The Dangerous Game

‘That’s fine. Don’t worry,’ said Karin, smiling.

This wouldn’t be the first time she had broken the rules.

They went into the cramped kitchen, which was overflowing with food. Ovenproof dishes held potatoes au gratin, as well as the traditional casserole Jansson’s Temptation – sliced herring, potatoes and onions baked in cream. Next to them were multiple platters of pickled herring, salmon and boiled eggs. On the two hobs Karin saw meatballs frying in big pans and potatoes simmering in enormous pots. The kitchen benches were piled high with boxes of chocolates, cartons of table napkins and candles, tins of ginger biscuits, and loaves of sourdough and rye bread, along with packages of saffron buns.

‘How did you manage to collect all this food?’ asked Karin, impressed.

‘We asked for donations. You wouldn’t believe how generous people can be. We went around to the local supermarkets, bakeries, restaurants and shops. They showered us with food, and they also gave us a lot of really nice toys for the kids.’

‘And how did you find the people that you’ve invited?’

‘We have our contacts,’ said Hanna slyly.

They started setting out the food. It was just about time for the party to begin. A short time later, a red-bearded man with a shaved head and tattoos covering both arms appeared in the kitchen doorway.

‘Merry Christmas, girls. Anything to eat for a guy before we get started?’

Hanna gave him a hug and introduced him to Karin.

‘This is Mats. He’s going to be our doorman for tonight. You never know who might try to barge their way in. A lot of the women are scared to go out because their husbands may come after them. And there’s always a risk that some drunk might turn up. Since there are going to be children here, we can’t have any heavy drinking going on.’

She filled a plate with meatballs, beetroot salad and potatoes and handed Mats a Christmas beer.

‘Here you are, Mats. But you’ll need to sit out there in the café. As much as we love your company, you’ll just be in the way here in the kitchen.’

An hour later, the first guests arrived. A short, dark-haired woman with four children of varying ages stopped outside the big café window that faced the street. She paused to glance in both directions before stepping inside. She had a frightened look in her eyes, and she seemed nervous. The children were well-dressed but silent, their expressions solemn. Much to Karin’s surprise, Hanna began speaking fluent Spanish with the family. The woman’s face lit up, and for a moment she seemed to forget her fear. It turned out that they were from Chile, and the woman had been abused and harassed by her ex-husband. After he threatened to kill both her and the children, they’d gone to stay at the shelter for battered women a few blocks away. Now, she’d mustered enough courage to venture out to attend this Christmas party, for the sake of her kids, who ranged in age from five to fifteen. Their eyes opened wide when they saw all the food and the big pile of presents under the tree.

Hanna pointed at the various dishes arranged on the buffet, and Karin assumed that she was explaining what they were. The woman held the hand of her youngest child. She murmured and nodded, constantly casting wary glances out of the window. After a while she seemed to relax, and they helped themselves to the food. Karin sat down at a table with them. The woman spoke only broken Swedish, but the kids were fluent in the language and had almost no accent, even though they gave only brief answers to Karin’s questions.

People dropped in all evening. A few men, but mostly women and children living under assumed names. Three gay guys who looked to be no more than eighteen or nineteen sat down next to Karin. They wore elegant trousers and neatly pressed shirts. They told her that they were from Iraq and had been forced to flee; their lives had been threatened because of their sexual orientation. It wasn’t immediately obvious that they’d been disowned by their families and were all alone in the world. But it was impossible to miss the sorrow in their eyes.

There were refugees from Eritrea, Pakistan, Iran and Afghanistan – all of them now stateless and unable to return home. And several Swedish women who were victims of domestic violence and who now lived in shelters in the city. Several Finnish women turned up with a big group of kids who were excited about the Christmas tree and all the treats, happy to be with adults who were kind to them.

Hanna was a big hit as Santa, handing out presents, to the delight of the children. Karin watched her as she sat with two kids on her lap, chatting with them in incomprehensible Spanish.

And she’s my daughter, thought Karin.

THE DANCE FLOOR was crowded in the venerable restaurant Munkkällaren, which was located on Stora Torget in Visby. There were no traces of a peaceful Christmas celebration. The bar was filled with youths who’d been drinking heavily and had a great need to party with their friends after spending so much time with all their relatives during the holiday. The loudspeakers were reverberating with throbbing rock music that was as far from tranquil Christmas carols as you could get. Christmas Day was a big party day for all the Gotland young people – both those who had left the island to work or study on the mainland and had now returned to celebrate Christmas, and those who still lived here. It was an opportunity to get together and catch up on what everyone had been doing since summer. To hang out with friends they seldom saw any more.

Of course, most of them were familiar with what had been happening in Jenny Levin’s life. She had enjoyed remarkable success, and the island was a small place; everyone talked about it whenever someone from Gotland became nationally known. And the shocking incident on Furillen, in which Jenny had played a key role, had naturally led to an explosion of magazine and newspaper articles over the past month. Her name and photo had figured in countless tabloids, and rumours were rampant on the internet. The attention only escalated after Robert Ek was murdered. The press devoted endless column space to speculation in which her name constantly appeared. Even though Jenny was afraid of running into reporters, she wasn’t about to break with tradition and decline to go out with her friends on Christmas Day. She refused to allow her evening to be ruined. It was one of the high points of the year. Besides, the journalists probably didn’t frequent Munkkällaren, which was the sacrosanct rendezvous for young people on Christmas Day.

Although, this year, things seemed different. It was noticeable the moment Jenny walked in the door. She had been careful to dress simply and with very little make-up so as not to give the impression of a diva. Yet everyone knew who she was, and she was aware that they were all staring at her. Her old friends tried to treat her the same way they always had, but she could still see what they were thinking. Had all the success and celebrity gone to her head? Was she really the same old Jenny? She realized that this was only natural, and she would have reacted the same way in their place, so she tried to relax and have fun. She recognized a lot of people, but most were merely acquaintances or friends of friends. The guys seemed even shyer than the girls and hardly dared come near her, though she could see the admiring look in their eyes. As if she were some sort of unapproachable icon. No doubt that would change with the increased alcohol intake.

Several times during the evening a girl that Jenny remembered from school looked in her direction, as if she wanted to talk to her but didn’t dare. She was attractive and petite, with long blonde hair. She was standing at the bar with a glass of white wine, talking to some friends, but she kept glancing at Jenny. Finally, it became so obvious that Jenny went over to her.

‘Hi. Do we know each other?’

The girl looked both surprised and embarrassed.

‘No, we don’t. We both went to the same secondary school, but I was a year behind you, so…’

‘Oh, okay.’ Then Jenny introduced herself and they shook hands.

‘My name’s Malin,’ said the girl, smiling uncertainly.

‘I had a feeling that you wanted to talk to me, but maybe I was mistaken.’

‘No, you’re right. I do want to. Talk to you, that is. Is that all right?’

‘Of course.’ Jenny felt both curious and uneasy.

‘Could we sit down over there?’

Malin pointed to another room that wasn’t as noisy.

‘Sure.’

They sat down on a sofa. Malin’s expression was completely different now as she turned towards Jenny.

‘Do you know Agnes? Agnes Karlström?’

AGNES IS EXAMINING her hands and arms as she waits for the first therapy session after Christmas. Her veins are big and very noticeable. They swell up if a person doesn’t eat. And her whole body is covered with downy hair. Like a little monkey. When a person is starving, hair grows out of their pores. It’s probably some sort of protective mechanism. She has started fretting about her appearance. At home, she had a shock when she saw herself in the mirror, since there are no mirrors on the ward. Her face wasn’t so bad, but her body looked awful. The sunken chest, jutting bones and vertebrae; her gaunt shoulders, which made her think of starving children in Africa; her hips and the swollen little belly that she knows in her heart is not a result of fat but because the musculature of her body can no longer hold up her intestines, so they’ve sunk down into a heap at the bottom of her abdomen. She doesn’t want to look like this.

Her reverie is interrupted as Per opens the door to invite her into his new office, which is at the very end of the corridor and much bigger than the one he had before. She feels warmth sweep through her at the sight of him.

‘Hi. I see you found it.’

‘Uh-huh. Hi.’

She’s dismayed to feel herself blushing.

It’s a bright room with a window facing the city centre and all the high-rise buildings nearby.

‘You can even see my flat from here,’ says Per, pointing to one of the small windows lined up in a symmetrical pattern on the smooth grey façade of a building. ‘That’s my kitchen window. Do you see the Christmas star? And the red curtains?’

He points, and Agnes turns to look.

‘Uh-huh. I see them.’

