possible minute in the water. Swimming back and forth and tumbling about. All the awkwardness that her body displayed on land instantly disappeared as soon as she slipped into the water. There she could move about unhindered and with ease.

Mother would sit and watch her for hours, clapping her hands at her daughter�s tricks in the water and encouraging her to practise her swimming. She called Alice her mermaid.

But Alice didn�t care much about her mother�s enthusiasm. Instead, she would look towards him and call:

�Watch this!� Then she would dive off the rocks, and when she resurfaced, she would smile.

�Did you see that? Did you see what I did?� she�d ask eagerly, giving him that hungry look of hers. But he never answered. Just glanced up for a moment from the book he was reading as he sat on a towel that he�d spread out on the flat rocks. He didn�t know what she wanted from him.

Mother used to reply in his stead, after first casting an annoyed and astonished look in his direction. She didn�t understand it. She was the one who gave all her time and love to Alice.

�I saw it, sweetie! That was wonderful!� she would shout. But it was as if Alice didn�t hear her mother�s voice. Then she would call to him again:

�Watch me now! Watch what I can do!� And she would start swimming the crawl, heading towards the horizon. The movement of her arms was perfectly coordinated and rhythmic.

Mother would stand up, looking nervous. �Alice, sweetie, don�t go any farther than that.� She held up one hand to shade her eyes.

�She�s swimming too far out. Go get her!�

He tried to be like Alice and pretend that he hadn�t heard. Slowly he turned the page, focusing on the words, the black type on the white paper. Then he felt a burning pain on his scalp. Mother had taken a firm grip on his hair and was pulling as hard as she could. He sprang to his feet, and she let go.

�Go get your sister. Move that fat arse of yours and make sure she swims back to shore.�

For a moment he remembered her hand holding his that time when they went swimming together � the way she had let go, and he had been dragged under. Ever since that day, he hadn�t liked to swim. There was something terrifying about the water. There were things below the surface that he couldn�t see, and didn�t trust.

Mamma grabbed hold of the roll of fat around his waist and squeezed hard.

�Go get her. Now. Otherwise I�ll leave you here when we go home.� The tone of her voice gave him no choice. He knew that she meant it. If he didn�t do as she said, she really would leave him here on this island.

With his heart pounding, he headed for the water. It took all his willpower to make his feet move forward and then jump in. He didn�t dare dive in head first, like Alice; he simply dropped feet first into the blue and the green. He got water in his eyes and had to blink so he could see again. He felt panic coming over him. His breathing was fast and shallow. He squinted. Far away, moving towards the sun, was Alice. Clumsily he started swimming in her direction. He could feel his mother watching, standing on the rocks behind him with her hands on her hips.

He couldn�t swim the crawl. His strokes were uneven and choppy. But he kept moving forward, the whole time aware of the depths beneath him. The sun dazzled his eyes, and he could no longer see Alice. He saw only the white, blinding light that brought tears to his eyes. All he wanted to do was turn around, but he couldn�t. He had to reach Alice and make her go back to Mother. Because Mother loved Alice, and he loved Mother. In spite of everything, he loved her.

Suddenly he felt something around his neck. Something holding on hard, pulling his head underwater. Now panic really set in, and he flailed his arms, trying to escape and get back up to the surface. Then the pressure around his neck was gone as swiftly as it had appeared, and he gasped for breath as he felt the air on his face.

�It�s just me, stupid.�

Alice was treading water without any effort at all, looking at him with those bright eyes of hers. The dark hair that she�d inherited from Mother gleamed in the sun, and salt water glittered on her lashes.

He saw those eyes again. The eyes staring up at him from under the water. The body was limp and lifeless, not moving, just resting on the bottom of the bathtub. He shook his head, not wanting to see those images.

�Mother wants you to come back,� he said, out of breath. He couldn�t tread water as easily as Alice could, and his heavy body was being tugged downward, as if weights were attached to his limbs.

�Then you�ll have to tow me in,� said Alice in that special way of hers, as if her tongue couldn�t find the right place in her mouth when she spoke.

�I can�t do that. Come on, now.�

She laughed and tossed back her wet hair.

�I�ll only come if you tow me.�

�But you swim much better than I do. Why should I have to tow you?� But he knew that he�d lost the argument. He motioned for her to put her arms around his neck again. Now that he knew it was her, he didn�t panic.

He started swimming. It was slow going, but he managed. Alice�s arms felt strong around his neck. She had swum so much all summer that she had visibly developed muscles in her upper arms. She hung on to him, letting him tow her to shore like a little skiff. She rested her cheek against his back.

�I�m your mermaid,� she said. �Not Mamma�s.�

�I don�t really know�� Cia was staring at a spot behind Patrik�s shoulder, and he noticed that the pupils of her eyes were big. He assumed that she�d been given some sort of sedative that was contributing to her distracted air.

�I know that we keep asking you the same questions over and over. But we need to find the connection between Magnus�s death and what happened today. It�s even more important now that we�ve determined that Magnus really was murdered. It might be something that you haven�t thought about before, some tiny detail that could help us move forward,� Paula pleaded with her.

Ludvig came sauntering into the kitchen and sat down next to Cia. Presumably he�d been listening from outside the room.

�We want to help,� he said, his voice sombre. The look in his eyes made him seem much older than his thirteen years.

�How are Sanna and the children?� asked Cia.

�They had a bad shock, of course,� said Patrik.

On their drive to Fj�llbacka, Patrik and Paula had discussed whether they should tell Cia about what had happened or not. She didn�t need any more bad news at the moment. At the same time, they really did have to tell her, because she�d hear about it soon enough from friends and acquaintances. And maybe these new events would make her recall something she�d forgotten.

�Who would do such a thing? And to children�� she said, her voice sounding both compassionate and hollow. The sedative was blunting her emotions, making things less overwhelming. Less painful.

�We don�t know,� Patrik told her. His words seemed to echo in the kitchen.

�And Kenneth�� She shook her head.

�That�s why we have to ask you these questions. Someone has targeted Kenneth and Christian and Erik. And most likely Magnus too,� said Paula.

�But Magnus never received any letters. Not like the ones the others got.�

�We know that. But we still think that his death is linked to the threats against the others,� said Paula.

�What do Erik and Kenneth say? Don�t they know what it�s about? Or Christian? One of them ought to have some idea,� said Ludvig. He had put his arm protectively around his mother�s shoulders.

�You�d think so, yes,� said Patrik. �But they all say that they haven�t a clue.�

�Then how could I�� Cia�s voice faded away.

�Did anything strange ever happen in all the years you were together? Anything that you reacted to? Anything at all?� asked Patrik.

�No, there was never anything unusual. I�ve already told you that.� She took a deep breath. �Magnus, Kenneth and Erik have known each other since they were schoolboys. From the very beginning, it was always the three of them who stuck together. I never thought Magnus had much in common with the others, but they probably stayed friends out of force of habit. There aren�t many new people to make friends with here in Fj�llbacka.�

�What was their relationship like?� Paula leaned forward.

�What do you mean?�

�Well, all relationships have a certain dynamic, with each person taking on a different role. So what was their friendship like, before Christian came into the picture?�

Cia paused to think, her expression serious. Then she said:

�Erik was always the leader. The one who decided. Kenneth was� the lapdog. That sounds mean, but he obeys the slightest command from Erik, and I�ve always pictured him as a little dog, wagging his tail and begging for attention from Erik.�

�What about Magnus?� said Patrik.

Cia paused again before answering. �I know that he thought Erik could be a real bully, and occasionally he�d tell him that he�d gone too far. Unlike Kenneth, Magnus was able to speak up and make Erik listen.�

�Did they ever quarrel?� Patrik went on. He had a strong feeling that the answer lay in the past of these four men, and in their relationship to each other. But it seemed to be buried very deep, and it was proving difficult to bring whatever it was out into the light. The whole thing was driving him crazy.

