The Chosen

EARLIER

TIME: BEFORE 22:10

It was as dark as if it were the middle of the night, even though it was morning. It was seven thirty, and Alex Recht was exhausted.

Polly Eisenberg was still missing.

He had expected her to be found dead as quickly as her brother, but that hadn’t happened; however, he had no idea whether that meant she was still alive.

He started the morning by asking Carmen and Gideon Eisenberg to come to Police HQ. He had run out of patience. Someone had to start talking, and it seemed reasonable to expect the missing child’s parents to oblige.

Fredrika had called him late last night, sounding very upset as she told him how her Israeli contact had abandoned her in the Old City in Jerusalem. She said he had ‘gone crazy’ before he walked away, which could only mean that they had stumbled on highly sensitive information, without realising it. He didn’t even want to think about what implications that had for their chances of solving the case.

‘Go and visit the kibbutzim,’ he had said to her. ‘Then get back here as soon as you can.’

‘I will, but I don’t know if it’s going to be any use; Isak seemed to think it would be a complete waste of time.’

Alex had lost track of the days, having worked all weekend. He reminded himself that it was Monday, and Fredrika would be back the following morning. Good. He needed her. More than ever.

Mona Samson was today’s project. She wasn’t answering her phone, and hadn’t responded to the two messages Alex had left on her voicemail.

Where the hell was she?

He picked up the notes one of the temporary members of his team had put together. Her company was fairly new; Samson Security AB had been registered in Sweden less than a year ago, which meant there was no information about company turnover or commercial activity. All they had was a brief statement saying that the firm specialised in various security systems. The homepage was equally sparse; there were no client testimonials to attract new business, for example.

Thoughtfully he read through the last section of the notes. Samson Security AB was part of a larger concern. There was also a note from the colleague who had originally been in contact with Mona Samson, to the effect that she didn’t speak Swedish, but English. There was no indication as to where the mother company was based, but Alex thought he knew. In order to double check he phoned the tax office, who confirmed his suspicions.

Samson Security AB was part of Samson SecInt, or Samson Security International, and its head office was in Tel Aviv, in Israel.

Alex searched online for Samson SecInt, but found nothing.

Of course.

He picked up the phone and called Fredrika.

‘I’ve got another job for you. There’s a firm called Samson SecInt which is supposed to have its head office in Tel Aviv. See if you can find it, and ask about their branch in Stockholm.’

‘I haven’t got much time,’ Fredrika said. ‘I’m in a cab on my way to the kibbutzim at the moment.’

‘Do your best,’ Alex said.

An unnecessary exhortation; Fredrika always did her best.

He ended the call and turned his attention back to the computer screen and the homepage of Samson Security AB. The only contact information for Mona Samson was her telephone number; no address. Could the firm have several offices in Stockholm? The apartment block he had visited the previous day had looked like Mona Samson’s private residence rather than business premises. Why had his colleague assumed this was her office?

He made a phone call, and his colleague said that he had been given Mona’s contact details by Saul Goldmann during their first interview with him. Alex and Fredrika hadn’t been involved at that stage, because they were still concentrating on Josephine’s murder.

‘To be honest, I didn’t make much of an effort to check out the company. I had an address where Saul Goldmann said they had met, and Mona Samson confirmed that.’

‘Over the phone?’ Alex said

‘Yes, she was out of town when I called. In Skövde, I think she said.’

That might well have been what she said, but Alex had a bad feeling about the whole thing.

After a little more digging he discovered that Samson Security AB was registered at a post box address in Stockholm. Mona Samson, however, was not registered anywhere; the apartment in which she was living was presumably a sublet.

Alex thought things over. Regardless of whether or not Mona Samson could provide Saul Goldmann with an alibi, they must know one another. Goldmann had given the police both her address and telephone number, and claimed they had had a business meeting, which had apparently taken place at her private residence. Unless of course her office was there too, but why would an overseas company that had invested in a branch in another country go for such an unprofessional set-up?

After a certain amount of hesitation, he called Saul Goldmann. Saul sounded tired when he answered, almost apathetic.

It was now four days since his son had been found shot dead out on Lovön, barefoot in the snow with a paper bag over his head. That could drive any parent crazy. Or leave them feeling tired and apathetic.

‘I’m sorry to bother you,’ Alex began. ‘But we’re having problems getting in touch with Mona Samson. Do you know how we can contact her?’

‘I gave her details to another officer last week. I thought you’d already spoken to her?’

His tone was sharper now, as if Alex’s question worried him. Just as he had reacted during the interview.

‘We have, but I’d like to get in touch with her again, and I’m getting nowhere. Do you happen to know whether Samson Security has an office in the city? You gave us the address of her private apartment, and she’s not there.’

He was risking everything on one throw of the dice, hoping his bluff would work.

It did.

‘Oh, right, yes. We met in her apartment instead of her office. I happened to be nearby, so it was easier. Well, I say I happened to be nearby, but we did have an appointment. However, I had another meeting beforehand. In Kungsholmen.’

Saul Goldmann was wobbling. Gabbling.

Alex was surprised; Saul Goldmann had not given the impression that he was a person who was likely to do either of those things.

So what was he hiding?

‘Saul,’ Alex said, choosing every word with care. ‘If there’s something you’d like to tell me, something you think could improve our chances of finding the person who killed Abraham and Simon, then please talk to me. Because time is running out for another child. We still haven’t found Polly Eisenberg. And I’m afraid she will suffer the same fate as Abraham and Simon unless we track her down very soon.’

Saul’s silence was unbearable.

Say something. For fuck’s sake, say something.

‘I’ve told you everything I know. I have nothing to add.’

‘Okay, if you insist. But perhaps you remember where Mona Samson’s office is located?’

‘Of course. Samson Security has a rented office on Torsgatan.’

ISRAEL

The landscape around Jerusalem was just as dramatic as the history of the city.

They were driving south along the main road towards Tel Aviv. Fredrika was in the back of a cab reading through her notes. The kibbutz she was heading for was called Jeich Tikvha, and according to the map lay not far from Netanya, a town thirty kilometres to the north of Tel Aviv. The other kibbutz had closed down some years ago.

Fredrika was still shocked at the way the previous evening had ended. She had left the Old City alone via the Lion Gate, then she had followed the wall until she reached the Damascus Gate. She hadn’t heard from Isak, nor had she expected to. Her suitcase was in the boot of the cab, and she wanted nothing more than to go home. Leave Israel and forget that she had ever been there.

Alex had called her and given her yet another job. She hoped she would have time, but had to admit to herself that her desire to visit an Israeli security firm was minimal. Anything she did from now on lacked legitimacy since the Israeli police had disowned her, and she didn’t think Israel was a very good country in which to play at being a police officer.

The hotel had helped her to book a cab; it was expensive but practical. The driver said something she didn’t hear, and pointed through the windscreen.

‘Sorry?’

‘Rain,’ the driver said in English. ‘It’s going to rain.’

Dark clouds had come rolling in over the coast and were moving east. The first heavy drops began to fall as they turned off for Netanya.

Fredrika was tired. The peace and quiet of the hotel had allayed the fear she had felt when she finally got back, but not the paranoia. She had the sense that someone was watching her, and before she went to bed she checked several times to make sure the door was locked. She had called Spencer to say goodnight, but that had been a mistake. He knew her so well that after just a few words he could tell that something had happened.

‘I wish I was there with you,’ he had said. ‘Hurry home.’

He didn’t need to ask more than once; she had absolutely no desire to stay.

‘Here we are,’ the driver said. He pulled up; forest on one side of the road, a high fence on the other. Up ahead she could see an entrance with a guard post.

‘Jeich Tikvha,’ the driver said, pointing. ‘It means “There is hope” – did you know that?’

She didn’t, but took some consolation from the words. She certainly needed hope.

He dropped her off and drove on. Fredrika picked up her case and walked over to the guard. What the hell was she doing here?

This whole thing was a lunatic project in a country which was one of the most challenging in the entire world in terms of security. It would have been much easier with Isak by her side.

The rain was falling heavily now, and she increased her speed. The guard stared at her with suspicion.

‘Good morning,’ she said. ‘I’d like to speak to the Goldmann and Eisenberg families, if they’re available. It’s about their sons.’

Being on unfamiliar ground with a task that was far from clear wasn’t ideal. Fredrika realised this when she was shown into David and Gali Eisenberg’s house. The place where Gideon Eisenberg had grown up.

‘I’m sorry to turn up unannounced and at such an early hour,’ she said once they were seated at the kitchen table. ‘But we really need your help with our investigation.’

It was nine o’clock; she had left Jerusalem at seven thirty.

‘Is this about Simon and Polly?’ Gali asked

She looked as if she were on the verge of tears. Fredrika shuffled uncomfortably; this was an impossible situation.

‘It is. And I have to begin by saying that you are under no obligation to talk to me. I am with the Swedish police, and I don’t have the authority to conduct an investigation in Israel. But I was here on another matter, and wanted to take the opportunity to meet you.’

‘We’re happy to help the police in any way we can,’ David assured her.

They seemed like decent people. Calm and collected. And so sad.

‘Do you have other children apart from Gideon?’

‘A daughter,’ Gali said. ‘She lives in Haifa.’

Not too far away; that must be some consolation when their son had moved all the way to Stockholm.

The house was small and simply furnished. If Fredrika understood correctly, everything on a kibbutz was owned collectively. Therefore, the house was not theirs, but had been allocated to them as a place to live. The very thought of not owning her home, or at least having a contract with the landlord, made Fredrika’s head spin.

She began by asking a question to which she already knew the answer.

‘How long is it since Gideon left Israel?’

Gali sighed.

‘It’s exactly ten years.’

‘Do you remember what motivated the move to Stockholm? I understand they left at the same time as the Goldmann family.’

There was no mistaking the reaction. As soon as Fredrika mentioned the name Goldmann, both Gali and David stiffened.

‘It was just a coincidence really,’ David said. ‘The fact that they moved at the same time.’

‘It all happened so fast,’ Gali said. ‘One day the decision was made, and we didn’t understand it at all. They left just a few weeks after Simon was born.’

‘So something must have happened, something that meant they didn’t want to go on living here,’ Fredrika said.

‘Gideon always found it very difficult to talk about his job,’ David said, with some hesitation. ‘And we respected that. As far as we know, the decision had something to do with his work, but we never found out what happened.’

Gali shook her head sorrowfully.

‘They just disappeared. We’ve been over to visit them many times, of course, and they’ve been here, but things just aren’t the same.’

‘You said Gideon found it difficult to talk about his job,’ Fredrika said, turning to David. ‘What did you mean by that?’

‘It seemed as if everything he was involved in was top secret.’

‘You mean at the firm where he worked?’

David looked confused.

‘Firm? Gideon didn’t work for a firm. He was employed by the military until he moved. Just like the others.’

A thought flitted through her mind. The others?

David straightened up.

‘If you want any more information, you need to ask Gideon,’ he said. ‘He’s in the best position to know what he can and can’t reveal about his past.’

He realised he had said too much, and Fredrika knew she wouldn’t get any more out of him.

She tried a different tack.

‘Of course. We’ve already spoken to Gideon, and will be doing so again. A moment ago you said “just like the others”. That he was employed by the military just like the others. I assume you were referring to Saul and Daphne Goldmann?’

They’d said they stayed on in the army for a year or so after their military service, hadn’t they? A year or so. But if Fredrika was right, it now seemed that they had stayed on until they left Israel.

‘That’s right,’ David said.

He had looked relieved when Fredrika started talking; he didn’t need to feel as if he were betraying his son.

‘And Efraim Kiel,’ Gali said.

‘Efraim Kiel?’

‘Gideon, Saul, Daphne and Efraim did their military service together, then pursued a career in the army. Efraim was the only one who stayed in Israel.’

‘That’s probably because he was the most successful,’ David said with a melancholy smile. ‘He was always a winner, always the leader.’

‘Did he also grow up on this kibbutz?’

‘No, his parents lived in Netanya, but the boys went to junior and high school together.’

One thread after another was woven together, the pattern growing clearer all the time.

Efraim Kiel had come up yet again. Efraim Kiel, who didn’t have an alibi for the murder of the two boys. The man Alex couldn’t track down.

And once again it was apparent that Simon and Abraham’s parents had lied. None of them had revealed that they had gone to school with Efraim, and spent time in the army together; they had said only that they did their military service with him.

As an investigator, Fredrika had to ask herself why. She also wondered if they were lying for reasons relevant to the inquiry, or because of something completely different. The sense of chasing lost souls became stronger the more she dug into the past. Was it because their work had been top secret?

‘Do Saul Goldmann’s parents live nearby? I’d really like to speak to them too.’

A shadow passed across the kitchen table. The rain hammered against the window pane, and the Swedish cold felt like a distant memory. In Israel it was like the Swedish summer.