She sits down on the visitor’s sofa in the newly renovated office. It still smells of fresh paint.

‘It’s nice in here,’ she said.

‘So how was your Christmas?’ he asks, looking at her with his tired blue eyes.

‘Fine. It was great to go back home and spend time with Pappa. We had a good time together. I almost felt normal. It was a relief to get away from the clinic.’

‘What did you and your father do?’

‘He cooked, and we went for walks.’ Then she corrected herself. ‘Or rather, Pappa pushed me in the wheelchair. And we watched TV.’

‘Did you see any of your old friends?’

‘No,’ she says dejectedly. ‘Not that I expected anyone to get in touch with me, but I was sort of hoping to see Cecilia.’

‘Did you happen to run into anybody else? Visby isn’t a big place, after all.’

‘A few people came over to say hello, but others didn’t dare. They don’t really know what to say. They just look away. But I did see Cecilia’s big sister, Malin. I talked to her a little.’

‘Okay. So how’s your father doing?’

‘Good, I think. He seems to be getting along okay. He has started running again, and he’s thinking about taking up orienteering. He stopped all that after the accident, even though he has done orienteering his whole life. He talked more than usual, and even told a few jokes. But maybe he was just making an extra effort for my sake.’

‘What did the two of you talk about?’

‘About Mamma and Martin, and about life in general. About his girlfriend, Katarina. I don’t really like her much.’

‘I know that.’

‘At first I was angry because he’d found a girlfriend so fast. As if Mamma didn’t mean that much to him. Then I got scared that he’d care more about her than me. But I don’t think that way any more.’

‘What’s changed?’

‘I happened to overhear my father quarrelling with her on the phone. She was upset because he wouldn’t let her come over to spend Christmas with us, and it was fantastic to hear Pappa cut her off like that. She didn’t have a chance.’

‘She came to the clinic on Christmas Eve.’

‘She did?’

‘Yes. She brought over a flower arrangement for the staff and then ended up staying all evening. She said she had nowhere to go except back home.’

‘She doesn’t have any children, but I know that she has a sister who lives in Norrland.’

‘I see. Well, at any rate, she was here. And I was on duty, so it was nice to see her. Not many people are here during Christmas.’

‘What did you do?’

‘Not much. Watched a little TV. Had some food. I don’t think you should judge her so harshly. She hasn’t done anything to you, has she?’

‘No, I guess not. But the very fact that she exists is too much for me.’

Agnes feels her annoyance growing. She really has no desire to sit here talking about Katarina.

‘There’s one more thing,’ she says.

‘What’s that?’

Agnes tells Per about her eating frenzy on Christmas Eve, even though she doesn’t want to. The most shameful thing about it was losing control like that. A real nightmare.

‘I understand how tough that must have been. But it’s not so strange.’

‘But I don’t want to be like this. I don’t want to go through that again. Never again.’

Agnes can feel the tears coming. She’s so tired. So deathly tired of all this shit.

Per gets up from his desk and comes over to sit next to her on the sofa. He puts his arm around her shoulder and lets her lean against him.

‘Go ahead and cry. But don’t be sad. I’m going to help you. I promise you that. I’ll do everything I can.’

EVEN WHILE HE was still on Lidingö Bridge Knutas could glimpse across the water the extraordinary sculptures placed on tall pillars and looming against the sky at Millesgården, the former estate turned art museum. He hadn’t set foot there since he and Lina had spent their honeymoon in Stockholm almost twenty years ago. Back then, they couldn’t afford to travel to some exotic destination but, for them, a trip to the capital and staying in a hotel had seemed exciting enough. Lina was from Denmark and had never been to Stockholm, while Knutas had been there mostly as a student, although occasionally his work had taken him to the city. So he’d never had the time or the desire to do any sightseeing. They had spent a marvellous summer week taking a boat ride around the archipelago, visiting the most important sights, and going for endless walks along the numerous wharfs. Millesgården had been a high point, with its fairy-tale garden built on various levels and the flagstone terraces set into the steep cliffs facing the water.

Jenny Levin had a photo shoot out there that was going to last all day, and Knutas wanted to take the opportunity to speak to her in person about the circumstances surrounding Robert Ek’s death. Their brief phone conversation on the 23rd had proved less than satisfactory.

Knutas parked and then got out, to stand in bewilderment in front of the shuttered entrance. A sign stated that the museum was closed on Mondays. There wasn’t a soul in sight. Across the way was a hotel, but that, too, seemed silent and deserted. Knutas stamped his feet on the ground. It had been a cold night, with the temperature dropping to minus twenty Celsius. Suddenly, a wrought-iron gate opened and a long-haired man wearing green overalls came out. Knutas introduced himself and showed the man his police ID.

‘Follow me,’ said the man. ‘They’re taking the photos indoors. It’s too cold out here.’

They went inside the building that had once been Carl Milles’ home and proceeded through a gallery with a beautiful marble floor and sculptures placed in niches along the walls.

The photo-shoot crew was working in a big studio, an immense white space with a ceiling that looked to be close to ten metres high. The room was filled with plaster models of Milles’ sculptures. In the centre towered an impressive work that Knutas recognized: Europa and the Bull. Leaning against the bull’s stout neck was Jenny Levin, though he could hardly recognize her. She was wearing a horizontally striped dress that was practically a body stocking and bright-blue shoes with sky-high heels. Her hair was pulled up into a tall, cone-like shape on top of her head. She was heavily made up, and she kept changing her pose in front of the camera with slight, deliberate movements. An entire array of spotlights had been positioned around the room, and the photographer had three assistants who ran about fine-tuning the lights and holding up reflectors. The make-up artist and stylist watched everything like hawks, and in between takes they would rush over to Jenny to touch up her make-up, apply more powder and adjust her dress. Knutas was fascinated by the whole drama. He’d never seen a photo shoot before, and he was impressed by Jenny’s professionalism in front of the camera. It was obvious she was in her element.

It took a few minutes for her to notice him. She froze for a moment but then calmly continued to pose.

‘Okay. I’m happy with that,’ said the photographer after a while. ‘Good job.’

‘Maybe we should break for lunch,’ suggested the stylist. ‘What time is it?’

‘Five past twelve.’

‘Okay. Lunch until one o’clock. There’s food at the hotel next door.’

Knutas went over to Jenny.

‘Hi. I’m glad you have a break right now. I need to talk to you.’

‘You’ll have to do that while Jenny eats lunch,’ the stylist interrupted them. ‘We’re on a really tight schedule.’

‘That’s fine with me.’

‘I just need to change first,’ said Jenny.

‘I’ll wait.’

A few minutes later, they walked across the courtyard to the hotel, where a buffet lunch was laid out. Knutas and Jenny each filled a plate with food and then sat down at a vacant corner table some distance away from the others.

‘There are a few things I need to clear up. That’s why I wanted to meet up with you today,’ Knutas began. ‘You told me on the phone that you didn’t know what happened to Markus’s mobile. Is that right?’

‘Yes. I wasn’t the one who sent that text message. It wasn’t me. I haven’t seen Markus’s mobile since the photo shoot on Furillen. I’ve tried to remember if I saw it in the cabin, but I don’t think I did.’

‘And you have no idea who could have sent that text to Robert Ek?’

‘Absolutely not. I think this whole thing is horrible.’

In spite of her make-up, Jenny looked pale, and she was nervously fidgeting with her knife and fork.

‘According to the medical examiner, Ek died sometime between one and five o’clock on Saturday morning. What I want to know is this: what were you doing during that time?’

Jenny’s eyes filled with tears, but Knutas refused to be swayed.

‘Where were you between 1 and 5 a.m. on Saturday, 20 December?’

‘Do you think I did it?’ she stammered in fright. ‘Do you think I murdered Robert?’

‘It’s too soon for us to be drawing any conclusions. But we need to know where you were during that time period.’

Jenny pushed aside her plate of food and took several sips of water. She refused to look him in the eye.

‘Let me think. I was very drunk. And there were so many people. A bunch of us spent a long time in the club, talking. I think Robert was there, too.’

Knutas nodded encouragingly.

‘Go on.’

‘Some guy invited me to dance, so I did. I don’t know for how long. Then we sat down on a sofa somewhere. I think it was in the VIP lounge. And a lot of other people came in.’

‘Who were they?’

‘I have no idea. I didn’t know them. After that, my memory is pretty hazy. The fact is that I think someone put something in my drink, because I really don’t remember anything after that.’

‘Where did you spend the night?’

Jenny turned to look out of the window. She hesitated for a long time before answering.