�Well, I suppose they argued once in a while, the way people do when they�ve known each other a long time. Erik can get a bit hot-tempered. But Magnus was always so calm. I�ve never seen him flare up or even raise his voice. Not once, in all the years we were together. And Ludvig is just like his father.� She turned to her son and stroked his cheek. He smiled at her, but he seemed to be thinking about something.

�I once saw Pappa get upset. With Kenneth.�

�You did? When?� said Cia in surprise.

�Don�t you remember the summer when Pappa bought the video camera, and I was running around filming things all the time?�

�Oh, yes. Dear God, you were a real pest. You even went into the bathroom and started filming Elin sitting on the toilet. Your life was hanging by a thread when you pulled that stunt.� Her eyes brightened, and a smile brought some colour to her cheeks.

Ludvig stood up so abruptly that his chair almost toppled over backwards.

�I�ve got an idea. I want to show you something!� He was already on his way out of the kitchen. �Go in the living room. I�ll be right back.�

They heard him running up the stairs. Patrik and Paula got up to do as he�d asked. After a moment Cia followed suit.

�Here it is.� Ludvig had come back downstairs, holding a small cassette in one hand and a video camera in the other.

He got out a cord and attached the camera to the TV. Patrik and Paula watched him in silence. Patrik could feel his pulse starting to quicken.

�What are you going to show us?� asked Cia, sitting down on the sofa.

�You�ll see,� said Ludvig. He put in the videocassette and pressed the �Play� button. Suddenly Magnus�s face filled the screen. They heard Cia gasp, and Ludvig turned around, looking worried.

�Are you okay, Mamma? Otherwise you could go wait in the kitchen.�

�It�s okay,� she said, but her eyes filled with tears as she stared at the TV.

Magnus was clowning around, making faces and talking to the person holding the camera.

�I filmed the whole Midsummer Eve party,� said Ludvig quietly, and Patrik saw that his eyes were tearful too. �Watch, here come Erik and Louise,� he said, pointing.

Erik came through the patio door and waved to Magnus. Louise and Cia hugged, and Louise handed a package to her hostess.

�I need to fast-forward. It�s further along,� said Ludvig, pressing a button on the video camera so the film began speeding ahead. They watched dusk fall, and then it got darker.

�You thought that we�d gone to bed,� said Ludvig to his mother. �But we sneaked out and eavesdropped on what you were saying. You were all drunk and acting silly, and we thought it was hilarious.�

�Ludvig!� said Cia, embarrassed.

�But you were drunk,� her son repeated. And judging by all the commotion, Ludvig had certainly captured their condition on the video. Loud voices and laughter were heard through the summertime dusk; it sounded as if the party was a good one.

Cia tried to say something, but Ludvig held his finger to his lips.

�Shh, we�re almost there.�

They all stared at the screen without speaking. The only sound was the noise of the party from the video they were watching. Then two people got up, picked up their plates, and came towards the house.

�Where were you hiding?� asked Patrik.

�In the playroom. It was perfect. I could shoot through the window.� He put his finger to his lips again. �Listen.�

Two voices, separated a bit from the others. Both sounded upset. Patrik gave Ludvig an enquiring glance.

�Pappa and Kenneth,� Ludvig explained without taking his eyes off the TV. �They slipped away to have a smoke.�

�I think Pappa had stopped smoking by then,� said Cia, leaning forward to see better.

�Sometimes he�d have a cigarette or two, at parties and things like that. Didn�t you ever notice?� Ludvig paused the tape so their talk wouldn�t interrupt.

�He did?� said Cia in dismay. �I didn�t know that.�

�Well, on this occasion at any rate, he and Kenneth went around the corner to have a smoke.� He pointed the remote control at the screen and started the tape rolling again.

Two voices. It was very hard to distinguish one from the other.

�Do you ever think about it?� That was Magnus.

�What are you talking about?� said Kenneth, slurring his words.

�You know what I mean.� Magnus also sounded very drunk.

�I don�t want to talk about that.�

�But we have to talk about it sometime,� said Magnus. There was something pleading, almost vulnerable in his voice that made the hairs on Patrik�s arms stand on end.

�Who says we have to? What�s done is done.�

�But I don�t know how we can live with it. For God�s sake, we have to�� The rest of the sentence disappeared in an inaudible mumble.

Then Kenneth spoke again. Now he sounded annoyed. But there was something else in his voice. Fear.

�Pull yourself together, Magnus! It won�t do any good to talk about it. Think of Cia and the children. And Lisbet.�

�I know, but what the hell should I do? Sometimes I can�t help thinking about it, and then in here it feels like�� It was too dark to see what he was pointing at.

After that it was impossible to make out any more of the conversation. They lowered their voices, mumbling their words, and then went back to join the others. Ludvig pressed the pause button and froze the image of two shadowy figures, seen from the back.

�Did your father ever see this?� asked Patrik.

�No, I kept it to myself. Usually he was the one in charge of the videocassettes, but I shot this one on the sly, so I hid it in my room. I have a few more in the wardrobe.�

�And you�ve never seen this before?� Paula sat down next to Cia, who was staring at the TV, her mouth agape.

�No,� she said. �No.�

�Do you know what they were talking about?� asked Paula, placing her hand on Cia�s.

�I� no.� Her eyes were fixed on the dark figures of Magnus and Kenneth. �I have no idea.�

Patrik believed her. Whatever it was that Magnus was talking about, he had kept it well hidden from his wife.

�Kenneth must know,� said Ludvig. He pressed the stop button, took out the cassette, and placed it back in its holder.

�I�d like to borrow that,� said Patrik.

Ludvig hesitated for a moment before he put the cassette in Patrik�s outstretched hand.

�You won�t wreck it, will you?�

�I promise that we�ll take good care of it. And you�ll get it back in the same shape it�s in right now.�

�Are you going to talk to Kenneth about it?� asked Ludvig, and Patrik nodded.

�Yes, we are.�

�Why hasn�t he mentioned anything about this before?� Cia sounded confused.

�That�s what we�d like to know too.� Paula patted her hand again. �And we�re going to find out.�

�Thank you, Ludvig,� said Patrik, holding up the cassette. �This might turn out to be important.�

�You�re welcome. I just happened to think of it because you asked if they�d ever quarrelled.� He blushed to the roots of his hair.

�Shall we go?� Patrik said to Paula, who stood up. To Ludvig he added in a low voice, �Take care of your mother. Call me if you need anything.� And he pressed his business card into the boy�s hand.

Ludvig stood in the doorway, watching the police officers drive away. Then he closed the door and went inside.

It didn�t really bother him so much not to have any friends. Because he had books. But the older he got, the more he yearned for what he saw everyone else had. A sense of community, of belonging, of being part of a group. He was always alone. The only person who wanted to be with him was Alice.

Sometimes they used to chase him home from the school bus. Erik, Kenneth, and Magnus. They would roar with laughter as they raced after him, moving slower than they were actually capable of running. The only purpose was to make him run.

�Hey, fatso, get moving!�

And he ran, even though he despised himself for complying. In his heart he kept wishing for a miracle, that one day they would simply stop, that they would see him and understand that he was somebody. But he knew this was only a dream. No one saw him. Alice didn�t count. She was a retard. That was what the boys called her, especially Erik. He used to roll the word around on his tongue whenever he saw her. �Reeetard��

Alice was often waiting for him when the bus stopped. He hated it when she did that. She looked perfectly normal as she stood inside the bus shelter with her long dark hair tied back in a ponytail, her cheerful blue eyes eagerly looking for him as the kids from the high school in Tanumshede got off the bus. Sometimes he actually felt a bit proud when the bus pulled up at the stop and he saw her through the window. That long-legged, dark-haired beauty was his sister.

But then came the moment when he stepped out of the bus and she saw him. She would come towards him with that awkward gait of hers, as if she had invisible strings attached to her arms and legs that someone was randomly tugging on. Then she would call his name in her thick voice, and the boys would howl with laughter. �Reeetard!�

Alice didn�t understand, and that was actually what embarrassed him most. She merely smiled happily, and sometimes she even waved to them. Then he would take off running, not because anyone was chasing him but in order to escape from Erik�s bellowing taunts that echoed all over town. But he could never escape from Alice. She always thought it was a game. She would easily catch up with him, and sometimes, laughing, she would throw her arms around his neck with such force that he almost fell over.