‘Unfortunately they are no longer with us,’ Gali said. She looked sad, but Fredrika could see something else in her eyes, something indefinable that had nothing to do with sorrow.

Something that looked a lot like relief, in fact.

‘Were they very old?’ she asked.

David cleared his throat.

‘Aida died in a car accident last year. And Avital… Avital took his own life.’

Silence fell in the small kitchen.

Avital? It was a coincidence, of course. The Lion had called himself Avital Greenburg. But Saul’s father was Avital Goldmann.

‘It must have been very difficult for Saul, losing both his parents when he’s so young himself,’ Fredrika said. Saul was only forty-five; most people don’t expect to lose their parents until much later in life.

‘I shouldn’t think he misses them,’ David said, getting up from the table. ‘He didn’t even come to his mother’s funeral.’

Gali stroked his back as he passed her on his way to the sink.

‘David, we know nothing about all that,’ she said.

‘If he wasn’t close to them in the past, perhaps he’s thinking about them now that he’s lost his own son,’ Fredrika said, trying to smooth things over.

David switched on the coffee machine, and it came to life with a series of noises. The atmosphere in the kitchen was oppressive, as if the air was full of unspoken words.

‘I shouldn’t think Saul cares about the boy either,’ he said.

At that Gali slammed her fist down on the table.

‘I just said we know nothing about all that!’

‘Nonsense!’ David said, turning to face the two women. ‘I’m sure everyone knows the situation.’

What situation?

‘May I ask what you’re talking about?’ Fredrika said.

‘The fact that Abraham wasn’t Saul’s son.’

‘David!’

‘The boy is dead, Gali. What does it matter?’

Gali began to cry, silent, heart-rending tears.

David softened.

‘What are you saying?’ Fredrika said, looking at him.

David couldn’t meet her eye.

‘Well, that’s the rumour. That Saul had had a vasectomy. One of our neighbours who’s a doctor arranged for him to have it done in Haifa, and then along comes Daphne a few years later and announces that she’s pregnant.’

‘But why didn’t Saul want children?’

Fredrika didn’t understand. He must have been so young when he made the decision not to be a parent.

David didn’t respond.

Fredrika gently placed a hand on Gali’s arm.

‘Why didn’t Saul want children?’ she repeated.

An eternity passed before Gali wiped her eyes and answered the question, her voice no more than a faint whisper.

‘Because he was afraid that the Paper Boy would take them.’

One of the earliest flights from London took off at seven o’clock in the morning, and Eden Lundell was on board. The night had been an endless torment of sleepless anxiety. The story Fred Banks had told her had triggered a chain of thought she was incapable of stopping. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the Palestinian boy who had died in the explosion on the West Bank. Half dozing, half awake she pictured him running towards the house where he thought he would be safe. Yanking open the door and standing on the trigger mechanism for the bomb that someone had concealed in the entrance to keep enemies away.

But why had no one told the boy he must never, ever use that door?

The whole thing was insane, and Eden couldn’t get her head around it.

And now two more boys had died. Ten years later and in a different part of the world.

The fate of the Palestinian boy was the key to the mystery into which the police investigation had developed, she was sure of it.

She left her hotel at five thirty in the morning and travelled out to Heathrow. She was hoping that Fred would have more to tell her, that he would call.

And he did.

The plane had barely touched down at Arlanda when Eden switched on her phone. Fred called as the plane taxied in.

‘Can we meet?’ he said.

‘No, I’ve just landed in Stockholm.’

‘We need to talk. I have more information for you.’

She closed her eyes. Thought for a moment.

A plane wasn’t the best place to conduct a top secret conversation, but she had no choice. She tried to remember what the missing child was called.

Polly Eisenberg.

Time was running out for her.

It was for Polly, and for those who had already died, that they had to bend the rules.

‘It will have to be now,’ she said.

‘I’ve checked the minutes from meetings on the joint operation with Mossad. On one occasion a couple of representatives from Efraim Kiel’s special team were there; I have their names here.’

Eden had spent her waking hours during the night trying to piece together the puzzle.

The boy who died in the explosion was important.

So was the secret source who led them to the suspected terrorist.

The source known as the Paper Boy.

Even before Fred told her the names of the other team members, she knew what he was going to say.

‘Saul Goldmann and Gideon Eisenberg. I’ve read one or two articles online; they’re the fathers of the boys who were murdered, aren’t they?’

‘They are,’ Eden said.

The plane had arrived at its gate and the passengers were beginning to disembark. Eden stayed where she was in her window seat.

This was nothing but pure revenge.

An eye for an eye.

The most classic principle of all, which never seemed to go out of fashion.

‘We have to find out the name of the boy who died on the West Bank,’ she said. ‘Otherwise we’ll never find the murderer.’

‘I know,’ Fred said. ‘But I’m afraid I can’t help you there. His name isn’t in any of the records, nor any explanation as to why he was in that house in the first place.’

‘Could he have been the suspect’s son?’

‘More than likely. But he died in the explosion.’

‘Who else was in the house?’

‘It doesn’t say; it just says that three bodies were found inside, the boy and two adult males. As far as MI5 were concerned the matter was resolved, however tragic the outcome. We have no information about how Mossad chose to follow up what had occurred.’

Eden worked through what she had heard.

Efraim Kiel had led a team recruiting sources in the Palestinian enclave of the West Bank. Saul Goldmann and Gideon Eisenberg had been part of that team. After the disaster of the boy’s death, both Saul and Gideon had immediately left the country and moved to Sweden. That was back in 2002. And now, ten years later, when their own sons had reached the same age as that Palestinian boy, at a guess, someone was taking revenge.

It was hardly surprising that the Goldmanns and Eisenbergs weren’t co-operating, according to Alex. They were keeping quiet because they weren’t allowed to talk about what had happened. An episode that still haunted them, a decade later.

The question was what she should do now. Because officially the information she had been given did not exist.

‘They must realise what’s going on,’ Fred said.

‘Of course.’

‘I imagine the most likely scenario is that they’ll get in touch with their parent organisation in Israel and ask for help.’

Eden didn’t think that was going to happen. By leaving Israel, Saul and Gideon had turned their backs on their former employer. There had to be a concrete reason why those two, but not Efraim who had also been there, had felt compelled to move.

It was painful to think of Efraim’s name.

You fucking lunatic, you’re not mixed up in all this, are you?

She didn’t believe he was. Not as a killer, anyway.

Nor did she think that he just happened to be in Stockholm when everything kicked off. Could Mossad have sent him to keep a watchful eye on his former colleagues? Could they have had some kind of warning about what was going to happen?

If so, then Efraim had failed spectacularly.

‘What are you going to do now?’ Fred asked.

The anxiety in his voice gave him away.

There would be devastating consequences for his career if it emerged that he had passed on classified information, particularly as he had given it to a woman who had once been accused of working as a double agent.

Eden had never been good at gratitude or being in someone’s debt, but she would never forget this.

‘I don’t know,’ she said.

Honest and gentle.

‘Don’t burn me,’ he said.

‘Not for anything in the world.’

She was the last to get off the plane. She called GD and told him she was on her way in. She tried to assemble far too many fragments to form a whole. If the motive was revenge, then who was the avenger?

The Paper Boy, she thought. Is that what this is all about?

A little while later, in a cab on the way from the airport, she realised that there were only three people who could answer that question:

Saul, Gideon and Efraim.

If they even knew.

Because something was missing from this story. She felt strongly that it was all related to the boy who had died in the house, but could there be alternative scenarios? She didn’t know how many men had made up Efraim’s team; were there more men and women who had been punished by having their children murdered? Could there be more victims in Israel? If so, the Israelis should have made the connection by this stage, and got in touch with the Swedish police.

Eden shifted impatiently in the back of the cab.

It was through the victims that the perpetrators were found. If her basic theory was correct, if Simon and Abraham had been murdered in revenge for what had happened in that Palestinian village, then none of those involved were safe. Unless they were childless. Could Efraim have a family, and if so, where were they? Eden had no idea what kind of life he led. Perhaps he had already had a family back in the day, when he and she first met.

Bastard.

It wasn’t until the cab was driving through the city streets that she realised what she had ignored. Consciously or unconsciously.

Because of course Efraim Kiel had children.

At least two of them.

Eden’s daughters.

It was vital to act quickly. First of all Alex Recht drove over to Samson Security AB’s office on Torsgatan and rang the bell. He banged on the door and eventually tried the neighbours. No one knew where the woman who usually occupied the office might be, but one man said he had seen her only the previous evening.

Alex called Mona Samson twice from the pavement outside, then drove back to Police HQ, contacted the prosecutor and asked for a warrant to search the premises of Samson Security AB.

‘Why?’ the prosecutor wanted to know.

‘Because I’m wondering if Mona Samson might have fallen victim to our killer, and I want to make sure she’s not lying there dead.’

The thought had struck him as he stood there hammering on the door.

So far he had assumed that the woman he was looking for was somehow involved in what had happened; the indentations on the roof indicated that a woman had played a part in the murders, and Mona Samson was the only woman who had emerged as a suspect. But what was to say that she couldn’t also be a victim? In this tangle of loose ends where nothing was what it appeared to be, wasn’t it possible that Mona Samson had somehow been drawn in and exploited?

Standing in her office a little while later, he didn’t know what to think.

The place was spartan, bordering on desolate. Or perhaps the company hadn’t been there very long. Two desks, a bookcase, a computer, a few books and brochures. And a mattress on the floor. That was all. Cold and sparse. Alex stood in the middle of the room, the snow that had landed on his coat melting and dripping onto the floor.

‘Empty,’ said a colleague who had come with him. A technician was there too. In films the cops always had a skeleton key in their back pocket; in reality, it was the police technician who opened doors.

They had no mandate to remove anything, so they had to leave the computer where it was. As for the next step… Alex gazed around despondently.

‘Let’s put the building under surveillance,’ he said. ‘See if she comes back. It looks as if she sleeps here sometimes.’

His colleague glanced up.

‘But we don’t know what she looks like.’

‘In that case we’ll put someone on the door asking everyone who goes in to show their ID,’ Alex said. ‘We have to find her.’

Fifteen minutes later he was back at Police HQ, sitting at his desk reading the latest surveillance update on Saul Goldmann’s activities. He was travelling only between home and work. Sometimes Daphne was with him, sometimes he was alone. There was a photograph of the couple standing on the pavement outside their home; they had their arms around each other, and it looked as if Daphne was weeping on her husband’s shoulder.

Alex swallowed hard and put down the picture.

There was a certain kind of grief against which there was no defence. Daphne’s crumpled face expressed that particular sorrow, and it was painful to see.

He forced himself to look again, knowing that he had seen something important.

Saul’s face.

Barren and closed.

Not distorted with anguish like his wife’s. Alex knew he was on thin ice, that he couldn’t or shouldn’t draw conclusions from a single snapshot, a brief moment. But it actually looked as if Saul wasn’t grieving at all. He seemed annoyed, if anything.

Alex went down to the technicians’ department and managed to get hold of Lasse, who had helped them with the Super Troopers forum.

‘Saul Goldmann’s mobile,’ he said. ‘Have we got a location for the occasions when we want to know where he was?’

‘In other words when the teacher was shot, when the boys disappeared, and on the morning when they died?’

‘Yes.’

‘No. We haven’t asked the phone company for that information.’

‘In that case I’ll fill in a request and sign it right now,’ Alex said. ‘And I want a list of calls for the relevant days.’

He was about to leave when Lasse said:

‘However, I’ve just got a GPS on Mona Samson’s phone. The guy who called her to confirm Goldmann’s alibi asked me to do it last night. He was probably worried in case you thought he hadn’t done a good enough job.’

Too right.

‘What did you find out?’ he said, desperate to know.

Lasse waved him over, wanting him to look at the computer screen.

‘At two o’clock on the afternoon when the boys went missing, she received a call. We can see that she was definitely in Kungsholmen then, but look where she was when the phone rang at three.’

Alex peered at the screen.

The mobile had been up by the bridge, Djurgårdsbron. In Östermalm.

‘Bloody hell,’ he said.

‘The teacher was shot just after three, wasn’t she?’

‘She was.’

‘But at that time Mona Samson, or her phone at least, was by Djurgårdsbron.’

‘She could have been separated from her phone,’ Alex suggested. ‘It might have been in her car, for example. Do we know if she actually has a car?’

‘I checked, but I couldn’t find one. Of course she could have hired one that day, or borrowed one from a friend.’

‘True,’ Alex said. ‘But given the location of the phone, I think we can assume that she definitely wasn’t in Kungsholmen with Saul Goldmann. Where did she go after that? When did the next call come in?’