‘To be honest, I have no idea. I woke up in bed with some guy, and I didn’t even know his name. It was embarrassing. He was still asleep when I slipped out of the flat. I wanted to get out of there as fast as possible.’

‘Where was this flat?’

‘Somewhere in Östermalm, on a little side street. I’m not all that familiar with Stockholm. I wandered about for a while, and suddenly I found myself in Karlavägen and then I knew where I was. I took the subway to the agency’s flat on Kungsholmen.’

‘Was anyone else there?’

‘No. It was empty, and I was grateful for that. I felt terrible all day.’

‘What did you do?’

‘I just stayed indoors, except for going out to rent a film and buy a pizza. The same thing on Sunday. On Monday I went home.’

‘And you really have no idea who you spent the early-morning hours of 20 December with?’

Jenny gave Knutas a worried look.

‘No, I don’t.’

‘Is there anyone who might know? Someone who was at the club?’

‘I don’t think so. The place was packed.’

‘So that means you have no alibi for the time of the murder. Is that right?’

Knutas was interrupted by the stylist calling from the photo crew’s table.

‘Five more minutes, then it’s back to work!’

Jenny looked like she was going to throw up.

SIGNE RUDIN HAD just got to the office when the post was delivered. Ever since the arrival of that threatening letter, her heart had skipped a beat every time she emptied Fanny’s in-tray. She was glad that Fanny had gone abroad. It bothered her that the letter had been addressed to her colleague personally; she was one of the best editors Signe had ever worked with in her long career. It would have been better if she’d received that letter herself. She was more thick-skinned. Signe had hoped that the letter would be a one-off, but the moment she looked inside Fanny’s in-tray, she realized that was not going to be the case. She recognized at once the sprawling and somewhat feeble handwriting. She took a deep breath, then opened the envelope. Words cut out of a magazine, just like before. This sentence was equally short. ‘I am a killer.’ She automatically turned the paper over, but there was nothing on the back.

Thoughts began whirling through her head. There were a few people working in the editorial offices, but no one in a position of authority. No one she could turn to for advice.

Should she ring the police herself? She read the brief sentence again. It could only be regarded as a threat. But what did this person mean? ‘You are all killers.’

‘I am a killer.’ Should she call Fanny and tell her about this letter? She had the right to know. Yet Signe didn’t want to bother her while she was on holiday in Thailand. She really needed time to unwind. Fanny had sent a few text messages to ask if anything new had happened, or if the murderer had been caught. Unfortunately, Signe hadn’t been able to give her any positive news. She couldn’t understand why the police hadn’t made any progress in the case.

Filled with annoyance, she studied the envelope again. What kind of idiot would do this? And why on earth would he be targeting the magazine, or rather, Fanny Nord? If it was the same person, that is. The sender could be anybody; maybe someone who was goaded by all the attention the crime had attracted.

Suddenly, Signe Rudin had an idea. She put down the letter, closed the door to her office, and pulled down the blinds on the window facing the corridor. That was the signal that she didn’t want to be disturbed. Next she switched off her phone for incoming calls and set her mobile on vibrate. Then she began looking through the file folders on the bookcase. She had decided to wait to ring the police.

First, there was something she wanted to check out on her own.

AFTER HIS VISIT to Millesgården, Knutas drove to police headquarters on Kungsholmen. From there, he rang Dr Palmstierna to find out how Markus Sandberg was doing. There was no change in his condition. With each day that passed, hope diminished that Sandberg would be able to help by shedding any new light on the investigation.

Knutas had arranged to have lunch with Kihlgård and Jacobsson. Karin had now been in Stockholm for a week, and he was looking forward to seeing her. He had missed her more than he liked to admit. He didn’t feel the same satisfaction with his work when she wasn’t in the office – although he was annoyed that she had such an effect on him. He was ashamed of the emotions that had been provoked in him when he saw her in town with that man before Christmas. He realized that he must be Karin’s new boyfriend. Knutas felt like a jealous teenager, even though there was nothing going on between him and Karin. And never had been. He really couldn’t understand his reaction.

When they met in Kihlgård’s huge office, she gave him a warm hug. She felt so small in his arms.

‘Hi. Long time no see.’

‘Uh-huh. I think it’s time for you to come back home, before you get too comfortable here.’

‘Not a chance,’ said Jacobsson with a laugh. ‘I’m planning to fly home tomorrow.’

‘You are?’ he said, sounding absurdly overjoyed. ‘Then maybe we can travel together.’

‘Okay, enough of the small talk,’ Kihlgård interrupted them. ‘We need to compare notes over lunch. And I’m starving. Let’s go.’

They went across the street to a local pub. Knutas told them about his meeting with Jenny Levin at Millesgården.

‘So that means she doesn’t have an alibi for the night of the murder,’ said Kihlgård, chewing on a piece of freshly baked bread as they waited for their food. The place was noisy but pleasant. Kihlgård had taken the trouble to book a table at the back.

‘She doesn’t have an alibi for the assault on Furillen either,’ he went on.

‘I have a really hard time picturing Jenny Levin being involved in any way,’ said Jacobsson with conviction. ‘Besides, we know that it was a man who attacked Sandberg. That’s what the lab determined from the blood on the clothes that were found in the fisherman’s shed.’

‘Keep in mind that the clothes could have been planted there to throw us off the scent,’ Kihlgård pointed out. ‘By a strategically minded and far-sighted perpetrator – male or female. I know that sounds like a long shot, but we can’t rule out the possibility.’

‘At any rate, the same murder weapon was not used in both cases,’ Jacobsson said. ‘We’ve had that confirmed by the lab. The axe that was found in the rubbish bin is not the one used on Furillen.’

‘Any evidence?’ asked Knutas eagerly.

‘No fingerprints, unfortunately. And blood only from the victim.’

Jacobsson took a swig of her light beer, thinking, and looked at her colleagues.

‘Something doesn’t add up when it comes to Jenny. I have a feeling she has nothing to do with any of it. Something else is behind all this. She’s probably embarrassed about spending the night with some strange guy when she doesn’t even know his name. It sounds like a stupid thing to do.’

‘Don’t forget that she’s only nineteen,’ said Knutas.

‘Right. I know. But she’s also a girl who has recently been discovered and is on her way to becoming a top model. So I have a hard time believing that she would get mixed up in such vicious attacks. Besides, she was in love with one of the victims and very fond of the other. Apparently, she and Robert Ek had an unusually close relationship. As friends, I mean.’

‘Maybe from her point of view,’ said Kihlgård, ‘but what about him? All it took was a brief text message for him to leave the party, rush over to the agency, and open a bottle of champagne. He didn’t exactly get what he was hoping for, the poor devil. Speaking of which, I can tell you that we’ve reviewed all the footage from the surveillance cameras in the area, and we didn’t find a thing. Ek isn’t in any of the pictures.’

Kihlgård cast an envious glance at the plates piled high with great-smelling food that were being served at the next table. His own lunch hadn’t yet arrived.

‘Okay. So what about the Finnish woman Marita Ahonen?’ asked Jacobsson.

‘Our Finnish colleagues finally got hold of her. She was summoned to an interview at police headquarters in Helsinki, but she never showed up. They’re still trying to track her down. But I don’t really put much faith in that lead. It seems too far-fetched. She may well have been angry with Markus Sandberg because he’d dumped her, but why would she want to kill Robert Ek?’

‘Because he was head of the agency she worked for?’ suggested Jacobsson. ‘Maybe she was disappointed that she didn’t get more support from her employer. And there could always be something else we don’t know about.’

‘We’ve already asked Ek’s wife and the agency staff, and none of them knows of any long-standing quarrel between Marita and Ek. I know we need to keep an open mind, but I don’t think we should waste energy on a bunch of irrelevant rubbish. This investigation is already taking us in a million different directions.’

Kihlgård’s face lit up when he saw the waitress approaching.

‘Our food is here!’

They had ordered fish casserole with scampi, and all three hungrily dug into the beautifully served food.

‘Maybe we’re looking in totally the wrong direction,’ said Jacobsson after a while. ‘When it comes right down to it, maybe these attacks have nothing to do with Sandberg and Ek personally. It could be that we should disregard their private lives, their family relationships, and any dubious events in their past. The key to the whole thing could be in that threatening letter that was sent to the magazine.’

‘Fanny Nord, who received the letter, has gone to Thailand. At least we managed to interview her before she left. But, unfortunately, she didn’t have much to add. She couldn’t recall ever feeling threatened or harassed, nor could she think of anything out of the ordinary happening recently,’ said Kihlgård.