At those moments he hated her just as much as when she had cried non-stop and taken Mother away from him. He wanted to punch her in the face so she would stop embarrassing him. He would never get to be part of the group as long as Alice stood there in the bus shelter waiting for him, calling his name and throwing her arms around his neck.

He wanted so desperately to be somebody. And not just for Alice.

When she woke up, Patrik was sound asleep. It was seven thirty, but Maja was still asleep too, even though she was usually up before seven. Erica was feeling restless. She had awakened several times in the night, thinking about what she�d heard on the cassette tape. She was anxious for morning to arrive so she could do something about it.

Now she slipped out of bed, got dressed, and went downstairs to the kitchen to make herself some coffee. When the caffeine of the first cup of coffee had kicked in, she glanced with impatience at the clock. It was possible they were already awake. With young children in the house it was even likely.

She left a note for Patrik, explaining in vague terms that she had gone out to take care of an errand. He was going to wonder what she was up to, but she would give him a full report when she got back.

Ten minutes later she drove into Hamburgsund. She had called Information to find out where Sanna�s sister Agneta lived, and she found the place at once. It was a big house built of Mexitegel brick. She held her breath as she entered the long driveway, squeezing her car between two stone pillars positioned close together. It was going to be tricky backing the car out, but she would worry about that later.

Erica could see people moving about inside, and she was relieved to find that she�d guessed right. They were up. She rang the bell and soon she heard footsteps coming downstairs. A woman who had to be Sanna�s sister opened the door.

�Hi,� said Erica, introducing herself. �I was wondering if Sanna is up yet. I need to have a few words with her.�

Agneta gave her a quizzical look, but didn�t offer any objections.

�Sure, Sanna and the little monsters are awake. Come on in.�

Erica stepped inside and hung up her jacket. She followed Sanna�s sister up a steep flight of stairs to another hallway. Then they turned left and entered a big open space that served as kitchen, dining room, and living room.

Sanna and the boys were eating breakfast with the cousins, a boy and a girl who looked a few years older than both of Sanna�s sons.

�I�m sorry for interrupting your breakfast,� said Erica, looking at Christian�s wife. �I just need to ask you about one thing.�

At first Sanna made no motion to get up. She was holding a spoon halfway to her mouth, looking as if thoughts were whirling through her head. But then she put down the spoon and stood up.

�Why don�t you go downstairs and sit on the veranda so you can talk in peace,� said Agneta.

Erica followed Sanna down the stairs, through a few more rooms, and into a glass-enclosed veranda that looked out on the lawn and the small centre of Hamburgsund.

�How are you and the boys doing?� Erica asked as they sat down.

�All right, I suppose.� Sanna looked pale and haggard, as if she hadn�t had much sleep. �The boys keep asking about their father, and I don�t know what to tell them. I also don�t know whether I should try to get them to talk about what happened or not. I was thinking of phoning Child Psychiatric Services today, to ask for advice.�

�That sounds like a good idea,� said Erica. �But kids are tough. They can handle more than we think.�

�You may be right.� Sanna stared into space, her expression blank. Then she turned to Erica and said:

�What was it you wanted to talk about?�

Like so many times before, Erica wasn�t sure how to begin. She had no authority to be here, no mandate to ask questions. All she had was her curiosity. And her concern. For a moment she pondered what to say. Then she leaned down and took the drawings out of her purse.

�Mamma?� He tried again to shake her, but she didn�t move. He didn�t know how long she�d been lying there like that. He was only three and didn�t know how to tell time yet. But it had turned dark twice. He didn�t like the dark, and his mamma didn�t either. They always left the lamp on when they went to bed, and he�d turned it on all by himself when it started getting too dark in the flat to see. Then he had crept close to her. That was how they usually slept. Close to each other, very close. He pressed his face against her soft body. There was nothing angular about his mamma, nothing that poked out or felt hard. Nothing but softness, warmth, and security.

But last night she no longer felt warm. He had nudged her and pressed closer, but she didn�t stir. Then he got an extra blanket out of the wardrobe, even though he was afraid to set his feet on the floor when it was dark. He was afraid of the monster under the bed. But he didn�t want Mamma to freeze. He didn�t want to freeze either. Carefully he tucked around her the striped blanket that smelled so strange. She still didn�t get warm. He didn�t either. Shivering, he had lain next to her all night, waiting to wake up so this odd dream would be over.

When it started to get light, he climbed out of bed. Then he pulled the blanket over her again, since it had shifted during the night. Why was she sleeping so long? She never slept this long. Occasionally she might spend all day in bed, but she would wake up now and then. She would talk to him and ask him to get her a glass of water or something else. On those days when she stayed in bed she sometimes said strange things. Things that scared him. She even shouted at him once in a while. But he would have preferred that to this, when she lay in bed so quiet and so cold.

He could feel hunger tearing at his stomach. Maybe Mamma would think he was clever if she woke up to find that he�d made breakfast. The idea made him more cheerful, and he headed for the kitchen. But halfway there, he thought of something and turned back. He wanted Teddy to come too. He didn�t want to be alone. With his teddy bear dragging along the floor, he again headed for the kitchen. Sandwiches. That�s what Mamma used to make for him. Jam sandwiches.

He opened the refrigerator. There was the jar of jam, with a red lid and strawberries on the label. And there was the butter. Carefully he took them out of the fridge and lifted them up on to the counter. Then he fetched a chair and set it in front of the counter so he could climb up on to the seat. This was starting to feel like an adventure. He reached for the bread box and took out two slices of bread. He pulled out a kitchen drawer and found a wooden butter knife. Mamma didn�t let him use the real knives. Slowly he spread butter on one of the pieces of bread, and jam on the other. Then he slapped them together. All right. The sandwich was ready.

He got down from the chair and again opened the fridge. He found a container of juice on a shelf in the door. With an effort he lifted the juice out and placed it on the kitchen table. He knew where the glasses were: in the cupboard above the bread box. Up on the chair again, then he opened the cupboard and took out a glass. He didn�t want to drop it. Mamma would be mad if he broke a glass.

He set the glass on the table, placed the sandwich next to it, and pushed the chair back into place. He climbed on to the chair, kneeling so that he could pour the juice. The container was heavy, and he struggled to hold it over the glass. But just as much juice ended up on the table as in the glass. He had to lean down and slurp up what had spilled on to the oilcloth.

The sandwich tasted wonderful. It was the first sandwich he had ever made all by himself, and he ate the whole thing in a few greedy mouthfuls. Then he noticed that his stomach had room for more, and this time he knew what to do. Mamma was going to be so proud of him when she woke up and discovered that he could make his own sandwiches.

�Did anyone see anything?� Patrik was talking to Martin on the phone. �No? Okay, I wasn�t really expecting it. But keep knocking on doors. You never know.�

He ended the conversation and bit into his Big Mac. They had stopped at McDonald�s to eat lunch and to discuss how they should proceed.

�Nothing?� asked Paula, who had been listening to Patrik while she poked at her chips.

�Nothing so far. There aren�t many people living in the area now that it�s winter. So it�s not surprising that they haven�t had much luck.�

�How�s it going at Badholmen?�

�They�ve taken the body away,� said Patrik as he took another bite. �That means Torbj�rn and his men will probably be done soon. He promised to call if they found anything.�

�So what should we do now?�

Before getting their food, they had glanced through the copies of the documents that they�d been given at the social welfare office. Everything seemed to match with what Sanna had told Erica.

�We keep moving forward. We know that Christian was placed with a couple named Lissander shortly afterwards. Here in Trollh�ttan.�

�I wonder if they still live here,� said Paula.

Patrik carefully wiped off his hands before looking through the file to find the right page. Then he memorized the information and phoned directory assistance.