‘Hang on,’ Lasse said. ‘Look at this. So she had a call at two o’clock, which she didn’t answer. I don’t know who that was from. But guess who called her at three o’clock?’

‘I haven’t time to play guessing games – just tell me.’

‘Saul Goldmann. But she didn’t answer then either.’

Alex let out a whistle.

‘Bloody hell,’ he whispered.

Lasse smiled with satisfaction.

‘The next activity is half an hour later, at three thirty. She called Goldmann, and they talked for just over two minutes.’

Alex stared at the map where Mona Samson’s trail ended. At Djurgårdsbron. Which wasn’t far from the building on Nybrogatan, where someone had lain on their stomach on the roof and shot a teacher in the back. He thought about what the CSIs had said: that the person on the roof had been no more than one metre seventy tall.

And then he thought about the theory that the boys had been picked up by someone they knew. Perhaps Efraim Kiel, if he was the one who had sought them out online. Even if they hadn’t met before, it wasn’t unreasonable to assume that the boys might have been curious and gone with him if he referred to their exchange of emails. But it could also be much simpler than that; it could have been Saul Goldmann who had picked them up.

What a team they would have made, if that were the case. Saul and Mona. Providing one another with an alibi. Helping one another with the murders in order to fragment the investigation, make the police’s job so much more difficult.

They’re not a team; they’re a couple.

The realisation made him go cold.

That was why they had lied, why they had met in her apartment rather than her office.

‘They’re in a relationship,’ he said, hardly conscious of the fact that he was thinking out loud.

‘Who?’ Lasse said.

‘Samson and Goldmann.’

‘So they got rid of the kid so they could make a fresh start? Is that what you’re saying?’

Was it that simple? Alex hesitated. ‘Something along those lines.’

‘But why take Simon Eisenberg as well? And what about Polly?’

Alex had no answer to that, but his brain had gone into overdrive. If he could just gather together all the scraps of information and odd circumstances that had rained – or snowed – down on them over the past few days, a clear picture would emerge. Because the Eisenbergs and the Goldmanns had a history that they were keeping from the police. A reason why they no longer spent time together, in spite of the fact that the men had been in close proximity for decades.

Alex had no idea how deep the conflict was, but he sincerely hoped that Fredrika would have found out something about their background in Israel. Because by now Alex was certain they were close to a resolution of the case.

Very close.

If they could just work out why Simon and Polly Eisenberg had to die as well.

ISRAEL

The rain had stopped, but the cloud cover remained. They were walking through the kibbutz as Gali and David Eisenberg took Fredrika on a guided tour of Gideon and Saul’s youth.

‘Gideon was always so cautious,’ his mother said. ‘Anxious and nervous. He was an easy target for Saul’s vivid imagination.’

David Eisenberg shook his head.

‘If I’d realised Saul was the one filling his head with rubbish I would have done something about it earlier.’

‘This is where the Goldmanns lived,’ Gali said, pointing to a house only fifty metres from their own.

The kibbutz was idyllic, with its lush greenery. A little community cut off from the rest of the world. Fredrika couldn’t work out how they supported themselves; fruit cultivation might have carried the economy in years gone by, but these days they must have another income stream.

So this was where Saul and Gideon had spent their childhood, crawling among the plants and shrubs, running from one house to the other.

‘Does Saul have any brothers or sisters?’ Fredrika asked.

‘No,’ Gali said. ‘And that was a great source of sorrow, above all to his mother.’

Fredrika could understand that. She was very glad she had two children, even though her son had been unplanned. But no less welcome for that.

‘The Paper Boy,’ she said. ‘Where does the story come from?’

She could see by the look on Gali and David’s faces that this was a sensitive subject. Gali slipped her hand into her husband’s.

‘It was Avital, Saul’s father, who told me the story first,’ David explained. ‘When we were children. We didn’t live here then, we lived in a village in the south of Israel. The story grew and became a legend, and after a few years its origins were forgotten. And eventually Saul told Gideon the tale. When we heard about it, we thought it was a very practical idea, to be honest. You’re familiar with the history of Israel – full of conflicts and difficulties, in spite of the fact that the state has existed only since 1948.’

‘You mean it was useful if the boys stayed indoors after dark?’ Fredrika said.

‘Not necessarily indoors, but we didn’t want them going off on night-time excursions outside the kibbutz with the older kids,’ David said. ‘Teenagers can be incredibly irresponsible. Once two of them hitched from the kibbutz to Netanya. It could have ended very badly, because it turned out that the guy who picked them up was a wanted criminal.’

‘We were keen to make sure that our boys stuck to the rules when it came to late evenings and nights, so we didn’t dispute the story of the Paper Boy, who came and took children while they were sleeping,’ Gali said. ‘It sounds stupid now, but as we said, at the time it was practical.’

‘The myth spread to the neighbouring kibbutz,’ David went on.

That was where Daphne Goldmann had grown up. Unlike Carmen Eisenberg, she had heard about the Paper Boy when she was a child.

‘But then something dreadful happened,’ Gali said, an anguished expression on her face.

‘Children actually began to disappear,’ she said in a voice that was no more than a whisper. ‘One from our community first of all, then one from the neighbouring kibbutz.’

Fredrika shuddered, pulling her jacket closer around her body.

‘Were they found?’

‘Yes,’ David said. ‘Each of them was missing for only a few days, then they were found naked by the roadside, with severe lacerations. It looked as if someone had simply pulled up in a car, thrown them out and driven off.’

Children disappearing. One at a time. Found naked by the roadside.

Fredrika ran her fingers through her hair; she was finding it difficult to breathe.

‘Do you know what had happened to them?’

Gali couldn’t speak. She was weeping silently, her head resting on David’s shoulder.

‘It looked as if an animal had tried to rip them to pieces,’ David said, his voice breaking. ‘I was there when the first child was found. Someone had attacked him with a knife – not deep stab wounds, but scratches and slashes. It almost had a ritualistic feel. But the actual cause of death was a bullet in the chest, fired from a distance. It was eventually established that the children had run for their lives before they died. The murderer first caught his prey, abused it, then let it go in order to hunt it down and kill it.’

Fredrika’s head was spinning.

The only thing she could think about was the children who had been shot on Lovön; who had been chased barefoot in the snow in freezing temperatures.

‘The police and the press called the killer the Hunter, but the children on the kibbutzim believed it was the Paper Boy who had taken them.’

The Hunter and the Paper Boy. Fredrika blinked up at the sun, which had broken through the cloud cover for a little while. She chose her words with care.

‘When the children were found, were they marked in any way? Apart from their injuries, I mean.’

Gali straightened up and wiped her eyes.

‘Both children had a paper bag over their head, with a face on it,’ David said. ‘The police kept that detail to themselves at first, but the rumour spread in no time because so many of us had been involved in the search. Needless to say, that fuelled the children’s fear of the Paper Boy.’

The strain was clear in every line of his face.

‘Did they catch the killer?’ Fredrika asked, thinking back to a case she had worked on a few years ago. The murderer had used a grave site in Midsommarkransen, returning to it over a period of many years. God forbid the same thing was happening again: a killer who had moved from Israel to Sweden. Please let it not be true.

‘They did,’ David said.

She let out a long breath. Thank goodness.

‘He made a mistake,’ Gali said. ‘Another child went missing, a boy. He managed to get away, and was able to tell the police what had happened to him, and who had taken him.’

‘He came staggering in through the gate,’ David said. ‘The guard took care of him and made sure the police were called right away.’

‘He was from this kibbutz?’ Fredrika asked.

A shadow passed across David’s face. His eyes filled with tears, and he could barely speak.

‘Yes. And he was never the same again. He said he was fine, but we could see the change. But at least they caught the person responsible, which was a blessing in the midst of all the sorrow.’

He fell silent, watching a bird as it flitted from tree to tree.

Gali didn’t say anything either; she waved to a neighbour passing by.

They had more to tell, Fredrika could feel it. A lot more. She waited until the neighbour was out of earshot.

‘So what happened to the murderer? I assume he got a long prison sentence.’

Gali looked as if she was about to start crying again.

‘Life,’ David said. ‘Which was only right after what he had done.’

But?

There was an unspoken ‘but’ that they were avoiding, refusing to touch.

‘It was just so terrible for his family,’ Gali whispered. ‘We did our best to support them, but it was difficult. Especially for us.’

‘His family? You knew them?’

David nodded. Fredrika gazed at the idyllic surroundings, tried to work it out.

‘The murderer came from here? He was one of you?’

Another nod, and Fredrika was beginning to understand.

‘He killed himself in prison,’ David said. ‘His son was particularly badly affected by the whole thing. I’d say he was every bit as damaged as the boy who got away.’

Gali wiped a tear from her cheek.

‘Avital was the Hunter and the Paper Boy,’ she said. ‘Now do you see? Saul Goldmann’s father was the murderer.’

Fredrika didn’t know what to say. Saul’s father had subjected other children to the same horror that had now claimed his own grandchild. The Paper Boy had travelled from the past to the present.

Someone had brought him to life.

‘Although in those days the family was called Greenburg, not Goldmann,’ David said.

Fredrika stopped dead. For a second, time stood still.

‘Avital Greenburg. Was that his name?’

‘Yes, but when it was all over, Aida changed the family name. For Saul’s sake, so that fewer people would remember his background.’

But someone still remembers.

Whoever had called himself the Lion had known exactly what he was doing.

The Lion was a chameleon, who had taken the devil’s name without hesitation.

‘Did you ever get an explanation for what he’d done?’ she asked. ‘Why he’d killed those children?’

David sighed.

‘Not really. Back in those days people weren’t so fond of psychological analysis as they are now, but he was obviously sick. It would be absurd to think anything else.’

‘We knew so little about his past,’ Gali said. ‘Both his parents died in the Holocaust; only Avital survived. Very few children came out of the concentration camps alive, but he was one of them. He was four years old when the war ended, and he was placed with foster parents who left Europe and came to Israel. I have no idea what that kind of start in life does to a person, but it’s obvious that he too was badly damaged.’

It was hard to disagree. Fredrika had just one more question.

‘Who was the boy who survived? Does he still live here?’

Gali turned and started walking back towards her house.

David didn’t move, but he couldn’t bring himself to look at Fredrika.

At that moment she realised what he was going to say.

‘It was Gideon,’ he said. ‘Gideon was the Hunter’s last victim. It was Gideon who put Saul’s father in prison.’

Twice he had been to her apartment block. On both occasions he had seen the tall man emerge with the girls. On the Sunday they had gone to Vasa Park, on the Monday to day care. But he had seen no sign of Eden, which led Efraim Kiel to conclude that she had gone away.

And that worried him. Because Eden ought to be shaken up by what had happened, by the fact that he now knew he was the father of her children, yet she had taken the risk of leaving her family alone. Admittedly her husband looked more than capable of defending his children if he had to. Efraim had seen him once before, in London. It had been a bad idea. Feeling over-confident, Efraim had gone to Eden’s house. He had been standing in the street when they came out hand in hand.

Eden had watched him to the very last second. That was when he realised she had fallen in love with him.

But right now Efraim had bigger problems than Eden. The woman who was following him was one of them. She wasn’t sticking to the rules. She wasn’t keeping out of the way. And what the hell was she doing in Stockholm? Efraim couldn’t shake off the feeling that he had seriously misjudged the situation. Made a mistake, in fact.

Or several mistakes.

Because now he was caught up in an unpleasant dilemma, and he couldn’t see a way out.

I have to get out of this country. Fast.

But that wouldn’t solve the problem of the Paper Boy. There were certain things you couldn’t run away from, however much you wanted to.

He also had to work out what to do with the girl, Polly. Time was running out, he had to act.

They called when he was in his hotel room getting changed. He had walked over to Torsgatan in the hope of spotting the woman he had followed the previous day, but instead he had seen the police entering the building. Plain clothes officers, instantly recognisable to Efraim’s trained eye. Right in front of the Säpo goons, who were also watching the woman’s apartment. He couldn’t understand why Säpo and the police apparently didn’t know about each other; why weren’t they working together?

His phone rang as he was pulling on his jeans. He stopped dead. It was his dedicated work mobile, the one only his employer knew about.

‘Yes?’

‘Can you talk?’

‘Yes.’

His boss got straight to the point.

‘We have a problem. There’s a Swedish police officer over here asking questions about the Paper Boy.’

He had been expecting this, and had an answer ready.

‘It’s a different Paper Boy,’ he said. ‘Not the one you’re thinking of.’

‘Excuse me – there’s more than one?’

His boss sounded irritated.

‘Yes. The original. A child killer from a kibbutz outside Netanya. And then there’s the one both you and I are familiar with,’ Efraim said.

‘And it’s the first one the Swedish police are interested in?’ his boss said with a certain amount of relief.

‘I think we can assume so. There’s no reason to believe they would know about the Paper Boy on the West Bank.’