‘But let’s take a moment to consider the message,’ said Jacobsson. ‘“You are all killers.” Why would anyone send something like that to an editor of one of Sweden’s biggest-selling fashion magazines?’

Knutas wiped his mouth on his napkin.

‘When is Fanny Nord expected back in Sweden?’

AGNES AND PER are sitting on one of the sofas, playing cards. She is studying him, although he doesn’t seem to notice. She likes his face. He has a distinctive appearance. His eyes always look tired, as if he stays up too late or is thinking about something else when she talks to him, though she knows that’s not true. He has small, pale hands with a tattoo on the back of one of them, some sort of beetle between his thumb and index finger. His hair is ash blond and cut so short that it’s almost bristly. He has blue eyes with long lashes, a fair complexion and thin, pale lips. He has a long face and a small, nicely shaped nose. Not a trace of pimples or any other blemishes on his skin. Almost no sign of stubble. One earring. Today, he’s wearing a checked shirt and a pair of dark DKNY jeans that look brand new. His white trainers also look new. He’s thin but quite muscular, and not very tall. Maybe only two inches taller than her.

Her thoughts are interrupted when a nurse comes into the room.

‘Agnes, you have visitors.’

‘What? Now?’

She looks up in surprise, first at the nurse, then at Per. It can’t be her father. He’s on Gotland with Katarina.

‘Who is it?’

‘Two girls. They said they’re friends of yours from Gotland. I thought I recognized one of them.’

Agnes gives a start. How is this possible? None of her old friends have visited her even once since she’s been at the clinic. The only person who came to see her was Markus, who visited right after she was admitted. As if he suddenly had a guilty conscience. He brought her flowers but clearly felt awkward and uncomfortable, and he hadn’t known what to say. It was embarrassing and just made her feel bad. Finally, Per had asked him to leave.

Most of her friends had disappeared long before she ended up here. After the accident, many of them hadn’t known how to act around her or how to offer sympathy, and they gradually retreated. The others left when she got ill, and the anorexia took over. She knew that it was largely her own fault. She was the one who had withdrawn. She could no longer think of anything else to do; she didn’t even try to keep up with the activities of her friends. Eventually she became so obsessed with exercising and controlling what she ate that she had no time or energy for anything else. But still.

The person who had disappointed her most was Cecilia, her best friend. They had stuck together through thick and thin in school but, in the end, Cecilia had also turned her back on her old friend. Agnes had made a few clumsy attempts to restore contact, but with no response. When she was at home for Christmas, she hadn’t even felt like trying. The closest she’d come to Cecilia was when she and her father had run into her big sister, Malin, and they’d exchanged a few words. And she’d once seen Cecilia off in the distance with some old classmates in the Östercentrum shopping mall. But she couldn’t bear to go up to her. Sitting there in her wheelchair, Agnes had pulled up the blanket that was draped over her legs and then sunk further down into her thick scarf, pretending not to see them.

Now, she drops the cards she’s holding so they fall on to the table.

‘Who do you think it is?’ she asks Per.

‘I have no idea.’

He gives her a smile as he gathers up the cards. He seems happy for her. Agnes glances at the clock on the wall. It’s 4.05 in the afternoon, and darkness has already fallen outside.

‘Do you think it’s Cecilia?’

She looks at him, filled with hope, her cheeks burning.

‘Maybe. That would be nice.’

‘If it’s Cecilia, then I think it’s a sign.’

She gets up from the sofa. She feels like she could almost race out of the room, down the long corridor, and over to the entrance and the room where all visitors have to wait for the patient they’ve come to see. She proceeds under her own steam, doesn’t want to use a wheelchair. I wonder how I look, she thinks, glancing down at her worn slippers and her shabby cardigan. Her tracksuit bottoms have a small hole in one knee. She discreetly sniffs at her armpits. She hasn’t showered today; she usually waits until evening. Her hair is lank and wispy; she has lost most of it due to malnutrition. She senses Per trailing behind her. He’s probably curious to see what Cecilia looks like, since Agnes has talked so much about her. In her mind, she pictures Cecilia in a succession of idyllic images, remembering all the fun things they did together – summers spent out in the country, shopping in town, giggling and whispering in bed when they slept over at each other’s house, and the way Cecilia had offered her support after the accident. And her undisguised joy when Agnes won the modelling contest.

By the time she reaches the door to the waiting room Agnes is brimming with excitement, and her heart is leaping in her chest. So she pauses for a moment to lean against the door jamb, and then stares mutely at the two people sitting inside. All sense of anticipation seeps away, to be replaced by a dull and leaden disappointment.

One of the young women hesitantly stands up.

‘Hi, Agnes,’ she begins. ‘I’ve thought so much about you since the last time we met, and I just wanted to stop by and say hello. I’m still in Stockholm for the New Year holiday, so I thought that…’

Agnes stares vacantly at Cecilia’s older sister, Malin. She can’t understand why Malin is here and not Cecilia. Without saying a word, she shifts her gaze to the other visitor, who has also stood up. She is tall and radiantly beautiful, her red hair hanging loose over her shoulders, shining in the light from all the Advent candles and Christmas stars. Agnes recognizes Jenny Levin from the fashion photos she saw in the magazines when she was at home for Christmas. There are no such magazines here on the ward, but the supermodel from Gotland had been on the TV news. And she had also been with Markus. The man who had robbed Agnes of her virginity as light-heartedly as he brushed his teeth. The man who had given her an inferiority complex about her body. The man who was partially responsible for her being in this clinic right now, looking like a living skeleton. And here she stood. Jenny Levin herself. Dazzling everybody with her beauty.

‘Oh, this is Jenny,’ Malin hurriedly added. ‘She’s from Gammelgarn and went to the same secondary school we did. And she works for the same agency you used to work for. Fashion for Life.’

Jenny smiles nervously as she shakes Agnes’s hand.

‘Hi. Nice to meet you.’

Agnes manages to murmur something that’s meant to be a greeting. Her head is spinning. She’s trying to understand why Jenny Levin is here. The nurse who announced the arrival of the two young women comes to her rescue.

‘How nice for you to have visitors from home, Agnes. Come in. Can we offer you anything? Would you like coffee?’

‘Yes, please,’ the young women say in unison and then gratefully follow the nurse, their high heels clacking. Out of the corner of her eye, Agnes notices that Per has come to a halt in the middle of the corridor. He looks completely bewildered by these imposing feminine creatures. No wonder, thinks Agnes. Such a cruel contrast between these wholesome-looking beauties and the ghosts who roam the halls. She can hardly fathom that they’ve even been allowed to come inside. They seem to fill the whole ward with their presence.

Without knowing how it happens, all three of them are sitting at a table in the deserted day room with cups of coffee and a plate of ginger biscuits. Agnes stirs her coffee. She is looking down at the table and can’t think of a single thing to say. Malin is chattering nervously.

‘Cecilia sends her best wishes. She couldn’t come with me to Stockholm this time because she has a floorball tournament – it’s the Midwinter Cup, you know. It’s always between Christmas and New Year’s.’

Agnes used to play floorball, too, on the same team as Cecilia. They’ve done that ever since their first year at school. And she has competed countless times in the Midwinter Cup. She makes an effort to sound polite.

‘Thanks. How is she?’

‘Good. Really good,’ Malin hastens to say. She seems grateful that the conversation finally seems to be rolling along after the fumbled beginning. ‘She complains about all the studying she has to do, says it’s much harder than before. But she’s done brilliantly. And she has a boyfriend now. She’s dating Oliver, you know. He was in the same class with you.’

‘Oh.’

‘Not bad, huh?’ Malin laughs shrilly. ‘He was the cutest boy in school, and he still is. They’ve been together for two months.’

‘Oh.’

Agnes fidgets. She doesn’t want to be reminded of everything she could have been doing. Or who she used to be. Jenny clears her throat and leans forward. She holds out a package wrapped in shiny paper.

‘This is from the agency. Everyone wanted to say hello.’

Agnes slowly unwraps the gift. It takes some effort to remove the ribbon. Her fingers won’t really obey her properly, and the wrapping paper has been well taped. Per, who is standing a short distance away, pretending to be busy with something, hurries to bring her a pair of scissors. Inside is a box. She opens the lid and finds a card with a cheerful message to get well soon. All the staff members have signed the card, except for Robert Ek, of course. Agnes feels her blood run cold.

She takes out the paper under the card and gasps at what she sees in the box. A stack of pictures of herself. Professional photographs from various photo shoots she did before she fell ill. A close-up of Agnes with her hair slicked back and wearing trendy sunglasses. Agnes in a bikini. Agnes wearing an evening gown and high heels. A picture taken in a studio, showing her laughing merrily at the camera, wearing only black tights and a bright-pink camisole. Her hair is thick and glossy.