�Hi, I wonder if you have a listing for Ragnar and Ir�ne Lissander in Trollh�ttan. Okay, thanks.� His face lit up, and he nodded to Paula that he was in luck. �Could you text me the address?�

�They still live here?� Paula stuffed a few more chips into her mouth.

�It seems so. What do you say we go over there and have a little chat with them?� Patrik stood up, looking at Paula impatiently.

�Shouldn�t we phone them first?�

�No, I want to see what happens if we turn up un announced. There must be some reason why Christian changed his last name back to the name of his biological mother, and never mentioned their existence to anyone, not even his wife.�

�Maybe he didn�t live with them for very long.�

�That�s possible, but I don�t think so.� Patrik tried to formulate why he had such a strong feeling that this was a lead worth following. �Because he didn�t change his name until he turned eighteen. Why wait? Why keep the name at all if he didn�t live with them for very long?�

�I suppose you�re right about that,� said Paula, though she still didn�t sound convinced.

But they would soon find out. In a very short time one of the missing puzzle pieces about Christian Thydell would fall into place. Or rather, Christian Lissander.

A week later, the food ran out. He�d eaten all the bread a couple of days earlier, and then resorted to cornflakes out of the big package. Without milk. Both the milk and the juice were gone, but there was water, and he had pushed a chair over to the sink so he could drink straight from the tap.

But now there was nothing more to eat. There hadn�t been much in the fridge to start with, and in the pantry he found only tinned goods, which he couldn�t open. He�d thought of going out to shop for groceries himself. He knew where Mamma kept her money, in the purse that was always in the front hall. But he couldn�t open the door. It was impossible for him to turn the lock, no matter how hard he tried. Otherwise Mamma would have been even prouder of him. He could have shown her that not only could he make his own sandwiches, but he could also do the shopping all by himself while she slept.

The past few days he�d started to wonder if she might be sick. But he knew that when a person was sick, they got a fever and felt hot. Mamma was very cold. And she smelled strange. He had to hold his nose at night when he crept into bed to sleep close to her. There was also something sticky about her. He didn�t know what it was, but if she�d got sticky, then she must have been out of bed when he wasn�t watching. Maybe she would wake up soon.

He spent every day playing by himself. He would sit in his room with his toys spread out around him. He also knew how to turn on the TV by touching the big button. Sometimes a children�s programme would be on, and it was fun to watch them after he�d been playing alone all day.

But Mamma would probably be angry when she saw how dirty things were in the flat. He needed to clean up. But he was so hungry. So incredibly hungry.

A few times he�d glanced at the telephone and even picked up the receiver, listening to the signal say �beep, beep, beep�. But who should he call? He didn�t know anyone�s number. And nobody ever rang the flat.

And Mamma would be waking up soon. She would get out of bed and take a bath and make the bad smell go away, the smell that made him feel sick. Then she would smell like Mamma again.

His stomach was screaming with hunger as he crawled into bed and moved close to her. He didn�t like the smell in his nose, but he always slept next to Mamma. Otherwise he couldn�t fall asleep.

He pulled the covers over them. Outside the window, darkness fell.

G�sta got up as soon as he heard Patrik and Paula come in. An oppressive mood had settled over the police station. Everyone was feeling frustrated. They needed some sort of concrete lead in order to move forward with the investigation.

�Let�s meet in the kitchen in five minutes,� said Patrik, and then he disappeared into his office.

G�sta went into the kitchen and sat down in his favourite place next to the window. Five minutes later the others showed up, one after the other. Patrik was the last to arrive. He took up position in front of the counter, leaning his back against it with his arms crossed.

�As you all know, Christian Thydell was found dead this morning. At the present time, we can�t say whether his death was murder or suicide. We�ll have to wait for the results from the post-mortem. I�ve talked to Torbj�rn, and unfortunately he had very little to add. But based on the preliminary examination, there doesn�t seem to be any sign of a struggle at the site.�

Martin raised his hand. �What about footprints? Anything to indicate that Christian wasn�t alone when he died? If there was snow on the steps, maybe they could be lifted for analysis.�

�I asked Torbj�rn about that,� said Patrik. �But it would be impossible to say when any shoe prints were actually made, and besides, all of the snow had blown off the steps. But the techs did manage to lift a number of fingerprints, mostly from the railing, and they�ll be carefully analysed, of course. It�ll be a few days before we have a report.� He turned around to fill a glass with water from the tap and took a few sips. �Any new developments from knocking on doors?�

�No,� said Martin. �We�ve pretty much knocked on every door in the lower part of town. But no one seems to have seen anything.�

�Okay. We need to go over to Christian�s house and carry out a proper search. See if we can find anything that shows he might have met the murderer there first.�

�Murderer?� said G�sta. �So you think it was murder and not suicide?�

�I don�t know what I think at the moment,� replied Patrik, wearily rubbing his forehead. �But I suggest that we assume Christian was also murdered, until we find out more.� He turned to Mellberg. �What do you think, Bertil?�

It was always wise at least to pretend to involve the boss.

�I agree,� said Mellberg.

�We�re also going to have to wrestle with the press. As soon as they get wind of what happened, there�s going to be huge interest from the media. I recommend that nobody talk to any reporters; just refer them all to me.�

�On that point I have to object,� said Mellberg. �As the police chief here, I should be the one to handle such an important task as liaison with the media.�

Patrik weighed his options. It would be a nightmare to give Mellberg free rein to talk with journalists. On the other hand, it might take too much energy to try to dissuade him.

�Okay, let�s say that you�ll be the one to keep in contact with the media. But if I might offer a word of advice, it would be best if we say as little as possible, under the circumstances.�

�Don�t worry. Considering my extensive experience, I�ll be able to twist them around my little finger,� said Mellberg, leaning back in his chair.

�Paula and I have been out to Trollh�ttan, as all of you probably already know.�

�Did you find out anything?� asked Annika eagerly.

�I�m not sure yet. But I think that we�re on the right track, so we�ll keep digging.� Patrik took another sip of water. It was time to tell his colleagues what they�d discovered and what he was having such a hard time digesting.

�As Annika found out, Christian was orphaned at a very young age. He lived alone with his mother, Anita Thydell. There�s no record of who his father was. According to information from the social welfare office, the boy and his mother were terribly isolated, and at times Anita had difficulty caring for Christian because of a mental illness she suffered from, combined with drug abuse. The authorities kept a watchful eye on Anita and her son after receiving several calls from the neighbours. But apparently the only home visits were made during the periods when Anita had the situation more or less under control. At least that was the explanation we were given for why no one intervened. And the fact that �times were different� back then,� Patrik added without concealing the sarcasm in his voice.

�One day when Christian was three years old, another tenant reported to the welfare office that he�d noticed a stench coming from Anita�s flat. The authorities obtained a master key, and when they went in they discovered Christian alone with his dead mother. Presumably she�d been dead about a week, and Christian had survived by eating whatever he could find in the kitchen, and drinking water from the tap. But the food had apparently run out after a few days, because when the police and medics arrived, the boy was starving and weak. They found him huddled close to his mother�s body, only semi-conscious.�

�Good Lord,� said Annika, and her eyes filled with tears. G�sta was also blinking away tears, and Martin�s face had turned green. He looked like he was fighting hard not to be sick.

�Unfortunately, Christian�s troubles didn�t end there. He was placed very quickly with a foster family, a couple by the name of Lissander. Paula and I paid them a visit today.�

�Christian couldn�t have had an easy childhood with them,� said Paula quietly. �To be honest, I got the impression that something wasn�t quite right with Mrs Lissander.�

G�sta felt something flash through his mind. Lissander. Where had he heard that name before? He somehow associated it with Ernst Lundgren, their former colleague who had been fired from the police force. G�sta tried to think what the connection could be. He considered telling everyone that the name sounded familiar, but then decided to wait until the explanation came to him on its own.

Patrik went on: �The Lissanders say that they�ve had no contact with Christian since he turned eighteen. That was when he apparently broke off the relationship with them and left.�

�Do you think they�re telling the truth?� asked Annika.

Patrik looked at Paula, who nodded.