It sounded as if the boss was tapping away on his keyboard.

‘Nothing would make me happier than to be absolutely certain you’re right,’ he said. ‘But there are complications.’

‘Like what?’

‘The Swedish police have also been asking questions about Mona Samson. If you’re not familiar with the name, let me inform you that she used to be known as Nadia Tahir. Now do you understand what’s worrying me?’

Efraim didn’t answer immediately; he wasn’t sure what to say.

Oh yes, I knew that Nadia had changed her name.

‘They don’t know what they’re asking about,’ he said. ‘Believe me, the only Paper Boy they’re interested in is the child killer.’

‘I still think they’re too bloody close.’

Efraim went over to the window and gazed out at the wintry landscape.

‘I made it clear to our friends in the police in Jerusalem that they must stay away from the Paper Boy,’ his boss went on. ‘That his fate was a matter for the Israeli security service and no one else. Not our own police force, and definitely not the Swedes. I’m aware that I humiliated them. My actions may well have had a negative effect on the way in which they subsequently dealt with their Swedish colleagues, but to be honest I don’t really care.’

Efraim watched a mother and two children on the other side of the street. The little ones kicked at the snow, laughing as it swirled around their feet.

‘I’m sure it’ll be fine,’ he said distractedly.

The Stockholm police had surprised him with their creativity, travelling all the way to Israel to ask questions about the Paper Boy. And Nadia, or Mona as she was calling herself these days. Efraim knew perfectly well that his own behaviour had been less than cautious. It wouldn’t surprise him if the police started asking questions about him too.

Perhaps he should send them off in another direction.

A plan began to take shape. It wasn’t pretty, but nor was the reality he had to deal with.

‘Is it Alex Recht who’s gone to Israel?’

‘No, it’s a woman – Fredrika Bergman.’

Fredrika Bergman. Efraim had never heard of her, but now his curiosity had been aroused. And he was annoyed.

‘I assume you’ve been following the investigation in Stockholm?’ his boss said.

‘To a certain extent. It’s difficult to get hold of information without seeming too pushy. I don’t want to draw attention to myself.’

‘Very wise. But what worries me most of all is the murdered boys’ surnames.’

Efraim closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the cold window pane. Remembered what the cool metal had felt like in his hands before he threw the gun into the Baltic Sea.

‘Eisenberg and Goldmann,’ he said.

‘It’s hardly a coincidence, is it? Gideon and Saul must be their fathers.’

‘That’s right.’

‘And you still maintain this is about a different Paper Boy from the one we got to know on the West Bank?’

‘I don’t know. But the Paper Boy the Swedish police are asking questions about is an imaginary figure in a tale told in a couple of kibbutzim outside Netanya.’

‘Saul Goldmann and Gideon Eisenberg haven’t made contact with us, but surely they must see the connection?’

‘Presumably,’ Efraim said. ‘But once again – the murders have an equally clear link to the Paper Boy I referred to as the original.’

He outlined briefly what had happened to Gideon and Saul when they were young. He had only heard their story himself when they did their military service together. They had formed an unbeatable quartet: Efraim, Saul, Gideon and Daphne, who became Saul’s wife. It was Daphne who had confided in Efraim, explained why Gideon had so many terrible scars on his body, and told him about the role Saul’s father had played in the events of the past.

It had been Saul’s suggestion that they should call their source on the West Bank after their shared childhood trauma, and no one had objected.

‘I did actually know that story and how it had affected Gideon and Saul,’ his boss said when Efraim had finished. ‘But I didn’t know that the residents of the kibbutz had their own nickname for the murderer.’

He sighed, and went on: ‘I don’t like this. It stinks of revenge, and we can’t allow that.’

‘Saul and Gideon turned their backs on us,’ Efraim said. ‘I stayed, but they went away.’

‘I know, but we can’t set a precedent, looking the other way when someone attacks Israeli citizens in another country.’

‘Of course not.’

He waited, wanting the call to end.

‘The Paper Boy,’ his boss said. ‘By which I mean “our” Paper Boy. Do you have any idea where that person is right now?’

‘No.’

‘Do you think he’s involved in these murders?’

‘That would involve making the assumption that he’s in Stockholm, and I have no reason to believe that he is.’

‘But I have,’ his boss said, and Efraim froze. ‘Or at least I have information indicating that the person in question has travelled to Stockholm on a number of occasions over the past year. And has stayed for quite long periods.’

Breathe in, breathe out.

‘I didn’t know that.’

‘There was no reason why you should. But now things have changed. There’s one last thing I want you to do before you leave Stockholm, Efraim. I want you to track down the Paper Boy in order to confirm that he has nothing to do with these murders. Can you do that?’

Efraim sank down on the bed. That was exactly what he had been doing for the past few days.

But the Paper Boy found me before I found him.

‘No problem.’

‘Good. In that case I shall expect a rapid resolution of the matter.’

‘I’ll do whatever is necessary,’ Efraim said.

‘Excellent. If this really is about what happened in Gideon and Saul’s childhood, then I shall feel happier. Sorry for their sake, of course, but happier. Otherwise we have a major problem.’

And with those words he ended the call.

Efraim remained sitting on the bed, his mobile in his hand.

The Paper Boy refused to rest, refused to leave him in peace.

Which actually suited Efraim Kiel very well.

Because he had never loved anyone as much.

Like most other people, Eden Lundell had always assumed that when she had children, it would be with the love of her life. Ironically, that was exactly what she had done, in a way.

Because for several years, years she would prefer not to remember, Efraim Kiel had been just that. The biggest thing that had ever happened to her. The most overwhelming love affair. The very thought of how willingly she had accepted him made her feel sick.

She went straight to her office and closed the door when she got in just before lunch. Mondays always involved a long series of meetings, which she loathed. Meetings were for people who didn’t have enough to do. Eden’s agenda was always packed, and today she had no intention of turning up at a single meeting. She had more important things to think about.

A threat to her family.

Apart from Eden, only one person knew that Efraim was the father of her children.

And that was Efraim himself.

If it was Efraim who had murdered Simon Eisenberg and Abraham Goldmann, there was no reason to assume that he would attack his own daughters. But Eden was convinced the boys had been killed in revenge for the boy who had died on the West Bank, and she couldn’t see why that revenge shouldn’t encompass Efraim’s children too. After all, he had been there too when the boy died in the explosion.

Her heart was racing, exhaustion creating ghosts in her mind.

She told herself to calm down. Reminded herself that the only two people on earth who knew the truth about her daughters were her and Efraim.

Why would he have told anyone else?

And in such a short time.

She took off her jacket. Why could they never get the heating right in this place? Sometimes it was too hot, sometimes too cold. Today it was suffocating.

She ran a finger over one trouser leg, smoothing out a crease.

Her mother’s voice echoed faintly in her head:

‘You must always make sure you’re neat and tidy, Eden. That will get you a long way in life!’

As if her mother had got anywhere to speak of.

‘Your life has stood still ever since you got married, Mother dear.’

An assistant knocked on her door.

‘Yes?’

‘GD asked us to keep a lookout for you. He expressly said that he wanted to see you as soon as you came in.’

Did he indeed.

‘I’ll go and see him in a minute.’

The question was what she was going to say to him.

Everything Fred had told her was in confidence; she had to keep it to herself, even if it meant that the investigation ground to a halt. And even if it meant going behind GD’s back.

‘By the way,’ she said to her assistant. ‘I’d like you to book one of Säpo’s apartments for me, please.’

‘Have you joined the ranks of the homeless?’ her assistant said with a smile.

Eden forced herself to smile back.

No, I just want to make sure my family has somewhere to hide from a lethal killer.

‘We’re having some work done at home and we need a place to sleep for the next few days. I’d really appreciate it if you could sort that out for me.’

I’d really appreciate it. Please. Words that Eden often forgot, with predictable results.

Her assistant nodded and disappeared.

Eden followed her out of the office and headed for the lifts. She had decided to tell GD as little as possible. There was no logical reason to think that Efraim had anything to do with the murders; however, it still bothered her that he had been sent to Stockholm at the same time. She just couldn’t come up with a satisfactory explanation.

Which left her with another alternative: it really was pure chance that Efraim’s visit to Stockholm coincided with the murder of his former colleagues’ children.

The problem with that theory was that Eden Lundell didn’t believe in chance. Could this be an exception? She realised she had to call Alex, check how the investigation was going. Find out whether he was anywhere near the truth and a solution. It would be an indescribable relief if Alex had discovered a completely different reason behind the murders.

I won’t be that lucky.

Eden was standing outside Buster Hansson’s office when it struck her.

She was paralysed with shock at the realisation that she had missed the obvious.

The person who had killed Simon and Abraham had also known about the Paper Boy, and left a reference to the source on the West Bank. Which significantly reduced the number of suspects, because source names were classified.

In certain cases not even the source knew what his or her name was within the organisations he or she worked for.

Suddenly she couldn’t breathe.

If the killer was someone who knew who the Paper Boy was, then he must be part of Mossad. Therefore, it could be Efraim.

Or the father of one of the boys.

Modern man seemed incapable of grasping or accepting that he always left a trail – electronic if not physical. It was difficult to avoid making mistakes, which was some small consolation for the police; without all those mistakes, many crimes would never be cleared up. Alex Recht knew that only too well.

He heard from Lasse in the tech department less than two hours after they had last spoken.

‘You asked about Saul Goldmann’s mobile.’

‘Yes?’ The tension was unbearable.

‘You wanted to know where he was when he called Mona Samson’s mobile at three o’clock: Karlaplan.’

Alex’s chest felt tight. He rubbed his forehead.

‘They live near there,’ he said. ‘Although that doesn’t change anything. If he wasn’t the one who killed Josephine and picked up the boys, I hope he has a good explanation for why he lied in a police interview.’

‘What about his alibi for the morning when the boys were shot?’

Alex thought for a moment. Had they even checked? All the parents had an alibi for the time when the boys went missing, so it hadn’t occurred to them to look into what they were doing on the morning of the murders.

Then he remembered.

‘We didn’t ask for alibis because the fathers were involved in the search, and the mothers were in the community centre, ringing around the boys’ friends and classmates.’

‘Okay… Had the parents organised themselves into groups, or were they searching individually?’ Lasse wondered.

‘Individually.’

‘So Saul Goldmann was alone all night and all morning?’

Unfortunately, he was right. Saul could have been doing anything during those hours. Alone in his car. Free to go wherever he wanted. Out to Lovön, perhaps, to set up the murders of his son and his son’s friend.

‘To be fair, Gideon Eisenberg was alone too,’ Alex said. ‘But we’ve got nothing on him. What about Goldmann’s phone traffic for the rest of the night?’

‘There were lots of calls, of course. He spoke to his wife a couple of dozen times, and to Gideon, and several other people.’

‘Did he also speak to Mona Samson?’

Lasse laughed dryly.

‘He did. No fewer than five times.’

‘And where was she when she took those calls?’

‘Kungsholmen.’

They took the boys in the afternoon, Alex thought. Took them somewhere and kept them there overnight. Drove them out to Lovön in the morning. Let them go, one at a time, then hunted them down and shot them.

‘I think I know how you believe all this fits together,’ Lasse said. ‘And I tend to agree with you. I also think Goldmann and Eisenberg have a lot more going on together than they’ve told us so far. The only problem is that we can’t link either of them to Lovön, nor have we found the vehicle that must have been used to transport the boys to the place where they died.’

‘And we don’t have a murder weapon,’ Alex said.

He felt a sense of mounting frustration. The resolution was so close, and yet so far away. What worried him most was the fact that Polly Eisenberg was still missing. His opinion on her chances of survival had shifted slightly; if she had been dead, they would have found her. The ritual of the paper bags was too important to the murderer for him – or her – to miss the chance of displaying the latest victim. If Mona Samson was involved, that could explain her absence.

‘What’s going on with Samson’s phone traffic at the moment?’ he asked.

‘Her mobile is switched off. Calls aren’t being put through, so there’s no link to the mast when we try the number.’

There could be a thousand reasons why Mona Samson was unavailable. She could be away. She could be ill. But Alex didn’t think that was the case. He was convinced that her radio silence was connected to the murders.

They’re up to their ears in crap, and we still can’t get to them.

‘I’ll speak to the prosecutor,’ he said. ‘I want to bring Saul Goldmann in again.’

He was largely talking to himself; that wasn’t something Lasse could help him with.

‘Good luck,’ his colleague said. ‘I’ll let you know if Mona Samson switches on her phone.’

‘Thanks.’

Alex thought grimly that he could do with all the good luck wishes in the world, because if he summarised the investigation so far, it wasn’t just full of holes; it was a huge castle in the air.

They couldn’t link any of the suspects to the final crime scene on Lovön.