Agnes is breathing hard. She feels the room start to sway, the photos grow blurry; Malin’s voice fades into the distance as she eagerly comments on the pictures: ‘Look how beautiful you are in this one, and here…’

Something rises up inside Agnes, surges into her throat. The scream echoes off the walls in the ward as the two well-dressed young women exchange frightened looks and then scramble to gather up their things, while Per and the other nurse rush forward and seize hold of Agnes. Someone stuffs the pictures back in the box and puts it away. The two visitors jump up from the sofa and flee to the hallway, murmuring words of alarm. There, they fumble with the door and finally leave the ward. Only then does Agnes stop screaming.

After the visit, Per sits on the edge of her bed and holds her hand. He brings dinner to the room and stays with her until she falls asleep.

SIGNE RUDIN HAD begun going through all the assignments Fanny Nord had handled during the past year to see if she could find some reason for the threat, but she hadn’t had time to complete the task.

On the morning of New Year’s Eve she got up early and left home after drinking a quick cup of coffee and eating a piece of toast. She left a note for her husband, who was still asleep, asking him to buy some champagne and a bouquet of flowers for their hosts later that evening, since they’d been invited out for dinner that day. Signe was a very determined woman, and she liked to finish whatever she started.

She still hadn’t found anything significant. Yet her review of all the files had proved eye-opening in another respect. Fanny had worked incredibly hard during the past year. Signe needed to find some way to reward her and show her appreciation. Maybe a weekend trip for her and her boyfriend to a romantic country hotel, or maybe a day at a spa. She was worth it.

Signe decided to go even further back in time. She glanced at her watch. She and her husband wouldn’t have to leave Stockholm until after lunch in order to head for the archipelago to visit their friends.

When she came to October of the previous year, she found a modelling job which the magazine had uncharacteristically scrapped, even though all the work had been done. This rarely happened, since the profit margin was so small and a photo shoot was expensive. Not because of the models’ fees, since they were often poorly paid. The editors frequently exploited the fact that a fashion spread in this particular magazine could raise the models’ profile, and it could prove valuable on their professional résumés. So the models willingly worked twelve hours for a measly few thousand kronor. The real expense was in all the preparatory work, all the time spent in setting up the site, getting the clothes, and looking for the right model. The photographer demanded a sizeable hourly fee and often had to be hired locally. A typical one-day photo shoot cost the magazine at least forty thousand kronor, so it was highly unusual simply to chuck the work aside. But, in this instance, that was what had happened, and that made it memorable. Now Signe recalled why.

The girl that the agency sent was too fat. They had expected a model to wear the usual size eight, but she’d been closer to a ten. Signe clearly recalled how Fanny had complained when she came back from the assignment. None of the clothes had looked good, so the photographer had been forced to take partial shots when they actually needed a lot of full-length shots. Fanny had worked like a dog to get the clothes to fit, unbuttoning the trousers, leaving the shirts untucked even though they weren’t meant to be worn that way. She had been forced to toss out half of the collection and use some replacement garments, simply because the clothes were too small. The shoot had also taken far too long. The model was aware of the problem, of course. She’d felt awkward and uncomfortable, which further hindered their work. Finally, she started to cry, and Signe could hear Fanny’s voice when she reported on the whole fiasco:

‘I tried to comfort her. I told her that it was the agency’s fault, not hers. They have to realize that they can’t send over a model who is too big. Nothing fits well, and it’s impossible for the photographer to get any good shots. Nobody can do their job. And it’s no fun for the model either. I gave the agency a piece of my mind afterwards, and it turned out, as I thought, that they’d underestimated her waist and hip measurements when speaking to us earlier. And the girl had also gained weight since she’d been photographed for the agency file. Good God. We really tried our best to make it work, but I’m afraid we’re not going to be able to use any of those photos.’

It turned out that the pictures just weren’t up to standard; no matter how much the photographer retouched and edited them, they weren’t very good. So, finally, the magazine was forced not to publish them.

Signe Rudin couldn’t remember who the photographer was. She checked the notes to see who had been working that day. When she saw the name, her mouth went dry. Markus Sandberg. Signe paused a moment before reading further. The model worked for the agency Fashion for Life, which was run by Robert Ek. Her name was Agnes Karlström. What had happened to her? She tapped in the phone number for the agency and, as luck would have it, one of the staff members who did the bookings was in the office. Signe asked her for information about Agnes. The woman, who was a new employee, didn’t know the name, but she offered to look the model up on the computer.

Signe waited tensely.

‘Agnes Karlström worked here for only about six months, and never full time,’ said the woman on the phone several minutes later. ‘She was so young that she was still in school. But during a period of a few months I see that she had a lot of photo shoots, and things seemed to be going well for her. Then the jobs dropped off drastically. Someone’s added a note here. Wait just a moment.’

For several seconds there was only silence. Then the woman was back.

‘In fact, she was let go. It seems she was suffering from anorexia.’

ON THE LAST day of the year Jenny woke up early in the flat on Kungsholmen. She went into the kitchen to make coffee. One of the bedrooms was occupied by a Finnish model she knew but, thank goodness, she was still asleep. Jenny had no desire to chat.

Malin had invited her to come with her and a friend to a big party in Södermalm. Jenny had already received invitations to various trendy gatherings, but she knew that a lot of models and other people in the fashion world would be attending. She just couldn’t handle that sort of thing at the moment. Especially after visiting Agnes Karlström at the anorexia clinic the day before.

She thought about the repulsive sight of that bony, hollow-eyed girl who looked like a twelve-year-old. Jenny had only seen her in fashion photos, so she hadn’t expected such a drastic difference in her appearance, even though she knew that Agnes was anorexic. Jenny had never met a skinnier person in her life. It was terrifying when she thought how Agnes had looked only a year earlier. How in the world could something like that happen?

Then she’d been dumb enough to think that she could do something positive for Agnes by visiting her and showing that she cared, that the agency cared. Maybe she’d imagined that the pictures might have a positive effect, that Agnes would be encouraged to start eating again if she was reminded of how she could look, and of all the possibilities that would be open to her in life.

Malin had persuaded Jenny to come along, even though she didn’t actually know Agnes. She was convinced that Agnes would appreciate knowing that people still remembered her, that her old friends on Gotland were thinking about her. And she also thought that Agnes would be happy to see that the agency cared, and that Jenny had taken the trouble to visit. How wrong they both were.

Agnes hadn’t seemed to understand the purpose of their visit at all. She had screamed like a madwoman. Her eyes were completely wild; maybe she really was mad – mentally ill in some way. A person didn’t end up in that sort of place without there being a reason for it.

Jenny shook off her uneasiness and paused in front of the mirror. That made her feel better. She really was attractive; now, she understood what it was that everyone admired about her. She looked lively and alert, even though she had just got out of bed. The sun was cresting the horizon, and she could make out a few pale rays of light. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen the sun, so she decided to go jogging. She had a good pair of shoes for running in winter.

I should make use of the light, she thought. And there’s no way I’m going to let all this shit bring me down. I’m only going to allow good things to happen today, and I plan to be happy. At least until I fall into bed tonight, after a party that’s hopefully lots of fun.

Feeling invigorated by these thoughts, she gulped down a cup of coffee then put on long underwear and her lined jogging coveralls. A cap, gloves, spiked trainers, and she was ready to go. It was only eight thirty in the morning, and the cold, fresh air gusted towards her as she stepped out of the door. She started running towards the city hall and then continued along Norr Mälarstrand. She smiled at the sun, and her steps felt as light as air. At Rålambshov Park she turned off and ran under Väster Bridge and out on to the promontory near Smedsuddsbadet. The sandy beach was covered with snow.

Unbelievable that people actually went swimming here in the summer, she thought. In the middle of the city. She followed the rocky path along Fredhäll and then ran back through the park and along Norr Mälarstrand. When she reached the front door of her building, she paused to catch her breath. Standing near the bank of the canal, she spent some time stretching her muscles.

On the wharf, which stuck out some way into the water, there was a bench. A couple sat there, arms around each other and their backs to her. They seemed to be in love, sitting there so close to each other. Jenny felt a pang of jealousy. She longed to experience that again, to be part of a couple. To be hugged and loved. She was looking forward to the party this evening, hoping that it would stop her thinking about such things at least for a little while. She raised one leg, grabbed the heel with both hands and stretched the muscles in her thigh, staring at the couple on the bench. It was an effort to keep her balance. She noticed they were sitting very still.