�Yes,� he said. �Unless they�re very good liars.�

�And they didn�t know of any woman who might bear some sort of grudge against Christian?� G�sta asked.

�They said they didn�t. But on that point I�m not sure they were being completely truthful.�

�Did he have any brothers or sisters?�

�They didn�t mention any, but maybe you could find out, Annika. That ought to be easy enough to research. I�ll give you all the names and information you need. Could you work on it right away?�

�I can do it now, if you like,� said Annika. �It won�t take long.�

�Okay, great. There�s a yellow Post-it note with everything you need on the folder that�s lying on my desk.�

�I�ll be back,� said Annika, getting to her feet.

�What about having a chat with Kenneth? Now that Christian is dead, he might decide to start talking,� said Martin.

�Good idea. So that means we have the following items on our to-do list: talk with Kenneth, and conduct a thorough search of Christian�s house. We also need to find out all the details of Christian�s life before he came to Fj�llbacka. G�sta and Martin, I�d like you to talk with Kenneth, okay?� They both nodded, and Patrik then turned to Paula. �You and I will drive over to Christian�s house. If we find anything of interest, we�ll call in the tech team.�

�That sounds good,� she said.

�Mellberg, you�ll stay here at the station to answer any questions from the media,� Patrik went on. �And Annika will keep digging into Christian�s past. At the moment we have a few facts to go on, at least.�

�More than you thought,� said Annika, appearing in the doorway.

�Did you find out anything?� asked Patrik.

�Yes, I did,� she said, giving her colleagues an excited look. �The Lissanders had a daughter two years after they took in Christian as a foster child. So he has a sister. Alice Lissander.�

The nightmares started haunting him every night, as if they had been waiting for his conscience to awake. It was actually strange that it took so long. He had always known what happened, after all. He had pictured the way he had removed the baby bath seat and let Alice sink down into the water. And how her little body had kicked and flailed as she tried to breathe, and then how she grew so still. He had always seen her eyes, those blue eyes looking at him, unseeing, from under the water. He had always known, but he had never understood.

It was just a small thing, a tiny detail, that made him comprehend at last. It happened one day during that last summer. By then he already knew that he couldn�t stay. There had never been a place for him, but that insight came to him only gradually. Finally he knew that he had to leave the family.

The voices told him the same thing. One day they too had appeared, not unpleasant or nasty, but more like friends and confidants whispering to him.

The only time he doubted his decision was when he thought about Alice. But that feeling of hesitation never lasted long � because it made the voices grow stronger. So he decided to stay only until the summer was over. Then he would leave and never look back. And everything having to do with Mother and Father would be left behind.

On that particular day, Alice wanted some ice cream. She always wanted ice cream, and if he felt like it, he would go with her to the kiosk near the square. She always asked for the same thing: a cone with three scoops of strawberry ice cream. Sometimes he would purposely pretend to misunderstand and order chocolate ice cream for her instead. Then she would shake her head vigorously and tug at his arm, struggling to say the word �strawberry�.

Alice was always in seventh heaven when she got her special treat. Her face lit up with delight, and with the greatest satisfaction she would begin methodically licking at the ice cream. Round and round so that it wouldn�t start dripping. The same thing happened on that day. She got her cone first and slowly began walking away as he waited for his and then paid for both of them. When he turned around to follow Alice, he stopped in mid-stride. Erik, Kenneth, and Magnus. All three of them were sitting there, looking at him. Erik grinned.

He could feel the ice cream dripping from the cone on to his hand, but he had to walk past them. He tried looking straight ahead, out at the water. Tried to ignore their eyes and ignore the way his heart was pounding faster and faster. He took one step forward, then another. Suddenly he felt himself falling headlong. Erik had stuck out his foot just as he was passing. At the last second, he managed to put out his hands to break his fall. The weight of his body made his wrists twinge. The ice cream flew out of his hand, landing on the dirty pavement.

�Whoops,� said Erik.

Kenneth laughed nervously, but Magnus gave Erik a reproachful look.

�Did you really have to do that?� he asked.

Erik didn�t seem to notice what Magnus said. His eyes were shining. �You didn�t need any more ice cream.�

With an effort he got to his feet. His arms hurt, and tiny pieces of gravel were stuck to the palms of his hands. He brushed himself off and limped away, moving as fast as he could, while Erik�s laughter rang in his ears.

A short distance ahead Alice was waiting for him. He ignored her and just kept on going. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her come trotting after him, but not until they had almost reached home did he stop to catch his breath. Alice stopped too. At first she merely stood there, listening to him wheeze as he tried to get enough air. Then she held out her cone to him.

�Here, Christian. Take my ice cream. It�s strawberry.�

He looked at her outstretched hand and at the ice cream. Strawberry ice cream, which Alice loved with such passion. At that moment he realized the full extent of what he�d done to her. And then the voices began to scream. They were about to make his head explode. He fell to his knees, holding his hands over his ears. They had to stop, he had to make them stop. Then he felt Alice�s arms around him, and everything went quiet.

Patrik had slept like a log all night. Yet he still didn�t feel rested.

�Sweetheart?� No answer. He glanced at the clock and swore to himself. Eight thirty. He really needed to get going; they had a lot to do today.

�Erica?� He went downstairs but didn�t hear a sound from either his wife or daughter. In the kitchen he found a pot of fresh coffee waiting for him, and a note in Erica�s handwriting was lying on the table.

Sweetheart, I took Maja to the day-care centre. I�ve been thinking about what you told me yesterday, and there�s something I need to check out. I�ll ring as soon as I know more. Could you find out two things for me? 1. Did Christian have a nickname for Alice? 2. What sort of mental illness did Christian�s mother suffer from? Hugs and kisses, Erica. P.S. Don�t be mad at me.

What on earth was she up to now? He should have known that she wouldn�t be able to let well enough alone. He picked up the phone lying on the table and called Erica�s mobile. After a few rings, he was transferred to her voicemail. He told himself to calm down, since he realized there was nothing more he could do at the moment. He needed to get to the station, and he had no idea where she was.

Besides, the questions Erica had included in her note had piqued his interest. Had she come up with some sort of theory? Erica was smart � there was no denying that. And she often saw things that he�d missed. He just wished that she wouldn�t keep going off on her own this way.

He drank a cup of coffee as he stood at the counter. After a moment�s hesitation, he filled a special travel mug that Erica had given him as a Christmas present. Today he was going to need some extra caffeine.

The first thing he did upon arriving at the police station was to go into the kitchen to have a third cup.

�So what�s on the agenda for today?� asked Martin when they almost collided in the corridor.

�We need to go through all the material about the murder of Christian�s girlfriend Maria and her child. I�ll phone G�teborg and see if we can have the files delivered. I�ll probably have them sent by courier, which means I�ll have to hide the expense somehow, so Mellberg won�t notice. Then we need to check with Torbj�rn to find out if he�s heard anything from the forensics lab about the rag and the tin of paint in Christian�s basement. The report probably isn�t ready yet, but we might as well put a little pressure on them. Could you start with that?�

�Sure, I�ll take care of it. Anything else?�

�Not at the moment,� said Patrik. �I need to check on something with Ragnar Lissander. I�ll tell you about it after I find out a bit more.�

�Okay. Just let me know if there�s anything else you need me to do,� said Martin.

Patrik went into his office. It was so odd how tired he felt. Even all the caffeine was having no effect on him today. He took a deep breath in an attempt to rally himself and then phoned Christian�s foster father.

�I can�t really talk right now,� said Ragnar, and Patrik understood that Ir�ne must be nearby.

�I just have two questions,� he said, finding himself lowering his voice, even though that wasn�t necessary on his end of the line. He considered asking Ragnar why he hadn�t said anything about the time the family had lived in Fj�llbacka. But he decided to let that wait until they could speak more openly. Besides, he had a feeling that the questions Erica wanted answered were more important.

�Okay,� said Ragnar. �But make it quick.�

Patrik asked him the questions from Erica�s note and was surprised by what he learned. What did all of this mean?