They had no leads on the vehicles that had been used to pick up Simon and Abraham, and to transport them to the island.

They hadn’t found the murder weapon.

All he had was a father who had lied about an alibi, and didn’t have one for the time of the murders. Saul Goldmann, who might be having an affair with Mona Samson. Which was the possible motive he had come up with, but it was pretty pathetic for such a speculative crime.

Saul had murdered his own son so that he would be able to spend the rest of his life with Mona Samson. Alex didn’t know whether it had been his own idea or Mona’s, but that was less important at this stage.

But why kill Simon Eisenberg too? And why take Polly?

To hide the real motive. That kind of thing happened sometimes; a murderer camouflaged one crime by committing several more.

It’s too weak, he thought. It won’t stand up.

Shit.

At that moment Fredrika called from Israel.

‘I’m catching an earlier flight,’ she said. ‘I’m in a cab on the way to the airport.’

‘What time do you land?’

‘Eight o’clock this evening. There’s a stopover in Zurich. But there are things I need to tell you right away. Saul Goldmann’s father was the Paper Boy. He murdered two children and abducted another before he was caught. Gideon Eisenberg was his last victim, and as a result Saul’s father was given a life sentence. And another thing: Saul Goldmann is probably sterile. He wasn’t Abraham’s biological father.’

If Alex hadn’t been holding onto the phone so tightly, he would have dropped it.

‘I’ve just left Tel Aviv,’ Fredrika went on. ‘There’s no company there or anywhere else in the country called Samson SecInt.’

The story that had led to the shooting of the two boys on Lovön came over to Alex as clearly as the colours of a rainbow. Fredrika’s account was long and detailed. She wept as she described the meeting with Gideon’s parents.

The Paper Boy was not just a myth.

He had existed.

Saul Goldmann was his son.

And Gideon Eisenberg had been his last victim.

‘How come they remained friends?’ Alex asked.

‘I mentioned that to the parents, and they said they weren’t sure they would describe their relationship as friendly. According to Gideon’s mother, it was as if the events of their childhood created a bond between them that neither was able to break, possibly because of politeness, or sorrow over the past. As far as the move to Sweden is concerned, I got the feeling that something happened when they were in the army, something they can’t or won’t talk about, and that’s why they decided to leave the country. I’ve no idea why they chose Sweden in particular.’

Alex didn’t think he needed an answer to that question. He briefly outlined what he had come up with.

‘I was wrong about the motive, but I think I’m right about our killer,’ he said.

‘I agree. Saul Goldmann is our man. What do we do now?’

There was only one possible response. As if in a trance, Alex turned and gazed out of the window. Even more snow, even lower temperatures.

Where was Polly Eisenberg?

‘We go to the prosecutor and we bring in Saul Goldmann.’

‘And Mona Samson?’

‘I’ll put out a call on her. I want an end to this.’

The tempting aroma of coffee found its way into Peder’s office. He had just been out, and there was snow on his clothes and in his hair. If it hadn’t been so warm in the community centre, he would have been worried about getting sick.

They were still taking plenty of calls from anxious members of the community. The idea of temporarily closing the Solomon school had been discussed, but Peder had advised against it. Instead he had increased security at the school entrance and had held a meeting that morning to go through safety issues with the staff.

Peder Rydh hated being on the outside. And he had probably never been more of an outsider than he was right now. He had heard nothing from Efraim Kiel. Contact with Alex was sporadic. His former colleagues in the National Crime Unit didn’t answer when he called.

And yet it was Peder who had cracked some of the key issues in the investigation. If they had listened to him earlier on, they might have had the chance to move Polly Eisenberg to safety before she was taken.

Peder didn’t understand the background to what had happened, nor did he know whether the police had any suspects in mind at this stage. They should have, in his opinion, because they were running out of time. He was certain that Polly didn’t have many hours left to live – not if she had been abducted by the same person who had killed her brother.

As far as Peder could see, the idea that they were dealing with two perpetrators was beyond all reasonable doubt, otherwise the timeline just didn’t work. Two killers with very different temperaments. One took his time. Planned a structured approach. Abducted his victims, then murdered them at a later stage. The person who had shot Josephine from the roof hadn’t had that kind of patience, which worried Peder.

Why had the attempt on Polly Eisenberg’s life been so different from the murder of her brother?

Shot in the street, in broad daylight. Protected only by the falling snow.

It just wasn’t logical, bearing in mind how the perpetrator had acted the second time he approached Polly. She had been in the park, tobogganing with a friend. Why not try to shoot her there? Or had the killer abandoned his attempts to end her life in front of witnesses after the previous failure?

Peder went into the kitchen to make himself another cup of coffee.

He still believed they were looking for two killers, one who had concentrated on the boys, the other on Polly. Or was it just his imagination? If he thought about how the crimes had actually been carried out, it seemed more likely that whoever had abducted the boys had also taken Polly. Perhaps he or she had disapproved of the actions of the sniper on the roof and decided to go it alone.

But in that case, why hadn’t they found Polly?

Her brother had been killed less than twenty-four hours after he disappeared. Peder thought the idea that the perpetrator might have murdered Polly then hidden her body was out of the question. That wasn’t how either of the killers operated.

Which meant she was still alive.

He took his coffee back to his office.

If Polly was still alive, it was necessary to ask a difficult question: why wasn’t she dead?

Because it was never the intention that anyone other than the boys should die.

Intuition could lead anyone astray, but this time Peder was sure he was right. Polly’s abduction just didn’t fit in.

The first incident was so neat and tidy, so symmetrical. Two boys of the same age. Both abducted at the same time, both found shot dead in the same place. Polly wasn’t part of that picture, unless you took into account the fact that the Goldmanns had only one child. If the aim was to leave both sets of parents childless, then Polly had to be dealt with.

But why such a different MO in each case, if the children were going to be killed with the same gun anyway?

It didn’t make sense. It just didn’t.

Almost without realising what he was doing, he picked up his phone and with practised fingers found Alex’s number.

Alex sounded stressed.

‘Peder, I haven’t got time to talk right now.’

He could feel the pulse, the adrenalin coming from Alex, and felt a fresh surge of envy. He was so tired of being on the outside.

‘I can call back later – it’s just an idea I had.’

‘You know I’m happy to listen to you, but things are a bit hectic here. Was it something important?’

Peder hesitated, unsure whether what he had to say would qualify as important.

‘It’s just something that occurred to me. About Polly Eisenberg.’

He noticed a sudden stillness in Alex.

‘Tell me.’

Peder put his doubts to one side; he had nothing to lose by saying what he thought.

‘I believe she’s alive. That’s why you haven’t found her.’

‘Right.’

Alex sounded disappointed, as if he had expected Peder to come up with something better.

‘Actually,’ he went on, ‘I’ve been thinking along the same lines. That we still have time.’

‘You misunderstand me. I don’t believe she was meant to die at all.’

‘You’ve lost me,’ Alex said. ‘You were the one who came up with the idea that the sniper hadn’t meant to kill Josephine.’

‘Exactly. But I’m wondering if you’re looking for two perpetrators, with a different agenda.’

He was already starting to wish he hadn’t made the call. His ideas were too premature to share with someone else; they sounded ridiculous when he put them into words.

‘A different agenda?’ Alex said. ‘Peder, if you know who these people are, you have to tell me.’

‘Are you crazy? Of course I don’t know who they are,’ Peder said, his cheeks flushing with a sudden spurt of anger.

What the hell was Alex thinking?

I’m on your side, Alex. I’ve never been anywhere else.

He tried again.

‘I’ve been thinking about how the different crimes were committed. There was an enormous margin of error for whoever lay on the roof and shot Josephine. The weather was terrible; it was snowing and visibility was poor. Only a real sharpshooter could have taken on a task like that and succeeded.’

He could tell that Alex was listening now.

‘Go on.’

Peder went over what he had come up with so far. How well planned the murder of the boys seemed in comparison with the attempt on Polly’s life. How strange it was that Polly still hadn’t been found.

When he had finished, Alex remained silent for a little while.

‘I will get back to you,’ he said eventually. ‘And I’m glad you called. But right now the evidence is pointing in a different direction.’

‘Can you tell me anything?’ Peder said, with a certain amount of pessimism; he knew what Alex was going to say.

‘Not at the moment, but we’ll talk later. Your support has been invaluable, Peder. I won’t forget that.’

Peder suddenly realised why Alex sounded so stressed.

‘You’re about to arrest a suspect, aren’t you?’

He heard a rustling sound at the other end of the line.

‘I’ll call you,’ Alex said. ‘Bye.’

And he was gone.

Peder sat in his office with his coffee, still convinced that he was right.

Two killers had shared the same gun, but not the same vision. He didn’t even want to contemplate what consequences that might have for the way in which the story currently being played out in Stockholm might end.

It was late afternoon by the time the police went to pick up Saul Goldmann. He was under surveillance, so they were well prepared for any sudden movement or an attempt to leave town. But nothing happened; he was arrested at work, where he had been all afternoon.

Alex Recht decided to stay at Police HQ; he was going to conduct the first interview with Saul, and wanted to make sure he was absolutely ready.

Fredrika had written a summary of what Gideon Eisenberg’s parents had told her, and she had managed to send it to him before she boarded the plane in Tel Aviv.

Mona Samson was still notable by her absence. Alex was annoyed that she had managed to slip under the radar before they realised she was involved. Perhaps she was hiding wherever they were holding Polly Eisenberg. Perhaps she too was being held against her will. But in that case the question of who had been lying on the roof still remained; it certainly wasn’t Saul Goldmann, because he was taller than the indentation in the snow suggested.

At the same time as Saul was being arrested, a search would be carried out at his home and his office. The prosecutor had agreed only when they were able to prove that Saul’s mobile had been in Östermalm when Saul claimed he had been in Kungsholmen.

Alex leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand as he made a mental list of what he was hoping they would find.

A pair of size 43 boots. Or something that would reveal how the boys had been transported, perhaps a receipt for a hire car or something similar. Their attempts to find out whether a person by the name of Zalman had rented a car in Stockholm around the time of the murders had proved fruitless.

But most of all Alex wanted to find the murder weapon.

The prosecutor had been very clear. Without a confession or further proof, he would never be able to take it to court.

A confession seemed highly unlikely, but they ought to be able to find further proof.

Otherwise it would be back to square one, and in that case Alex had no idea how they were going to save Polly Eisenberg.

At first glance Saul Goldmann didn’t appear to be particularly bothered by the situation, although he had requested the presence of his lawyer throughout the interview.

‘Do you understand why you’re here?’ Alex began.

‘Because for some unknown reason you think I killed not only my own son, but his friend as well. It’s an utterly ridiculous idea, and I hope we can clear this up as quickly as possible.’

Alex studied him closely.

His facial features were as neat and tidy as the clothes he wore. He seemed to be handling his son’s death much better than his wife, who had broken down completely as she watched her husband being led out of the office.

‘You say your own son,’ Alex said, ‘but he wasn’t yours, was he?’

He rarely opened an interview with a straight right, but this time he had decided to go for it.

Saul Goldmann couldn’t hide his surprise. His lawyer gave him a quizzical look, but said nothing.

‘What? Of course he was my son.’

‘According to our information, that isn’t the case. You had a vasectomy many years ago.’

‘I’m sorry, but I really don’t see what this has to do with anything.’

‘Then you’d better think again, because obviously we are interested in your relationship to the child we suspect you killed.’

Alex could see that Saul was already seething, which was a good thing. Those who lost control were often the easiest to manipulate, even if they would never admit it themselves.

‘Abraham was my boy,’ Saul said, emphasising every word. ‘I loved him deeply, and I am bereft without him.’

His voice held until the very last word, then broke. Alex wasn’t sure whether that was down to grief or anger.

‘Who’s the Paper Boy?’ he said.

‘You asked me that the last time we met.’

‘And now I’m asking you again. Who’s the Paper Boy?’

Saul’s expression was defiant.

‘An Israeli myth.’

‘Invented by whom?’

‘I have no idea.’

‘Who first told you the story?’

‘I can’t remember.’

‘Did he really exist?’

‘No, as I’ve already told you, he was an imaginary figure.’

Alex leaned back in his chair.

‘My colleague is currently on her way back from Israel, where she visited the kibbutz where you and Gideon Eisenberg grew up.’

The colour drained from Saul’s face.

‘Are you sure the Paper Boy didn’t exist in reality?’

Saul blinked, but said nothing.

Patience was an undervalued virtue when it came to interviewing a suspect. Alex allowed time to work for him and wondered how long it would be before Saul gave in. As expected, it didn’t take many minutes.

‘I assume you want me to say that my father was the Paper Boy.’

‘Wasn’t he?’

‘No. It was just something we made up as kids.’

‘But he did abduct and kill children?’