When she switched legs, something happened. The man suddenly turned to face her and waved. He picked up the woman’s arm and waved that, too.

That was when she realized the woman was not a real person. It was a doll. A photo had been taped over the face. Jenny looked at the picture. When she understood what it was, she lost her balance.

She was staring at herself.

IT WAS SNOWING heavily in Visby on the last day of the year, covering the streets and the buildings in a thick white blanket. Knutas and Lina were going to welcome in the New Year with good friends in Ljugarn. Their children were old enough now to have made their own plans. But the whole family started the day by having a late breakfast together in their house on Bokströmsgatan.

Knutas had baked scones in honour of the day, and he and Lina had made a big bowl of caffè latte for each of them. For Christmas, the children had given them the espresso machine they’d both been wanting.

‘What’s this? A bowl of pudding?’ asked Petra when she shuffled into the kitchen in her dressing gown, her hair dishevelled.

Lina laughed.

‘No, dear. It’s caffè latte. I just overdid it a little when I tried to froth the milk.’

‘Mmm.’ Petra sat down and took a sip of the hot drink. ‘That’s good. And you’ve outdone yourself, Pappa.’ She cast a grateful glance at Knutas as she reached for one of the fragrant, piping-hot scones.

Nils joined them, and soon they were all sitting at the kitchen table in the glow of the candles. Knutas looked around the table at his family, feeling warm inside. How carefree everything seemed here at home right now.

‘So what are your plans for the day?’ he asked his children. ‘You’re going to hang out with some friends, is that right, Nisse?’

‘Yeah. Oliver is having a party. His parents went to the Canary Islands.’

‘How many are coming?’

‘No idea.’

‘Good luck,’ muttered Petra, rolling her eyes.

‘What?’ countered Nils, ready for a fight.

‘A party in their gigantic house, which is only a stone’s throw from the city wall? And his parents are out of town? What do you think is going to happen? Word’s going to spread like wildfire. Is his sister home? What’s her name again? Sandra? She’s such a geek. Not that I’m trying to be negative, but that party is not going to end well.’

‘Come home and sleep in your own bed, at any rate,’ said Knutas. ‘It’s so close.’

‘Okay,’ muttered Nils.

‘What are you doing for dinner?’ asked Lina.

‘Nils and I were thinking of eating here at home,’ said Petra. ‘Then I’m going over to visit Elin and Nora.’

‘Pappa and I are leaving around five. What are you going to eat?’

‘Could we do our own shopping? I feel like making my recipe for pasta with beef and truffles in cream sauce.’

‘That sounds delicious,’ said Knutas. ‘And what are you going to drink?’

‘You don’t want to know, Pappa dear,’ Petra teased him, pinching his cheek.

‘Well, you can’t-’

‘We know that. Don’t worry. We’ll drink nothing but soda – the whole evening.’

She hurried to change the subject.

‘But first I’m going over to the club. They’re having a New Year’s gathering at four o’clock for everyone who does orienteering. We’re going to ring in the New Year a little early. It’s also a welcome-back party for a former leader, a man I really like. Rikard Karlström. Do you remember him? He’s not really new, since he’s been involved with the club for years, but he stopped participating when his wife and son died in a car accident a couple of years ago. It happened outside Stenkumla. Remember?’

‘Oh, right. That was awful,’ said Knutas, who recalled the accident all too well. ‘They both died instantly.’

‘And that’s not the only thing,’ Petra went on. ‘He has a daughter named Agnes. She’s a year younger than us,’ she said, looking at her twin brother. ‘You know that girl Cecilia Johansson, who’s on the floorball team? Well, she used to be really good friends with Agnes, but then they lost touch because Agnes had anorexia. She was supposed to be in secondary school, but she had to drop out. Cecilia told me that she collapsed at home and was taken by ambulance to hospital. She only weighed ninety-five pounds.’

Knutas was just about to reach for the butter.

‘Did you say anorexia?’

‘Uh-huh. And it’s so terrible, because she got it after she was discovered by a modelling agency. Agnes won a contest at the Burmeister. It was arranged by that agency, Fashion for Life. The one you’re investigating right now. And she was forced to lose weight to be thin enough to be a model, but things got out of hand.’

‘What a sad story,’ said Lina. ‘How’s she doing now? Do you know?’

‘I heard that she’s still in the anorexia clinic in Stockholm. But she must be doing better, as Rikard is coming back to the club.’

Knutas froze. He sat there motionless, the butter knife in his hand.

KNUTAS HAD PHONED Jacobsson and Wittberg, and they were now all seated in his office at police headquarters, which was otherwise deserted. Not many people worked on New Year’s Eve. He quickly told them what Petra had said about the unfortunate Rikard Karlström and his anorexic daughter who had worked as a model for the agency Fashion for Life.

‘You’ve got to be kidding,’ exclaimed Wittberg. ‘Where is the daughter now?’

‘I haven’t looked into that yet,’ said Knutas. ‘I wanted to talk to both of you first.’

Jacobsson glanced at her watch. It was one thirty in the afternoon.

‘I’ll ring the agency. We can only hope that someone is still working after lunch today.’

‘I’ll try to get hold of Rikard Karlström,’ said Wittberg. ‘I think I might’ve met him once. He’s a carpenter, if I’m not mistaken.’

‘In the meantime, I’ll talk to Kihlgård. Come back here when you’ve finished.’

An hour later, they again met in Knutas’s office.

‘Karlström isn’t answering his phone, but I did get hold of someone else at the orienteering club,’ Wittberg began. ‘She confirmed that he’ll be coming to Svaidestugan around four o’clock today. If we don’t get in touch with him before then, I’ll just drive over there. The woman also said that Agnes was admitted to an anorexia clinic in Stockholm, but she didn’t know which one.’

‘Good,’ said Knutas. ‘Drive over to his house first. Maybe he just doesn’t want to answer the phone. But don’t go alone. You never know.’

Wittberg nodded.

‘I talked to the agency,’ said Jacobsson. ‘Agnes worked there for only a few months before she was dropped because she was anorexic.’

‘Do they know where she is now?’

‘Afraid not. But I did find out something interesting.’

‘What?’ said Wittberg and Knutas in unison.

‘Earlier today, the woman I spoke to had received another phone call regarding Agnes Karlström.’

Knutas stared at his colleague in surprise.

‘And it was from none other than the editor-in-chief of that big fashion magazine. Signe Rudin.’

‘What did she want?’

‘The same thing we do. She wanted to know where Agnes Karlström is now.’

JOHAN AND EMMA were back on Gotland to celebrate New Year’s with their friends Tina and Fredrik Levin in Gammelgarn. They were also going to spend the night there. And without any children, for a change. The younger kids were staying with their maternal grandparents on the island of Fårö. They were too little to care about New Year’s. Sara and Filip were spending the holiday with their father.

‘How beautiful it is out here,’ sighed Emma as they approached Gannarve Farm. ‘The Östergarn countryside is so marvellous.’

‘It really is,’ Johan agreed. ‘Maybe we should move here.’

For a long time they’d been talking about buying a new house that would be completely their own. Johan liked the house in Roma well enough, but he still felt as though he could sense the presence of Emma’s ex-husband, Olle, in the walls. There was no getting around the fact that the house had been theirs for a long time. They had bought it when they still shared dreams about their married life; their two children had spent their early years there. It had been Emma and Olle’s house for many years before Johan appeared on the scene.

He longed for a different place, and he read with great interest all the listings of houses for sale. He’d always had a weakness for the eastern part of Gotland.

The dinner they’d been invited to was going to be a big affair, with forty guests. The farmhouse wasn’t especially large, but the renovated old barn, which had been converted into a gallery and shop for selling sheepskins and art, had been turned into a banqueting hall for the evening. It was already crowded with guests, all of them dressed in their finest and filled with anticipation. Candles were everywhere, and the welcome drinks were served by young people from the area who wanted to earn a little extra money on New Year’s Eve.

As their hosts greeted them in the doorway, Emma could tell that something was wrong. Fredrik and Tina gave everyone warm smiles, the tables were beautifully set for the party, and a crackling fire blazed in the hearth. But Emma saw that Tina looked strained, and her face was pale in spite of the make-up she had so carefully applied. Had they quarrelled? Fredrik also seemed stressed as he mingled with the guests. As soon as she had a chance, Emma took Tina with her to the kitchen.

‘What’s happened?’ she asked.

Tina bit her lower lip.