He thanked Ragnar, ended the conversation, and then rang Erica again. But he still got her voicemail. So he left a message for her and then leaned back in his chair. How did this new information fit into the picture? And where was Erica?

Christian could feel the agitation taking over his body. It was getting worse and worse, making it impossible for him to sleep at night. And causing him to see eyes under the water.

He had to leave � he knew that. If he was ever going to find a place for himself, he needed to go away. Far away from Father and Mother, and from Alice. Oddly enough, that hurt the most. Having to part with Alice.

�Hello! Hey, you!�

He turned around in surprise. As usual, he was on his way over to Badholmen. He liked to sit there, staring out across the water at Fj�llbacka.

�Over here!�

Christian didn�t know what to think. Over near the men�s changing booths he saw Erik, Magnus, and Kenneth. And Erik was calling to him. Christian gave them a suspicious look. Whatever it was they wanted, he knew it wouldn�t be good. But the temptation was too strong, and with feigned nonchalance, he stuck his hands in his pockets and sauntered over to the three boys.

�Want a smoke?� asked Erik, holding out a cigarette. Christian shook his head. He was still waiting for the hammer to fall, when all three would attack him. Anything but this� show of goodwill.

�Sit down,� said Erik, patting the ground next to him.

As if in a dream, Christian sat down. The whole situation seemed unreal. He had imagined just such a scene so many times, hoped and longed for it. And now it was actually happening. He was sitting here, one of the group.

�What are you doing tonight?� asked Erik, exchanging glances with Kenneth and Magnus.

�Nothing special. Why?�

�We�re planning to have a party here. A private gathering, so to speak.� Erik laughed.

�Really?� said Christian. He shifted his position a bit to get more comfortable.

�Want to come?�

�Me?� said Christian. He wasn�t sure he�d heard right.

�Yes, you. But everyone has to bring something to get in,� said Erik, again exchanging glances with Magnus and Kenneth.

So there was a catch, just as he�d thought. What sort of humiliating task had they planned for him?

�What do I have to bring?� he asked, even though he knew he shouldn�t.

The three boys whispered to each other. Finally Erik looked at him again and said defiantly:

�A bottle of whisky.�

Was that all? Relief washed over him. He could easily sneak one out of the house.

�Okay. No problem. What time should I be here?�

Erik took a couple of puffs on his cigarette. He looked so worldly wise holding that cigarette in his hand. Grown up.

�We have to make sure that nobody bothers us. So after midnight. Shall we say twelve thirty?�

Christian felt himself nodding a bit too eagerly. �Okay. Twelve thirty. I�ll be here.�

�Good,� said Erik.

Christian hurried away. His feet felt lighter than they had in a long time. Maybe his luck would now change and he�d finally belong.

The rest of the day passed very slowly. At last it was time for bed, but he didn�t dare close his eyes for fear of oversleeping. So he lay there, wide awake, staring at the hands of the clock as they slowly moved towards midnight. At twelve fifteen he climbed out of bed and got dressed, careful not to make any noise. He slipped downstairs and went over to the drinks cabinet. There were several whisky bottles inside. He took the one that was nearly full. The bottle clinked as he took it out, and for a moment he didn�t move. But no one seemed to have heard the sound.

When he got close to Badholmen, he could hear the other boys. It sounded like they had already been there a while, like the party had started without him. For a second he considered turning around. He could just walk back to the house, slip inside, put the bottle back in the cabinet, and crawl into bed. But then he heard Erik laughing, and he wanted to join in that laughter; he wanted to be one of the boys that Erik exchanged glances with. So he kept on going, carrying the whisky bottle firmly under his arm.

�Hey, take a look,� said Erik, slurring his words and pointing at Christian. �Here comes the king of the party.� He sniggered, and Kenneth and Magnus followed suit. Magnus looked like he�d had the most to drink. He was swaying as he sat there, and he was having a hard time focusing.

�Did you bring the admission ticket?� asked Erik, motioning him forward.

Feeling wary, Christian handed him the bottle. Were they going to humiliate him now? Were they going to chase him away, since he�d brought what they wanted?

But nothing happened. Erik simply opened the bottle, took a big slug of the whisky, and then handed it to Christian. He just stared. He wanted to take a drink, but he didn�t know if he dared. Erik urged him to try it, and Christian realized that he would have to do as Erik said if he wanted to be part of the group. He sat down with the bottle in his hand, and then raised it to his lips. And just about choked when he swallowed too much of the whisky.

�So how was that, lad?� Laughing, Erik pounded him on the back.

�Good,� said Christian, taking another gulp, just to prove it.

The bottle passed from hand to hand a few times, and he began to feel a pleasant warmth spreading through his body. His anxiety vanished. The whisky pushed away everything that had been keeping him awake at night lately. The eyes. The smell of rotting flesh. He took another swallow.

Magnus was lying on his back, staring up at the stars in the sky. Kenneth didn�t say much. He just agreed with everything Erik said. But Christian was enjoying being in their company. He was somebody. Part of a group.

�Christian?� a voice said from the doorway. He turned to look. What was she doing here? Why did she have to turn up and ruin everything? His old anger awoke.

�Get lost,� he snarled, and then saw her face contort in disappointment.

�Christian?� she repeated, her voice thick with tears.

He got up to chase her away, but Erik put his hand on Christian�s arm.

�Let her stay,� he said, and Christian looked at him in surprise. But he complied, and sat down again.

�Come here!� Erik waved for Alice to come closer.

She gave Christian an enquiring glance, but he merely shrugged.

�Sit down,� said Erik. �We�re having a party.�

�Party!� said Alice, her face lighting up.

�What luck that you happened to stop by. We need some pretty girls here too.� Erik put his arm around Alice and touched a lock of her dark hair. Alice laughed. She liked being called pretty.

�Here. If you want to come to our party, you have to drink.� He took the bottle away from Kenneth, who was just about to take a swig, and handed it to Alice.

Again she looked at Christian, but he didn�t care what she did. If she was going to keep following him, she�d just have to play along.

She started to cough, and Erik stroked her back. �There, there, what a good girl. Don�t worry, you�ll get used to it. You just have to try again.�

Hesitantly she raised the bottle and took another swallow. This time it went better.

�Good. That�s the kind of girl I like. Someone who�s pretty and knows how to drink whisky,� said Erik with a smile that made Christian�s stomach start to churn. He wanted to take Alice by the hand and lead her home. But then Kenneth sat down next to him, put an arm around his shoulder, and mumbled:

�Shit, Christian, just think � here we are with you and your sister. I bet you never thought that would happen, did you? But we knew there was a bloody decent lad under all that flab.� Kenneth pointed at his stomach, and Christian didn�t know whether to take his remark as a compliment or not.

�She�s really cute, your sister,� said Erik, moving even closer to Alice. He helped her raise the bottle again, pouring more whisky down her throat. Her eyes were shining, and she had a big smile on her face.

Christian suddenly felt everything start to spin. All of Badholmen was spinning. Around and around, like the globe. He giggled and lay down on his back next to Magnus, looking up at the stars that seemed to be whirling through the sky.

A sound from Alice made him sit up. He was having a hard time focusing, but he could see Erik and Alice. And he thought Erik had his hand inside Alice�s shirt. But he wasn�t sure, with everything spinning around him. He lay down again.

�Shh�� Erik�s voice and the same whimpering sound from Alice. Christian rolled on to his side and rested his head on his outstretched arm. He looked at Erik and his sister. Her shirt was gone. She had small, perfect breasts. That was the first thought that occurred to him. That she had perfect breasts. He�d never seen them before.

�Don�t worry. I�m just going to feel them a little�� Erik kneaded her breasts with his hands as he started breathing harder. Kenneth was staring at Alice�s bare torso.

�Come and feel,� said Erik, nodding to Kenneth.

Christian saw that Alice was scared, that she was trying to cover her breasts with her arms. But his head felt so heavy he couldn�t lift it.

Kenneth sat down next to Alice. After waiting for a signal from Erik, he lifted his hand and began touching her left breast. He squeezed it cautiously at first, then harder, and Christian could see the bulge in his shorts grow.