Saul sighed.

‘Yes.’

‘How was he caught?’

There was another long silence, and Saul’s expression changed. He scratched his forehead and let out a low groan.

‘This is pure fantasy. You know that Gideon was my father’s last victim, and you think I attacked his child as an act of revenge. And that I killed my own son as well because I’m not his biological father.’

He shook his head wearily.

Alex refused to lose heart.

‘Good guess,’ he said. ‘But I’m afraid it only covers part of our theory. Where were you when Simon and Abraham disappeared on their way to the tennis centre?’

‘I’ve already told you – in a business meeting with Mona Samson from Samson Security.’

‘And where was this?’

‘In her apartment on Hantverkargatan.’

‘Why were you in the apartment instead of her office?’

‘Because I was in Kungsholmen anyway.’

‘So she stayed at home rather than going into work, just so that she could meet you?’

‘She said she could just as easily work from home.’

‘But you’ve been to the office on Torsgatan?’

‘Yes.’

‘How did you get to know one another, you and Mona Samson?’

Saul shifted in his seat and glanced at his lawyer, who still hadn’t said a word.

‘We met at a conference in Brussels last spring.’

Classic.

‘How would you describe your relationship?’

Saul’s expression grew wary.

‘Professional.’

‘And that’s all?’

‘Yes.’

Really?

It was Alex’s turn to sigh.

‘I’m going to give you one more chance to answer my question. Where were you when Simon and Abraham disappeared on their way to the tennis centre?’

Saul leaned forward across the table.

‘I was in Kungsholmen with Mona Samson.’

Alex also leaned forward, meeting Saul halfway.

‘How come you rang Mona Samson at three o’clock that afternoon?’

A rapid blink, but otherwise Saul remained impassive.

‘I can’t answer that.’

‘Can’t or won’t?’

‘Can’t.’

‘Because?’

A thin smile played around Saul’s lips.

‘Because I’d left my phone at home that day. Abraham might have used it and called the wrong number by mistake. Or it could have been my wife. I don’t know, because I wasn’t at home.’

Fuck.

But Alex hadn’t finished.

‘When you called Mona Samson’s mobile, it was near the bridge – Djurgårdsbron. Had she also left her phone somewhere?’

The lawyer decided to speak up.

‘It’s hardly up to my client to explain where Mona Samson’s mobile phone was that afternoon.’

Alex backed off.

‘Where is Mona Samson at the moment?’

‘I haven’t a clue.’

‘Are you in a relationship with her?’

Saul burst out laughing.

‘I’m sorry, are you serious?’

‘Yes.’

‘Okay, no. No, no, no – I am not in a relationship with Mona.’

The lawyer cleared his throat and looked demonstratively at his watch.

‘If this is all you’ve got, I think we’re just about done here,’ he said.

Pure rage surged through Alex’s body, putting all his senses on full alert. No fucking way was Saul Goldmann getting off so easily.

At that point the interview was interrupted as a colleague knocked on the door and came in.

‘Can I speak to you for a moment?’ he said to Alex.

Alex got up and left the room.

‘This had better be good news,’ he said.

‘It is. Mona Samson has been in touch. She’s retracted her previous statement. Saul Goldmann left her apartment at two o’clock.’

The plane was cruising at thirty thousand feet. Fredrika Bergman was in a window seat, feeling stressed because she wasn’t on the spot in Stockholm, where everything was happening, but calmed by the fact that as long as she was in the air, she was isolated from the rest of the world.

With the help of what she had been told by David and Gali Eisenberg, they now had a viable theory.

Saul Goldmann had become the Paper Boy.

He had murdered Abraham, who was not his biological son.

He had also, after waiting for many years, taken his revenge for the loss of his own father when he was a child. That was why he had targeted Simon and Polly Eisenberg, the children of the man responsible for sending Saul’s father to prison.

But something was bothering Fredrika; she wasn’t completely satisfied with their conclusions. There were still several unexplained loose ends.

Mona Samson, for example. Was she the person on the roof who had shot Josephine? And was it to conceal her involvement that she was hiding behind this peculiar security company that seemed to be little more than a facade?

And then there was the Lion. Who might be Saul Goldmann. Or Efraim Kiel. But if Saul was the Lion, then Fredrika didn’t understand why he had chosen to make contact with the boys via email. The Lion was definitely linked to the murders in some way; if she hadn’t been convinced before, there was no doubt left in her mind when she found out about the name he had given in one of the internet cafés. Therefore, the exchange of emails must have served a purpose – but what was it, if not to enable him to approach the boys without arousing their suspicion?

Fredrika usually slept whenever she flew, but this time her body rebelled, refused to give in to tiredness.

Because she knew something was wrong.

They had stumbled on something when they started asking the Israeli police questions, and Fredrika couldn’t work out what it was. The only thing she knew for sure was they had come too close to information that the state of Israel wished to protect.

There was nothing strange about that; such information exists in every country with self-respect. This time, however, it had jeopardised an important police investigation through a refusal to co-operate. She recalled what Isak Ben-Zwi had said to her: that she wouldn’t learn about the Paper Boy on the kibbutz. That she was deluded if she thought she would find what she was looking for there.

He had sounded as if he knew who the Paper Boy was.

But he obviously didn’t, because otherwise he would have known that Avital Greenburg had once been called exactly that: the Paper Boy.

Could there be more than one Paper Boy?

Of course not. The whole thing must be a mixture of classified information and a misunderstanding.

Fredrika still couldn’t shake off the feeling of unease that was steadily growing stronger.

Evidence was being withheld, for valid or invalid reasons. And that was damaging the investigation, leading them to the wrong conclusions.

Gideon and Saul had lied about their professional background. They had also lied about their reasons for leaving Israel, either because they thought none of this was relevant in the hunt for whoever had murdered their sons, or because they had no choice, regardless of whether they believed that this tragedy was linked to their past.

The latter alternative worried Fredrika more than anything, because it could mean that the parents knew exactly why someone had chosen to murder their children in particular, and that they had decided to handle it themselves, without involving the police.

In which case the drama could well have a more apocalyptic resolution than any of them could imagine.

‘The apartment is on Mariatorget. I want you and the girls to go there right away. Pack a bag and get a cab. I’ll be there later this evening.’

Eden Lundell was talking as she walked from Säpo HQ to Alex Recht’s office in another building.

‘Eden, I’m just about to start cooking tea for the girls,’ her husband Mikael said wearily. ‘What are you talking about?’

Her heart skipped a beat. She didn’t have time to be gentle and diplomatic; she just wanted him to do as she said.

‘I can’t explain what’s happened, but we won’t be able to stay at home for the next few days. Please do as I say. Get a cab to Police HQ in Kungsholmen and pick up the key in reception, then go to the apartment and wait for me there.’

She would have spoken to Mikael earlier in the day, but hadn’t been able to get hold of him. That was fine; the girls were safer in some anonymous day care centre than in the apartment.

Thank God they weren’t at the Solomon school.

She heard the sound of clattering in the background, along with her daughters’ non-stop chatter.

Eden’s everyday life; all too often she was much too small a part of that existence.

‘I’ll call you when we’ve eaten,’ Mikael said.

Eden stopped dead.

‘Mikael, for fuck’s sake, this is important. Just do as I say. Get in a cab. You can order pizza when you arrive.’

She had raised her voice because of fear and frustration. It didn’t matter if there were only two people in the entire world who knew that Efraim Kiel was the father of her children; right now that was one person too many.

‘In that case you need to come home and explain why it’s so urgent,’ Mikael said. ‘Because I am not about to drop everything on some whim of yours.’

Eden could have wept. She hardly ever felt that way, and it frightened her.

‘Can’t you just do as I say? This is important. Really important.’

Her tone was calmer now, and she had lowered her voice to its normal pitch.

Mikael said something to one of the girls.

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Okay. But tonight we need to have a proper discussion, because I can’t cope with this. You take off on some secret mission, then you call home and want us to turn our lives upside down. You just don’t do that. Not if you’re a family.’

She nodded eagerly, overwhelmed with relief. She didn’t care how angry he was as long as he got out of that apartment.

‘Absolutely,’ she said. ‘We’ll talk when I get there. See you later.’

She slipped her mobile into her pocket and ran the rest of the way to Alex’s office, straight up two flights of stairs without waiting for the lift. She had called him a little while earlier, and he had said he would be there for fifteen minutes, but no longer.

He was alone at his desk when she walked in.

‘Bloody hell, did you run all the way?’

She sat down.

‘I read online that the police had arrested the father of one of the boys as a suspect for the murders. Is that true?’

‘Yes.’

Alex looked wary, as if he wasn’t sure how much he was prepared to tell her.

‘May I ask which of them it was, and why?’

Alex glanced at his watch, then folded his arms.

‘We’ve just taken a break in the interview. I need to be back in ten minutes. Would you mind telling me why this is important to you?’

What could she say to that?

‘As I told you, Säpo has a certain amount of interest in Efraim Kiel,’ she said, choosing her words with care. ‘I just want to rule out any additional links to our operations in your investigation.’

It was a weak answer. Why would she have come hurtling over here to find that out?

But Alex didn’t seem to have time to ponder such an anomaly.

‘Do you remember my asking you about the Paper Boy?’ he said.

Eden nodded.

‘We now know who he is,’ Alex said proudly.

Eden couldn’t believe her ears. How was that possible? Surely the Israelis wouldn’t have shared such sensitive information with Fredrika Bergman?

‘A deranged child killer,’ Alex said.

She waited for him to tell her the rest: that the Paper Boy had been a secret source working for the Israelis, but instead he told her a completely different story.

Fifteen minutes later Eden Lundell was standing on Polhemsgatan, smoking a cigarette.

Two Paper Boys.

Two stories.

Alex’s theory was more convincing than hers. It wasn’t perfect, but it was better. Kudos to Fredrika for her efforts in Israel. She had found out an astonishing amount in a very short time, information they would never have got from anyone else.

She felt the weight of her mobile in her pocket and thought about calling Mikael again, telling him they could stay at home.

But that would annoy him even more. Mikael wasn’t the kind of person who could deal with mixed messages. Better to let them go to the apartment in Södermalm.

Eden stubbed out her cigarette and went inside. It wasn’t until she was in the lift on the way back to her office that she realised what she had done. That cigarette was the first one she had smoked since she arrived back in Sweden. She hadn’t missed them for several hours.

The decision was made before the lift doors opened.

She yanked the packet of cigarettes out of her pocket, dropped them in the waste bin along with her lighter.

Eden Lundell had smoked her last cigarette.

Interview rooms were always too small. The air was always too stale, the light always a little too bright. They had started the second session, and Alex Recht didn’t care if he had to stay there all night. Saul Goldmann was going to start talking, and soon.

‘You can carry on telling me you left your phone in your apartment. You can carry on telling me that you can’t be responsible for the location of Mona Samson’s phone when you called her. But let me make one thing clear: Mona Samson has retracted her previous statement. She says you left her apartment at two o’clock. And guess what? We believe her.’

Alex left the words hanging in the air, waiting for Saul Goldmann’s counter-move.

He had changed during the short break. He was a broken man.

‘Is she here?’ he said. ‘Mona – is she here too?’

‘No. But you are.’

Mona Samson’s whereabouts were still unclear. She had told the police she was on a business trip to Norway; she had called from a different mobile on a withheld number, said if they wanted to get hold of her they could use the number they already had. It would take time to find out the new number and track the location of the phone. After speaking to her they had tried the old number, but the phone was switched off. They had asked her to come to Police HQ at her earliest convenience, but Alex suspected that wasn’t going to happen any time soon.

Saul Goldmann held up his hands in a defensive gesture.

‘Okay. I lied. I admit it, I lied. But I had nothing to do with Abraham’s murder. Nothing at all.’

He swallowed hard, clasped his hands on the table. Looked down and paused for a moment before continuing.

‘It’s true, Abraham wasn’t my biological son. And it’s true that my father was the so-called Paper Boy. It was because of him that I had a vasectomy when I was only twenty; I was obsessed with the idea that I might be like him, that I would never be a good parent. It took time to get over what had happened, but my mother made sure I got help. Professional help. When Daphne and I moved in together I tried to have the vasectomy reversed, because I’d heard that was possible. But not in my case.’

He looked very sad.

‘They said complications must have arisen, and there was nothing they could do. So we went down the IVF route with donated sperm. It was a mutual decision. We both longed for children, and Abraham was very much a wanted baby when he was born.’

The words simply flowed; no prompting was necessary. Alex listened in silence.

‘Daphne and I have been together for over twenty years. There is no woman in the world that I love more, but you know how it is; things get a little… dull. That’s what happened to us, and then Mona turned up. Very attractive, expressive, vibrant. She worked for an Israeli company in the process of setting up branches in Sweden. Mona is half-Israeli, half-Palestinian. I can’t explain why, but I fell for her. Slept with her the first time we met, then carried on in Stockholm.’