‘Something terrible is going on. I don’t know what to do about it. Can we go outside and have a cigarette?’

Emma looked at her friend in surprise. She never smoked.

‘Of course. Whatever you like.’

They slipped out the back so they could be alone.

‘It’s just crazy,’ Tina began. ‘We almost cancelled the party, but then we remembered that some people were coming all the way from the mainland. So we both agreed we had to carry on. Although, now, I can tell that this is going to take more of an effort than I thought.’

Tina told Emma about the man with the doll who had been sitting outside Jenny’s building that morning.

‘She ran inside and, luckily, he didn’t follow her. But she was terrified and rang me right away. She was crying on the phone. Thank God another girl is staying in the flat, so she wasn’t alone. But that man scared her out of her wits, and I suppose that was what he meant to do.’

‘Did she phone the police?’

‘No. I think all she wanted to do was come home as fast as possible. Fortunately, there was a three o’clock flight that still had seats. I called the police in Visby, and they wanted us to come over to headquarters as soon as I picked Jenny up at the airport. They questioned her and said that they would provide her with police protection but, since it’s New Year’s Eve, they can’t do anything about it today.’

‘Did Jenny recognize him? Had she ever seen him before?’

‘That’s the worst part. Because she had seen him before. But this was the first time she mentioned to anyone that, several weeks ago, she’d had a feeling that a man had followed her to the front door. But she wasn’t certain. Now, she realizes it was the same man she saw this morning.’

Tina shook her head.

‘How’s Jenny doing?’ asked Emma.

‘She was worried and upset, but eventually she calmed down and had something to eat. She’s really worn out and doesn’t want to see anyone tonight. She’s upstairs in her room with the dogs, watching TV.’

Tina took a deep drag on her cigarette and gave Emma an anxious look.

‘Do you think the murderer is after her?’ Tina asked.

‘I think that would be very unlikely. As far as I know, neither Robert Ek nor Markus Sandberg received any threats before they were attacked. In Jenny’s case, this man seems to have settled for scaring her. To me, he sounds more like a stalker, someone who’s been set off by all the reports in the media. Jenny isn’t exactly unknown. Almost half the Swedish population knows who she is, and anyone who reads the papers or watches the news on TV would realize she knew both victims.’

Tina looked a bit calmer now.

‘I hope you’re right.’

LINA ENDED UP having to drive out to Ljugarn alone, even though she did so reluctantly. Knutas said he might be able to join her later in the evening. Given the new situation, celebrating the New Year was the furthest thing from his mind.

As soon as the meeting was over, he rang editor-in-chief Signe Rudin. She didn’t answer her phone. Damn the woman, he thought. It was so frustrating to know that she had apparently ferreted out some important piece of information and he didn’t have a clue what it might be. Something that had led her to Agnes Karlström.

He rang the airline, only to hear that there were no more afternoon flights from Visby to Stockholm. The ferry wasn’t operating at all on New Year’s Eve. He booked himself a seat on the first flight out the next morning and decided to go with Wittberg to Svaidestugan. He was much too restless to sit in his office. His colleagues had dropped by Karlström’s house on Endre väg, but no one was home.

Svaidestugan was a few kilometres outside Visby in a popular open-air recreation area. It had been the location of the orienteering club for years.

As soon as they turned on to the bumpy road that led to the building, they could see plenty of activity. The car park in the woods was filled with vehicles, and the small red-painted wooden buildings that housed a sauna and changing rooms were decorated with wreaths made from spruce boughs and coloured lights that glowed in the winter darkness.

Knutas and Wittberg went into the clubhouse. It was crowded with people holding cups of coffee and mugs filled with glögg, chatting in small groups. Everyone looked so healthy, with their rosy cheeks and sporty clothing, as if at any moment they might set down their drinks and go out for a hike. Knutas didn’t much care for the whole club and orienteering scene, even though he was fully aware that it meant a great deal to a lot of people. The spirit of camaraderie was all well and good, but he couldn’t ignore the slightly sectarian feeling he’d noticed. There was something exclusive about their meetings, no matter how pleasant and lively everyone might seem outwardly. It was as if only those who fitted the mould could belong – those who were fit, healthy and upstanding citizens. With set routines, everything in its proper place, everything neat and tidy. Preferably no weaknesses. If you’re not as healthy and fit as we are, you’re not good enough. Eat oatmeal, muesli and whole-grain bread. Keep your back straight, wear barefoot trainers on your feet. Hallelujah.

Knutas and Wittberg had barely stepped inside when a woman in her sixties came over to greet them. She introduced herself as the club secretary, Eva Ljungdahl. She was the one Wittberg had spoken to on the phone. She was a wiry woman with a firm handshake. Her suntan told them that she had celebrated Christmas somewhere at a much warmer latitude.

‘Rikard is here. He’s in the kitchen. Come with me.’

They made their way through the crowd to the kitchen. Knutas immediately recognized Rikard Karlström.

About forty-five, Knutas surmised. The timid type. Short, slender and sinewy. Typical runner’s physique. On his shaved head he wore a cap that said ‘O-Ring’ on the peak.

They formally introduced themselves. Karlström seemed self-conscious, and his anxiety was obvious. As soon as the woman left the kitchen, he spoke.

‘What’s this about?’

‘I assume you know about the assault on Markus Sandberg on Furillen in November, right? And the murder of Robert Ek, which occurred just before Christmas?’

Karlström nodded.

‘Both of them worked for the agency where your daughter, Agnes, worked before she fell ill.’

‘She was only there a short time,’ stammered Karlström. ‘She hardly knew those awful people. They kept talking about her weight. I think that’s what caused the anorexia.’

‘Where is Agnes now?’

‘She was admitted to a clinic in Stockholm. It’s called the Anorexia Centre.’

‘How long has she been there?’

‘Since the end of September. So about three months.’

‘And how is she doing?’

Rikard Karlström’s expression softened a bit.

‘Better. She was home for a few days at Christmas, and I think that did her good. For the first time, it seems like she might get well. She’s started to respond to the treatment, and I’m really happy about that.’

‘Have you or Agnes had any contact with the modelling agency since she stopped working there?’

Karlström paused to think.

‘I know that I talked to someone there a couple of times. It had to do with money that Agnes was owed, and photographs of her they wanted to send.’

‘Do you know who you talked to?’

‘Her name was Sara. I don’t remember her last name, but it’s in a folder I have at home. She was extremely pleasant. Nothing wrong with her.’

‘What about Agnes? Has she been in contact with the agency?’

‘Not that I know of.’ Karlström rubbed his chin. ‘Wait a minute. I was there when someone came to visit her, right after she was admitted to the clinic. She’d only been there a few days.’

‘Who was it?’

‘A photographer, I think. Dark hair. About thirty-five.’

Knutas and Wittberg exchanged glances.

Markus Sandberg.

AGNES’S FATHER HAD asked her whether she wanted him to come over on New Year’s Eve, but she told him that he could celebrate with Katarina if he liked. She assured him that she really didn’t mind. She was always so tired and probably wouldn’t even stay up until midnight. And they’d already had such a nice time together at Christmas.

She’d felt a little guilty when Per told her that Katarina had come to the clinic on Christmas Eve. She hadn’t realized that her father’s girlfriend was so alone. And if there was one thing that Agnes understood, it was loneliness. That was the worst thing about anorexia. You lost all contact with other people.

Even though Agnes doesn’t really care for Katarina, she has decided to try to make an effort to be nice. Maybe that’s part of the process of getting well. Lately, she has noticed that things have begun to turn around, that she has been feeling a greater urge to get well. She still suffers from a hellish anxiety whenever she has to eat anything, and she can’t stop herself from exercising, but she doesn’t do it as much. She doesn’t cheat, or exercise as often, although the process hasn’t been totally smooth sailing. Sometimes she feels so panicked that she thinks she might fall to pieces.

She detests this sense of duplicity. On the one hand, she wants nothing more than to put on weight so that she can leave the clinic and start living again. On the other hand, that is exactly what scares her most.

The eating frenzy she experienced at home on Christmas Eve has increased her motivation to get well. She doesn’t want to live like that. She never wants to go through that sort of torment again. Yet the episode also reminded her that the anorexia is harming not only her but her father, too. She is all that he has. And Katarina, of course. She thinks it’s fine for them to celebrate the New Year together. If only for Pappa’s sake.

Besides, Per has said that even though he actually has the day off, he’s going to spend the evening with her. They’ll think of some way to celebrate.

He turns up right after lunch, looking cheerful and like he’d just stepped out of the shower. She is sitting on her bed listening to music when he sticks his head in the door. As luck would have it, Linda has moved out, so Agnes now has the room all to herself.