�I wonder if the rest is just as nice?� murmured Erik. �What do you say, Alice? Is your pussy just as nice as your tits?�

Her eyes were big and frightened. But she didn�t seem to know how to defend herself. Without resistance, she allowed Erik to slip off her knickers. He let her keep on her skirt, just lifting it up to show Kenneth.

�What do you think? I doubt anyone�s been here before.� He pushed her knees apart, and Alice numbly let him do it, incapable of protesting.

�Shit, check this out. Magnus, wake up! You�re missing something here.�

He merely groaned. A faint drunken muttering.

Christian could feel the lump in his stomach growing. This was wrong. He could see Alice staring at him, wordlessly pleading for help. But her eyes looked just like they had when she�d looked up at him from underwater, and he couldn�t make himself move, couldn�t help her. All he could do was lie on his side and let the world keep spinning.

�I get first dibs,� said Erik, unbuttoning his shorts. �Hold her down if she starts fighting.�

Kenneth nodded. His face was pale, but he couldn�t take his eyes off Alice�s breasts gleaming white in the moonlight. Erik forced her down on to her back, forced her to lie still and stare up at the sky. At first Christian felt relieved that her eyes had disappeared. They were staring at the stars instead of at him. Then the lump inside of him grew, and with an effort he hauled himself into a sitting position. The voices were screaming at him, and he knew that he should do something, but he didn�t know what. Alice didn�t say a word. She just lay there and let Erik separate her legs, let him lie down on top of her, push inside of her.

He began sobbing. Why did she have to ruin everything? Take what was his, follow him everywhere, love him? He had never asked her to love him. He hated her. And she just lay there.

Erik suddenly stopped moving, then groaned. He pulled out and buttoned his fly. He lit a cigarette, cupping his hand around the match, and then looked at Kenneth.

�Your turn.�

�You mean me?� stammered Kenneth.

�Yes, now it�s your turn,� said Erik, and his tone of voice demanded obedience.

Kenneth hesitated. Then he looked at Alice�s breasts again, those firm breasts with the pink nipples that had turned hard in the summer breeze. Slowly he began unbuttoning his shorts, then he started moving faster until he practically threw himself on top of Alice, and began thrusting at her. It didn�t take long before he too groaned, his body rippling with spasms.

�Impressive,� said Erik, puffing on his cigarette. �Now it�s Magnus�s turn.� He pointed at Magnus who had fallen asleep, drooling saliva out of the corner of his mouth.

�Magnus? He�ll never be able to do it. He�s too sloshed.� Kenneth laughed. He wasn�t looking at Alice any more.

�Then we�ll have to help him out,� said Erik, lifting Magnus up. �Come on, give me a hand,� he said to Kenneth, who rushed to his side. Together they dragged Magnus over to Alice, and Erik began unbuttoning his trousers.

�Pull down his underpants,� he ordered Kenneth, who with an expression of distaste did as he was told.

Magnus wasn�t ready to do anything, and for a moment Erik looked annoyed. He gave Magnus a few kicks, which woke him up a bit.

�Let�s just put him down on top of her. But he�s going to fuck her too.�

The voices were quieter now, echoing inside his head. Christian felt like he was watching a film, not something that was actually happening, or something he was participating in. He saw how they dropped Magnus down on top of Alice, how he woke up enough to start making disgusting animal-like sounds. He never got as far as the others; just passed out halfway through, his body heavy on top of Alice.

But Erik was satisfied. He dragged Magnus off because he was ready again. The sight of Alice lying there, so beautiful and remote, seemed to excite him. Harder and harder he thrust into her, holding her long hair wrapped around his hand and pulling so hard that he pulled out big tufts of it.

Then she started to scream. The sound was sudden and unexpected, piercing the night, and Erik abruptly stopped. He looked down at her. Began to panic. He needed to make her stop screaming.

Christian heard the screams forcing their way into his silence. He put his hands over his ears, but that didn�t help. It was the same screaming as when she was a baby, when she took everything away from him. He saw how Erik was sitting astride her, saw him raise his hand and then hit her, how he too was trying to make the screams stop. Alice�s head thumped against the wooden deck with each blow, bouncing up as it struck. And then came the sound of something crunching as Erik�s fist struck the bones of her face. He saw how Kenneth, very pale, was staring at Erik. And Magnus had been awakened by the screaming. He sat up groggily, looking at Erik and Alice and his own unbuttoned trousers.

Then the screams stopped. It was very quiet. And Christian fled. He got up and ran � away from Alice, away from Badholmen. He ran home, in the front door, and upstairs to his room, where he got into bed and pulled the blanket over his head, over the voices.

Slowly the world stopped spinning.

�We left her there.� Kenneth couldn�t make himself look at Erica. �We just left her there.�

�Then what happened?� asked Erica. She still didn�t sound reproachful, which made him feel even worse.

�I was terrified. In the morning when I woke up, I thought at first that it was all a bad dream, but when I realized that it really did happen, that we really had�� His voice broke. �All day I waited for the police to knock on the door.�

�But they didn�t?�

�No. A couple of days later, we heard that the Lissanders had moved away.�

�What about the three of you? Did you talk about it?�

�No, never. It wasn�t that we agreed not to talk about it, we just never did. Until that Midsummer party when Magnus had a little too much to drink and he brought up the topic.�

�That was the first time?� asked Erica in disbelief.

�Yes, that was the first time. But I knew that he was suffering. He was the one who had the hardest time living with what we�d done. I somehow managed to suppress it. I focused on Lisbet and my life. Chose to forget. And Erik� well, he didn�t even need to forget. I don�t think it bothered him at all.�

�And yet the three of you remained friends all these years.�

�Yes, and I don�t really know why. But we� deserved this.� He motioned with his bandaged arms. �I deserve even worse, but Lisbet didn�t. She was completely innocent. The worst thing is that she must have learned what happened. I think that was the last thing she heard before she died. I wasn�t the person she thought I was. Our life together was a sham.� He was trying to hold back the tears.

�What the three of you did was horrible,� said Erica. �There�s no other way to describe it. But the life you had with Lisbet was not a sham, and I think she knew that. No matter what she was told.�

�I�m going to try to explain it to her,� he said. �I know that it�s my turn next. She�s going to come for me too, and then I�ll have a chance to explain. I have to believe that�s possible, or else�� He turned his face away.

�What do you mean? Who�s coming for you?�

�Alice, of course.� Hadn�t Erica heard anything he�d said? �She�s the one who�s been doing all this.�

At first Erica didn�t reply. She just looked at him with pity.

�It�s not Alice,� she said then. �It�s not Alice.�

In reality she had nothing against either the child or the woman. She didn�t really mean them any harm. Yet she couldn�t allow them to continue to live. They did something that no one had ever done before. They made Christian happy.

He laughed often now. A carefree, hearty laugh that came from his stomach and bubbled upward. She hated that laugh. For her part, she was no longer able to laugh; she was empty and cold inside, dead. He had been dead too, but thanks to the woman and the child, he was now alive.

Sometimes he would watch them in secret. The woman carrying the child in her arms. They would dance, and he would smile when the child laughed. He was happy, but he didn�t deserve it. He�d taken everything from her, lowered her down into the water until her lungs felt like they would burst, until her brain took in no oxygen, and it was as if she were slowly extinguished while the water rose up to cover her face.

Yet in spite of it all she had loved him. He was everything for her. She didn�t care about the others, didn�t care about how they looked at him. For her, he was the nicest and handsomest person on earth. Her hero.

But he had betrayed her. Allowed them to take her, violate her, and hit her until the bones in her face were broken. He had allowed her to lie there, staring up at the starry sky with her legs apart. And then he had fled.

Now she no longer loved him, and no one else would be allowed to love him either. Just as he would not be allowed to love anyone. Not the way he loved the woman in the blue dress, and the child, who wasn�t even his.

He wasn�t at home right now. As usual, the door wasn�t locked. The woman was careless. He was always scolding her about it, telling her that she should lock the door, that they never knew who might try to get in.