He shrugged, looking slightly puzzled, as if he couldn’t quite understand why he was telling the police about his private life.

‘We met at her apartment last Wednesday. Had some sushi, went to bed. I left at two, but I was so tired I went home and had a sleep. She has that effect on men. You give her what she wants, and you can hardly remember a thing afterwards. When I got home I realised I’d left my iPad in her apartment. That was why I called her, to find out when I could pick it up. Abraham would wonder where it was, and I didn’t want to end up in a situation where I had to start coming up with a whole load of explanations. But she was difficult to get hold of, and when I did speak to her she said she was tied up with meetings, and wouldn’t be available for the next few days. She sent me the iPad by courier later that evening. Not exactly discreet.’

He changed position on the uncomfortable chair, seeking the right words for what he wanted to say next.

‘Although of course nobody reacted to the business with the iPad, because by then we realised that something had happened to Abraham. Daphne went over to the Solomon Community, and Gideon and I began searching for the boys. We started near the tennis centre, then moved further and further away. The police wanted to speak to us, of course, so we had to interrupt the search for a while. And I was in a complete panic.’

Another defensive gesture, and this time he glanced at his lawyer.

‘I didn’t want to tell anyone why I’d been at home having an afternoon nap when Abraham went missing. I’d told Daphne and my work colleagues that I had a meeting, so I stuck to that and asked Mona to say the same if you contacted her. She was reluctant at first, but I persuaded her that it was the best thing to do. For the sake of the investigation. If you had to waste time following up a lot of unnecessary minor leads, you would lose the rhythm, and might not find the boys.’

Saul’s shoulders slumped.

‘But that’s what happened anyway,’ he said.

And that was the end of his account.

Alex remained silent, taking in what he had heard. He felt completely at a loss; he didn’t know what to think.

The story worked. Saul Goldmann still lacked a confirmed alibi for the time when the boys disappeared, but Alex knew he was telling the truth. Saul had shown different aspects of his character; the lack of that information had led Alex to judge his reaction to his son’s death as abnormal.

But he still had questions.

‘Mona Samson – do you have a picture of her?’

‘Our relationship isn’t, or wasn’t, the kind that involves going around with photographs of each other in our wallets.’

No picture. But Alex had a picture. Not of Mona Samson, perhaps, but of the woman who had brought a chrysanthemum to the Solomon Community after Josephine had been shot. And he had brought it with him to the interview room.

‘Is this Mona Samson?’

He handed Saul the sketch. Saul gazed at it for a long time.

‘Hard to say, but it could be her.’

Alex took back the drawing. ‘It could be her’ wasn’t definitive enough, but it had been worth a try. He changed tack.

‘What do you know about her company?’

‘The basics. We never actually did business together.’

‘Would you be surprised if I told you that the mother company in Israel, which she used to register with the Tax Office, doesn’t exist?’

Saul’s eyes widened.

‘I didn’t check,’ he said. ‘I didn’t think it was necessary.’

He was more co-operative now, and Alex wanted to make the most of that.

‘Why did you leave Israel in 2002?’

‘I’ve already told you.’

‘I’d like you to tell me again. And this time you can cut the crap about the firm you were working for, because we know that both you and Gideon were employed by the Israeli military until you moved.’

Saul’s expression changed. His posture grew more erect as he stood guard over his past.

‘There are clearly defined limits when it comes to what I can tell you about my professional background,’ he said. ‘It’s true that I was in the Israeli armed forces, but I can’t go into which branch or what my work involved.’

‘Not even if it has something to do with your son’s murder?’

No answer.

‘Tell me why you moved.’

‘Because of something that happened on duty. An accident, you could say. Both Gideon and I had had enough after that. The risks and the level of personal commitment were too great. We were both going to become fathers, and in 2002 Israel was literally in flames. A cavalcade of suicide bombers had turned the country into hell on earth, and the Israeli counter-offensive wasn’t exactly moderate, of course. But we just wanted to get out of there, so we moved to Stockholm. We had both been here before, and knew one or two people. We thought we would be able to establish ourselves in Sweden, and we were right.’

‘Efraim Kiel – how well do you know him?’

‘You’ve asked me that before as well. Efraim has the same background as me and Gideon. And Daphne. We worked together. But he chose to stay, both in Israel and in the military. I have no idea what he’s doing these days.’

‘Have you had any contact with him while he’s been in Stockholm?’

‘No.’

‘Do you think he has anything to do with the deaths of Simon and Abraham?’

For the first time Saul dropped the mask completely.

‘Efraim? No, definitely not. Why would he do such a thing?’

Suddenly Alex had had enough.

‘That’s my fucking point! Why would someone do such a thing to you and Gideon? I don’t believe for a moment that you have no idea.’

Saul’s reaction was not what Alex had expected. He became completely calm. Relaxed a fraction, looked Alex straight in the eye.

‘Of course I have an idea,’ he said. ‘What astonishes me is that you apparently don’t.’

Alex felt control shift over to Saul, and there was nothing he could do about it. Saul realised what was happening, and grew in stature.

‘I was intending to deal with the matter myself, but if you’d like to help, then of course I would welcome your input.’

Deal with the matter myself?

‘Gideon,’ Saul said, uttering the name like a swear word. ‘Have you put the same energy into checking his alibi as you did with mine?’

Alex would like to think that was the case, but he didn’t know.

‘Yes,’ he said.

‘Liar!’

Saul Goldmann slammed his fist down on the table.

‘You’ve done no such thing. Gideon said he was in meetings all afternoon, but that’s not true. When I was driving home from Kungsholmen, after I’d been with Mona, I saw him walking along Strandvägen and turning off onto Nybrogatan. It was about twenty past two. I asked him about it, but he said I was mistaken, and that he’d been in a meeting with the bank then. No fucking way – I saw him from the car!’

Alex’s mouth went dry. This couldn’t be true. How many false alibis could these two come up with?

‘We’ll double check what you say, but I’m not expecting to find anything,’ he said, well aware of how feeble it sounded.

But Saul hadn’t finished.

‘Do you know why we don’t hang out together any more? Because we couldn’t have him around once we had a child. Gideon had more reasons than I did to leave Israel. There were rumours that he had been so damaged by what had happened to him that he had started molesting boys – hitting them, threatening them with knives. Now do you understand? I defended him, said it was slander. But then I saw him with a young boy one night when we were in a bar in Tel Aviv. And when I say a young boy, I mean a child who hadn’t yet reached puberty. They were standing out in the street, and it looked as if Gideon was trying to give him money, but the boy ran away. After that I was more careful.’

Alex saw a chance to regain the upper hand.

‘But you let Abraham and Simon spend time together.’

‘Never at their house, unless Carmen was at home.’

‘So you think Gideon murdered both your son and his own? Because he is so damaged by what happened to him as a child?’

Saul’s eyes filled with tears.

‘You should see him without clothes. My father made a good attempt at turning his skin into a patchwork quilt. I think he said he has over fifty scars. You can’t go through something like that and remain sane. It’s just not possible.’

The tears spilled over, and Saul dashed them away.

‘That night when we were searching for the boys, I saw Gideon. He was sitting in his car, staring into space. He had parked near the television centre. Do you know how many times I drove past him? Five. He sat there all night; he never moved.’

Alex went cold inside.

‘And Polly?’ he said. ‘What has he done with Polly?’

‘The question you should be asking is why she’s not dead,’ Saul said.

Alex didn’t understand.

‘It’s not Gideon who’s taken her – it’s Carmen. Because she knows what a sick bastard she’s married to, and she’s hidden the only child she has left.’

It was evening. Efraim Kiel suddenly realised he was kicking up the snow as he walked along; he had seen small children doing it, and he could understand why.

His heart was heavy as he remembered other children’s feet that had made the snow swirl up. Bare feet that grew cold, weakening their bodies.

He was a man with no religious conviction. Everything he had done throughout his life had been based on his own internal compass, his own perception of what was right and wrong, good and evil. The occasions when he felt with hindsight that he had done the wrong thing were few.

It took him only a few minutes to walk from the hotel to the address on Torsgatan where he had seen the woman enter the building. And this time neither Säpo nor the police were there. He peered into the dark stairwell. No movement out on the street or inside the building. He assumed the block housed mainly offices, which were now empty. Most people had probably set off home through the darkness.

To make dinner, or see what was on TV.

Put the children to bed, if they had any.

Things that Efraim knew others did, while he travelled far and wide to make sure that his people were safe and secure.

The light came on; someone was on their way out.

Excellent. He wouldn’t have to waste time trying to break in.

A young woman emerged, smiling at Efraim as she held the door open for him. He smiled back and quickly stepped inside. Allowed the door to close behind him.

The noise was unexpectedly loud.

Efraim set off up the stairs. If he had read the plaque by the door correctly, the office of Samson Security AB was on the third floor.

Samson.

Her new surname. It suited her; she had always admired the lion for its strength and invincibility.

Efraim took two steps at a time. Increased his speed, reducing the distance between them. If she was in the apartment, of course, which he thought unlikely.

But oh, how he wished she was.

Then he was standing outside her door. He rang the bell and waited. No one came. He rang the bell again. Waited again.

She obviously wasn’t there.

He took out the necessary equipment to open the door, and in seconds he was in the hallway. He smiled in the darkness. Anyone who knew anything about locks would realise immediately that this couldn’t possibly be a company that specialised in security.

He didn’t switch on the main light; instead he went over to the windows behind the desks to see if they had curtains. Indeed they did; she hadn’t missed that detail. You had to be able to turn on the light without anyone being able to see it from outside.

Efraim was virtually certain that no one was following him, but just in case he’d got it wrong, he wanted to make sure he minimised any possible damage.

Once the curtains were drawn, he switched on the desk lamp. He glanced around the room. Took in the sparse furnishings and thought that with such an unimpressive facade he would be surprised if she’d managed to attract a single client.

There was a computer on one of the desks. Presumably the police hadn’t had a warrant to remove it.

Efraim started it up and went through the files on the bookshelf while he waited. Empty. He laughed out loud, then sat down and grew serious, reminding himself that he didn’t have much time. Because he had one more job to do before he went to bed.

He was going to pay Fredrika Bergman a visit.

Make sure she understood the importance of not getting mixed up in things that had nothing to do with her.

Every war claimed its victims.

As far as Efraim was concerned, no war had been more significant than the one in which he was engaged right now. And he was ready to do whatever it took to emerge victorious from the conflict.

The computer turned out to be just as easily accessible as everything else in the room. No password was required. He clicked his way around the system. The police would probably have needed some time to realise how empty the document files were, if they had opened them, because everything was written in Hebrew.

There was no internet connection.

No word processing program.

It was rare that anyone made such an effort to embrace the minimalist approach.

He moved over to the document handling program. To his surprise he found an ordinary text file there.

Efraim felt as if he had suddenly developed tunnel vision when he read the name of the file.

‘To Samson’.

He knew that this time he was the lion.

He didn’t hesitate; he had to see what she had written. He opened the document, read the short lines she had left behind in the empty office.

I have seen the girl

I know who she looks like.

You said you suffered as much as I did.

But that’s impossible.

You went on to have two more children.

Congratulations.

Efraim couldn’t take his eyes off the screen. He read the words over and over again.

She had seen the girl.

Realised she was his.

But I didn’t know.

Efraim read the message one last time, then deleted the file. She hadn’t written one word about Polly, who had disappeared. Just his two newly discovered daughters.

As he left the building on Torsgatan, he thought about what that meant.

It was only when he was back in his hotel that he realised what she was telling him.

The knowledge made him go weak at the knees; he had to sit down on one of the sofas in the lobby.

Not only had Efraim deprived her of the victim she had selected.

He had also provided her with two new ones.

Sometimes Mikael Lundell thought that Eden lived in a parallel universe.

One which bore no relation to his or anyone else’s.

‘Pack a bag and get a cab.’

They had two children, one of whom suffered from a number of allergies. You couldn’t just pack a bag and take off. You had to plan, work things out.

This time Mikael had got it all wrong. He had abandoned the cooking and started packing, which had been a mistake. The girls were hungry, and they were also starting to get tired, while Mikael himself was so furious he felt like standing in the middle of the floor and screaming.

Why was there never any peace and quiet?

Why did Eden constantly come up with new ways of stressing out her family?

Tops and trousers, underwear and pyjamas. Comfort blankets and toys.

A furious yell from the kitchen sent him hurtling through the apartment.

Dani was sitting on the floor sobbing hysterically. Her sister was standing next to her, patting her on the head. Blood was pouring from Dani’s forehead.

‘She fell over,’ her sister said, pointing to the angular edges of the table leg.

Mikael picked her up, as always astonished at how light she was, even though she had been alive for such a long time.

He examined the cut on her head. Did it need stitches? No. Had she knocked out any teeth? No.

‘Does your head hurt?’

Dani howled something that might have been a yes.

‘Do you feel sick?’

Apparently not. He carried her to the bathroom where he had started packing a toilet bag. He cleaned the cut, found a plaster with a bear on it. When Dani had calmed down, Mikael carried her back to the kitchen. Both girls were obviously tired, and kept glancing over at the stove; Daddy had promised to cook their favourite tea.

Fuck Eden and her whims and fancies.

‘Okay girls, guess what we’re going to do?’

Two expectant little faces.

‘We’re going to order pizza and eat it here before we leave. What do you think about that?’

Their eyes lit up. Mikael picked up the phone; he had no intention of leaving the apartment until the girls had food in their stomachs.

Half an hour later, the pizzas still hadn’t arrived. Mikael called the restaurant again, and was told the pizzas had been sent out.

‘But they’re not here,’ he said, unable to hide the irritation in his voice.

He threw down the phone and went back into the kitchen.

‘I’m sorry everything’s such a mess,’ he said to the girls. ‘Daddy will fix us something to eat.’

He took some mince out of the fridge. They would have spaghetti Bolognese as planned, and if Eden had a problem with that, she could bloody well come home from work.

Yet another alibi had cracked like a window pane hit by a stone. This time it was Gideon Eisenberg’s.

Getting hold of someone with access to the bank’s database of clients and visitors wasn’t easy, particularly at seven o’clock in the evening.

‘I don’t care how they do it,’ Alex Recht bellowed. ‘This is an emergency. We need that information.’

Eventually they managed to contact an administrator who was still on the premises and was able to access the list of clients. She then called Alex personally to confirm that Gideon Eisenberg had indeed had a meeting with a deputy manager at the bank between two thirty and four thirty the previous Wednesday, just as he had said.

‘Do you know whether the meeting actually took place, or whether it was just booked in?’ Alex wanted to know.

‘You mean could it have been postponed?’

‘Yes.’

‘Unfortunately I can’t tell from the records; sometimes staff forget to make a note if a meeting is cancelled or postponed.’

‘In that case I want to speak to the manager in question. Right now.’

The administrator realised the seriousness of the situation, and said that she would contact her colleague immediately and ask him to call the police.

Alex’s phone rang a few minutes later.

‘I have a very simple question,’ he said. ‘According to your admin staff, Gideon Eisenberg was in a meeting with you at the bank between two thirty and four thirty last Wednesday. Can you confirm that the meeting actually took place?’

The answer came immediately.

‘No, it was postponed. Did I forget to make a note in the visitor database?’

Yes you did, you fucking idiot.

‘Why was the meeting postponed?’

‘Gideon rang and said he was ill.’

Alex ended the call with a brief thank you, and ran out into the corridor. He gathered his colleagues in the Snakes’ Nest. They listened as he explained the latest twist in the case.

‘We need to bring in Gideon and Carmen Eisenberg,’ he said. ‘Right away.’

He thought he ought to call Peder, tell him he was partly right: someone else had taken Polly.

He wished Fredrika was there. She would have been a godsend when it came to interviewing Carmen, but then again she could do that when her plane landed. It wouldn’t do any harm for Carmen to sit and wait.

‘Are we sure that Gideon is the guilty party?’ one of his colleagues said. His expression said it all; he was far from sure.

‘No,’ Alex said. ‘But we now know that he doesn’t have an alibi. And we have Saul’s account, which I’m inclined to believe. So we have to bring Gideon in; anything else is out of the question.’

They were out of the Snakes’ Nest as quickly as they had assembled there.

Alex went in one of the cars to the Eisenbergs’ apartment in Östermalm. Sitting in his office waiting from them to return wasn’t an option; there was too much adrenalin coursing around his body.

He texted Diana from the back seat:

‘Will be late again. Love you. See you later.’

The car skidded on the snow which had not yet been cleared from the road. They were driving insanely fast, blue lights flashing, sometimes in the wrong lane facing the oncoming traffic. A younger colleague was at the wheel, still hungry for the kicks everyone thought were a daily part of police work, but which in fact very rarely came along.

They couldn’t go fast enough for Alex. He was convinced they were running out of time.

They raced along Strandvägen towards Djurgården, then turned onto Styrmansgatan. As they passed the theatre and Nybrogatan, Alex thought about Peder, and his idea that they were looking for two perpetrators who were at odds.

Alex wasn’t sure he understood what Peder meant. At this stage he wasn’t even convinced they were looking for two perpetrators. Gideon Eisenberg was no taller than one metre seventy; he could easily have been the person who lay on the roof and shot Josephine, then worn shoes that were too big for him out on Lovön. The CSIs had said that while it looked as if the boys had slithered and stumbled in the snow, the killer’s tracks were even and controlled. That could work if he had been wearing oversized shoes, making him move more slowly.

They had found absolutely nothing when Saul Goldmann’s office and apartment were searched. No murder weapon, no shoes. Alex hoped they would have more success with Gideon Eisenberg.

They pulled up half a block away. No one had forewarned the Eisenbergs; they had just assumed Gideon and Carmen would be at home.

Which they were, fortunately. Carmen answered the door, and Alex and two colleagues stepped into the hallway. Carmen was paler than any living person Alex had ever seen.

‘Have you come to see Gideon?’ she whispered.

Alex nodded.

‘He’s in the living room.’

They walked through the wide hallway to the living room door, and stopped dead.

‘I found him when I got home.’

Carmen’s voice was barely audible.

Gideon was hanging from a hook on the ceiling. Someone had taken down the chandelier and hanged him with a noose. CSI and forensics would determine if he had done it himself, but that was Alex’s instinctive reaction.

‘He left this.’

Carmen handed him a sheet of white paper.

‘It was on the kitchen table.’

Alex took the paper and read the brief message.

Forgive me.

The plane landed twenty minutes ahead of schedule. The passengers got to their feet as soon as it stopped moving, and Fredrika Bergman took out her mobile phone. Her first call was to Spencer; she missed his voice. Missed being close to him.

I’m home, darling.

He still sounded hoarse:

‘That was a short trip.’

‘It was no fun without you, so I hurried home to Sweden.’

He laughed quietly.

‘Did you manage to play your violin?’

Fredrika thought about the instrument she had taken with her; she hadn’t played it once.

‘The trip would have been a complete fiasco without it.’

Spencer laughed again, but subsided in a fit of coughing.

‘Will you be home soon?’ he said eventually.

‘I won’t be long, but I just have to call in at work first.’

How many times had she said that over the past few days? Feeling incredibly guilty, she called Alex. He answered right away, and she listened to what he had to tell her without saying a word.

They had arrested Saul Goldmann.

Gideon Eisenberg had hanged himself.

And Carmen had been taken to the custody suite at Kronoberg.

‘I’d like you to interview her,’ Alex said. ‘There’s a chance she might know where Polly is.’

‘If that’s the case are we really going to lock up the only person who knows where she is?’

‘Too bloody right we are, to put her under pressure, if nothing else. Besides, I don’t believe Carmen is the only person who knows where Polly is. You don’t just leave a five-year-old; she has to be with another adult. And don’t forget, Carmen and Gideon were with us when their daughter went missing, so if she is involved, she must have had help.’

Fredrika was picked up by a patrol car at the airport, and driven into the city with blue lights flashing. She had never made the trip from Arlanda at such speed. Trees and buildings were lost in a blur. She sat in the back seat, trying to gather her thoughts and work out what she wanted to ask Carmen Eisenberg.

Where is your daughter?

Where have you hidden her?

She thought about David and Gali Eisenberg in Israel, and wanted to weep. Now they had lost not only a grandchild, but their son too.

It was more difficult to drive fast once they reached the city. The streets had still not been cleared properly, and the car skidded several times. Eventually they arrived, dropped Fredrika off outside the entrance on Kungsholmsgatan and sped away.

She picked up her bags and went inside, into the warmth.

Alex was in his office. He got up and gave her a hug. Held her tight, as if he wanted proof that she had survived the trip.

‘Can you cope with this?’ he asked.

‘No problem. I’ll just take off my coat.’

Her office looked exactly as she had left it a few days earlier. The next time she went to Israel she would stay longer. The sense of being away had already left her; the only thing on her mind now was how to begin the interview with Carmen.

‘What kind of shape is she in?’ she asked Alex on the way down to the room where Carmen was waiting.

‘She’s in shock.’

Which was only to be expected when someone had lost her son and her husband within a week.

Alex was going to sit in on the interview, which was a good thing; Fredrika wasn’t sure if she could remember all the details he had given her.

Carmen was a shadow of the woman Fredrika had met before.

Pale and gaunt.

She had never seen a more weary expression.

‘How are you feeling?’ Fredrika asked when she had sat down.

Carmen didn’t answer immediately. This isn’t going to work, Fredrika thought. We’re going to have to ring the emergency psychiatric service and take her over there.

‘Terrible,’ Carmen said. ‘I feel terrible.’

‘We understand that, but as I’m sure you realise, we have questions to which we need answers. Right away.’

Silence.

‘When did you find Gideon?’

‘When I got home from work. I was only in the office for a few hours. I couldn’t stay there. People just sat there staring at me; they didn’t know what to say.’

‘A lot of people find it difficult to deal with another person’s grief,’ Fredrika said. ‘Which means they sit and stare instead. What time did you get home?’

‘Five o’clock.’

Which meant she had been alone with the body for over two hours.

‘You didn’t try to get him down? To save him?’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I could see that he was dead. I’ve seen dead bodies before.’

‘So what did you do?’

Carmen ran a hand through her hair. She looked as if she was about to burst out crying, but had run out of tears.

‘I don’t really remember,’ she said. ‘I went and sat on the sofa. Looked at him. Kept him company.’

Fredrika was edging her way forward, unsure of how to move on.

‘Were you surprised when you found him?’

‘Not really. Gideon hasn’t been feeling too good. He never has, to be honest. You know what happened to him when he was a child?’

Fredrika nodded, and Carmen looked relieved. No doubt she was glad to be spared the ordeal of putting the indescribable into words.

‘I don’t think he was ever normal after that. When we met I didn’t notice it at first, and we had so much in common. Fun. We had fun. I saw the scars when he took off his clothes, of course; there were so many of them, like the runs in an anthill, all over his skin. But he said he was okay, he told me he’d had help. It wasn’t until we had children that he changed.’

‘In what way?’

‘He suffered from periods of depression. He was never really happy; he always seemed anxious and miserable. Overprotective. He got worse and worse, in spite of the fact that we were living in Sweden, where I thought we could feel perfectly safe.’

Fredrika remembered what Saul Goldmann had said, according to Alex: that Gideon had shown an interest in young boys.

‘You didn’t suspect that Gideon had been damaged in other ways by what had happened to him – psychologically, I mean?’

Carmen looked blank, then she got angry.

‘I know what you’re talking about. There were rumours that he liked little boys, but none of that was true. It was just something Saul spread around. He’s the very antithesis of a good friend. He’s a complete bastard.’

‘Why would Saul say such a thing if he didn’t believe it was true?’

‘How should I know? To turn the spotlight on someone else, perhaps. A lot of people looked at Saul and wondered if he had emerged unscathed from his own childhood, or if he was as sick as his father. But there was nothing wrong with Gideon, not in that way. That wasn’t what Saul’s father subjected him to.’

Fredrika decided to change the subject.

‘Do you know where Gideon was when the boys went missing?’

Once more Carmen was silent.

‘I know he said he was at the bank,’ she said after a little while. ‘But he wasn’t.’

‘No?’

‘No, he’d gone for a walk.’

Fredrika and Alex looked at one another.

Gone for a walk?

‘At least that’s what he told me,’ Carmen whispered. ‘And I believed him, because he often did that to shake off a migraine. But we didn’t think you would understand, or believe him, so we agreed to say he’d been at the bank as arranged.’

Carmen took a sip of water from the glass in front of her.

Alex stepped in.

‘Carmen, do you know where Polly is?’

She gave a start.

‘Polly? No, how… Why are you asking me that? Polly’s missing!’

Indeed she is.

‘Perhaps you were afraid of losing her too,’ Fredrika said. ‘So you hid her away?’

Carmen shook her head so violently that Fredrika was afraid she might hurt herself.

‘No, no, no! No, I don’t know where my Polly is!’

She started crying, quietly at first, then louder and louder. Until the crying became a scream, filling the entire room.

‘Please, help me. Help me to get my daughter back. Because I don’t know what I’ll do if I lose her too.’

Fredrika and Alex exchanged despairing glances. They were in agreement.

Carmen didn’t know where Polly was.

And nor did they.