Cautiously she pressed down on the handle and opened the door. She heard the woman humming in the kitchen. A splashing sound came from the bathroom. The child was sitting in the tub, which meant the woman would be going into the bathroom at any minute. She was careful about such things. Never leaving the child alone in the bath for very long.

She went into the bathroom. The boy�s face lit up like a sun when he saw her.

�Shhh,� she said, opening her eyes wide as if it were a game. The child laughed. As she listened for approaching footsteps, she went over to the tub and stared down at the naked child. It wasn�t the boy�s fault, but he made Christian happy. And that was something she couldn�t allow.

She took the child by the arms and lifted him up a bit so she could lay him down on his back in the tub. The boy was still laughing. Happy and secure in the belief that nothing bad could happen in the world. When the water closed over his face he stopped laughing and starting flailing his arms and legs about. But it wasn�t difficult to hold the child down. She simply put one hand on his chest and pressed lightly. The child flailed harder and harder until his movements began to taper off, and then he lay still.

Now she heard the woman�s footsteps. She looked down at the child. He looked so calm and peaceful lying there. She stood up with her back against the wall, just to the right of the door opening. The woman came into the bathroom. When she saw the child, she stopped abruptly. Then she screamed and rushed forward.

It was almost as easy as it had been with the child. Silently she slipped forward and grabbed the neck of the woman, who was leaning over the edge of the tub. She used her own weight to hold the woman�s head underwater. It took less time than expected.

She didn�t look back as she left. Merely felt a sense of satisfaction spreading through her body. Christian was not going to be happy any more.

Patrik was looking at the drawings. And all of a sudden he understood. The big figure and the small one � Christian and Alice. And in one of the drawings the black figures that were so much darker than the rest.

Christian had taken the guilt on to his own shoulders. Patrik had just talked with Ragnar, who had confirmed it. When Alice came home that night, he and his wife assumed that it was Christian who had raped her. They were awakened by a scream, and when they got out of bed to find out what was going on, they found Alice lying on the floor in the front hall. She was wearing only a skirt, and her face was bloody and swollen. When they rushed over to her, she said only one word.

�Christian,� she whispered.

Ir�ne rushed upstairs to his room and yanked him out of bed. She smelled the booze on him and immediately drew her own conclusions. To be fair, Ragnar had thought the same thing, although he did have some doubt. Maybe that was why he kept sending Alice�s drawings to Christian. Because he�d never been certain about what actually happened.

G�sta and Martin had managed to nab Erik before he got on the plane. Patrik had just received a report, telling him that they were on their way back from Landvetter. That was always something. Later they would have to see what was legally possible, so many years after the fact. At least Kenneth was not going to keep silent any more; Erica was convinced of that. And if nothing else, Erik had a lot of explaining to do with regard to his financial dealings. He�d probably end up behind bars, at least for a while. But considering the circumstances, that seemed like small comfort.

�The newspapers have started ringing!� Mellberg came rushing in, beaming like a sun. �It�s about to get very lively around here. Great publicity for the station.�

�I suppose so,� said Patrik, still looking at the drawings.

�We did a really good job on this case, Hedstr�m! I have to admit it. It took us a while, but once we picked up the pace and did some good old-fashioned police work, the path was clear.�

�Right,� said Patrik. Today he didn�t even have the energy to feel annoyed by Mellberg. He rubbed his hand over his chest. It still hurt. He must have banged himself harder than he thought when he fell off the ladder.

�It�s probably best that I go back to my office,� said Mellberg. �A reporter from Aftonbladet just phoned, and it�s only a matter of time before somebody from Expressen calls too.�

�Hmm,� said Patrik as he kept rubbing his chest. Damn, it hurt. Maybe the pain would ease up if he moved a bit. He got up and went into the kitchen. How typical. Whenever he wanted a cup of coffee, the pot was empty.

Paula came in. �We�ve finished over there. I�m completely speechless. I would never have suspected any of this.�

�I guess not,� said Patrik. He realized how unkind that sounded, but he was so tired. He didn�t feel like talking about the case, didn�t want to think about Alice and Christian, or about a little boy who kept vigil over his dead mother�s body as it rotted in the summer heat.

Keeping his eyes fixed on the coffee machine, he put in several scoops. How many was that? Two or three? He couldn�t remember. He tried to concentrate, but the next scoopful landed outside the machine. He put the scoop in the package of ground coffee to take out some more, but a sharp pain in his chest made him gasp for air.

�Patrik, what�s the matter? Patrik?� He heard Paula�s voice, but it was coming from far, far away. He ignored it, wanting to finish putting more coffee in the machine, but his hand refused to obey. He saw a flash of light before his eyes, and the pain in his chest was suddenly a thousand times worse. He managed to think that something was wrong, that something was about to happen.

Then everything went black.

First and foremost, I want to thank my Martin. Because you love me and constantly find new ways to show it.

As usual there is one person who has been invaluable for the genesis of all my books: my wonderful publisher, Karin Linge Nordh. She�s both tough and warm at the same time in a most delightful combination, and she always makes my books better! This time we�ve also had help with the editing from Mathilda Lund, who made an amazing contribution. I am incredibly grateful to you. And to all of the others at Bokf�rlaget Forum � you know who you are. I can�t believe what a great job you do! I also want to mention the Ester PR agency, which has created fantastic, albeit rather scary, ad campaigns. I�m particularly grateful for my publisher�s involvement in producing my short novel Sn�storm och mandeldoft [Snow Storm and the Scent of Almonds], to benefit the organization MinStoraDag.

As always, Bengt Nordin has been a very important person for me, both personally and professionally. Thanks as well to the new talents at the revamped Nordin Agency: Joakim, Hanserik, Sofia, and Anna. I appreciate your enthusiasm and the work that you�ve done since taking over the baton from Bengt, who now can enjoy his well-deserved retirement. Only you know, Bengt, how much you have meant to me. On all levels.

Thanks to my mother for helping out with the babysitting, among many other things; and to Anders Torevi for quickly reading through the manuscript and for helping me with his knowledge of Fj�llbacka, as he always does. I�d also like to thank the citizens of Fj�llbacka for embracing my books as you�ve done, and for being so loyal to me, offering me the most amazing support. You always make me feel like a �Fj�llbacka girl�, in spite of the many years I�ve lived in Stockholm.

Thanks also to the police officers at the Tanumshede station � none named, but none forgotten. You do a magnificent job, and you�ve been so incredibly patient in allowing me � and the TV crew � to take up residence at your police station. Jonas Lindgren at the Forensics Lab in G�teborg: thanks for always being willing to correct my forensics mistakes.

I also want to mention my amazing friends who have patiently stood by me, even though there are long periods when I don�t communicate very much. Thanks to my former mother-in-law, Mona, whom I have bribed to continue supplying the world�s best meatballs � and in return she�s allowed to read the manuscript as soon as it�s done. I also want to send a big thank you to the children�s father, Micke! Because you�re always so understanding and nice. And to the children�s paternal grandfather, Hasse Eriksson. I don�t know how to explain how important you are. You were taken from us much too soon and too quickly this year, but the world�s best grandfather can�t just disappear. You will live on in your children and grandchildren, and in our memory. And yes, I do know how to cook�

My thanks to Sandra, who has been the children�s babysitter for two years now. She is the world�s best babysitter, bar none. She even asks if she can come by and play with the children if we haven�t needed her services for a while. She really cares, and for that I�m eternally grateful.

Thanks also to all of my faithful blog readers. And to my women author friends, especially Denise Rudberg, who is always willing to listen and who is the smartest and most loyal person I know.

Last but not least: Caroline and Johan Engvall, who are undoubtedly the nicest people in the world and who helped me out in Thailand when my computer crashed while I was writing the last chapter of The Drowning. I�m so very fond of both of you. And Maj-Britt and Ulf � you are incredible, always offering support when I need it most.

Camilla L�ckberg

Copenhagen, 4 March 2008

www.CamillaLackberg.com