‘Hi. Can I come in?’

‘Sure.’

She’s suddenly nervous. What’s going on? Her despair after yesterday’s visit from Cecilia’s big sister, Malin, and Jenny Levin has faded. Now, she just feels ashamed at her outburst.

‘I’m sorry I was such a nuisance yesterday.’

‘That’s okay.’

‘Maybe I should ring Malin to apologize. I know she meant well.’

‘Of course.’

A shadow passes over his face.

‘But maybe not today,’ she adds. ‘I can call her tomorrow.’

Agnes would rather forget about the whole thing.

He looks relieved. It was hard on him, too, even though he’s used to outbursts from the patients. But something special seems to have developed between them lately. Agnes wonders if he has noticed it, too.

‘I thought we could go out for a walk, or rather I could push you in the wheelchair,’ he suggests.

‘Great.’

Agnes hasn’t been outdoors since she came back from Gotland. The daily walks have been cancelled between Christmas and New Year’s.

‘Just let me go to the loo.’

With an effort she gets up from the bed and stumbles into the bathroom. Now she’s annoyed that there is no mirror. She splashes water on her face, brushes her teeth, and pinches her cheeks, hoping to give them some colour.

The air is clear and cold. Per pushes the wheelchair through the slushy snow. Agnes is bundled up in two pairs of long underwear, several woollen jumpers, heavily lined thermal trousers, and a big white down jacket that makes her look like the Michelin man. On her head she has a Russian hat with ear flaps. It’s wonderful not to be freezing as she feels the fresh air biting at her cheeks. They head up the hill towards the centre of town. There are people everywhere, doing their last-minute shopping for New Year’s.

‘Would you like to see my place?’ he asks.

‘Okay.’

He pushes her in the chair over to a block of flats with a blue-painted façade. The stairwell smells a bit musty. The lift is modern and has plenty of space for the wheelchair. They go up to the sixth floor.

A long corridor with a series of doors. The third one has a sign on it with white plastic letters. ‘P. and M. Hermansson. No junk mail.’

Agnes is momentarily startled. Does Per live with someone?

‘Who is M?’ she ventures as he pushes the chair over the threshold.

‘M as in Mamma,’ said Per with a laugh. A dry, mirthless laugh. ‘Margareta, actually. My mother. But, sadly, she has passed away. So now I live here alone.’

Agnes is relieved, even though she feels sad on his behalf.

‘Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t know your mother was dead.’

‘Cancer. She was a nurse in the infectious diseases clinic at the hospital. She was the one who got me the job on the ward.’

‘Was it just the two of you living here?’

‘No. I have a sister, but she moved away from home when she turned eighteen. She and my mother didn’t really get along.’

‘What about your father?’

‘My parents divorced when I was a kid. Would you like some coffee?’

‘Yes, please.’

‘It’s two o’clock. Time for your afternoon snack. The question is, what have I got in the kitchen?’

He parks the wheelchair in the hall and she gets up.

‘Shall I show you around first?’ he asks. ‘It’s not a big place, but…’

Now he seems almost shy. Agnes finds that endearing. The flat is nice and bright, with windows facing in two directions. Everything is neat and clean. Attractive, but a bit boring. Nothing very personal about it. They go through to the kitchen, which is completely ordinary, with grey cabinets. A pine table and four chairs stand next to the window, which has red curtains and a Christmas star made of straw with a red ribbon.

‘Do you recognize that?’

Agnes nods. He had pointed out the window from the ward, and she now sees the same star and red curtains.

Next to the kitchen is a small bedroom.

‘This is where I sleep,’ says Per. ‘This room is much smaller than the other one, but I can’t bring myself to sleep in Mamma’s room. Do you think that’s weird?’

‘No, not at all.’

The furniture in the living room looks like it’s from the seventies. Bookcases made of dark-stained pine with built-in lighting and a drinks cabinet. A sofa with brown-and-orange upholstery that has a rough texture to it. A coffee table with brass legs and a tinted-glass top.

They move on to look at a bigger bedroom that has been turned into a gym, with mirrors and several exercise machines.

‘This is my workout room,’ Per explains proudly. ‘I don’t really need much living space, and I like to work out. So, this way, I save having to pay for an expensive gym membership.’

‘Cool,’ says Agnes, not sure what else to say. ‘When did your mother die?’

‘Eight and a half months ago.’

‘Have you thought about getting a smaller flat?’

‘Yes, I have. But I feel comfortable here. I’ve lived here all my life. It’s my childhood home. And the rent is low. I pay the same for this two-bedroom as I would for a one-bedroom in the city. So I’d rather stay here. And, besides, it’s close to work.’

Per makes coffee and they eat a few crackers. It’s pleasant sitting there with him in the kitchen, looking out at the hospital. Being on the other side. On the healthy side.

That’s where she longs to be.

IT WAS 6 P.M. by the time Knutas got back home after talking to Rikard Karlström. Wittberg was in a hurry to get to a New Year’s Eve party. As for Karin Jacobsson, it seemed she was spending the evening with Janne Widén. Knutas didn’t know why he felt so uncomfortable when he thought about that.

He’d tried several times to reach Signe Rudin, but she didn’t answer her mobile or her landline at home. When he rang the magazine, he got a recorded message wishing everyone a Happy New Year and telling him to ring again after the holiday. He realized there was nothing more he could accomplish, so he phoned Lina, who told him that they hadn’t yet sat down to dinner. The hosts were just about to offer their guests some champagne. Maybe he felt like toddling over there and spending a little time with his wife on New Year’s Eve?

Knutas realized that, if he hurried, he could get there before dinner was served. He took a quick shower and put on clean clothes. Then he got in the car and drove east. Just as he reached Ljugarn, his mobile rang. It was Signe Rudin.

‘Hi. I’m terribly sorry for not calling you back, but I’m visiting good friends in the Stockholm archipelago, and I left my mobile in the bedroom, and… Well, you know. I thought I should be able to leave the job behind, since it’s New Year’s Eve, and all. But I was planning to ring the police tomorrow morning.’

‘Oh, really? What’s on your mind?’ asked Knutas, forgetting for a moment why he’d been trying to call her.

‘The thing is, we received another letter.’

Knutas almost drove off the road.

‘When did it arrive?’

‘Yesterday.’

‘Just a minute.’

Knutas had to pull over and stop. Quickly, he got out his notebook and a pen. Annoyed that Signe hadn’t notified the police about the letter earlier, he said curtly, ‘What did it say?’

‘Just four words, like last time. But instead of saying “You are all killers,” it said, “I am a killer.”’

‘And was it the same as last time? I mean, words cut out of a magazine?’

‘Yes. And the type looked the same as before, so he must have used the same magazine.’

‘Who was it sent to?’

‘Fanny Nord. Just like last time. And the address was handwritten. No sender’s name.’

‘Anything else that was different from the first letter?’

‘No. The handwriting on the envelope looked the same. The same pen, too. The same kind of envelope.’

‘Where is the letter now?’

‘I have it here with me.’

‘Could you possibly scan the message and email me a jpeg image?’

‘Sure. No problem. My friends have their own business, so they have a lot of computer equipment.’

‘Scan the envelope, too.’

Knutas gave her his email address.

‘Before you go, I’d like to know one thing. Why did you phone Fashion for Life this morning and ask about Agnes Karlström?’

For a moment, Signe Rudin didn’t speak. She was clearly surprised by his question.

‘Well, I found out that, last year, Fanny was responsible for a photo shoot that ended up being a disaster because the model was too big. As a result, we couldn’t use any of the pictures. And it turned out that the model’s name was Agnes Karlström. The photographer was Markus Sandberg.’

Knutas leaned back and closed his eyes.

‘Okay,’ he said at last. ‘Email me those pictures as soon as you can.’

Then he turned the key in the ignition. Just beyond the next bend in the road was the house where the New Year’s party was in full swing, but Knutas turned the car around and drove back the way he had come.

NEW YEAR’S EVE is turning out much better than Agnes could have imagined. There are only four other patients on the ward, and two of them are so ill they don’t feel like getting out of bed. Per has gone home to change his clothes while she takes a quick nap so she’ll be able to stay awake until the stroke of midnight. They have agreed to meet again at seven o’clock.

It almost feels like a date. Agnes has found a skirt and top that she hasn’t worn since coming to the clinic. Per has never seen her wear anything but tracksuit bottoms and a sweatshirt. He has decided that they should sit at a separate table from the other patients. Dinner is pasta with pork in a cream sauce, but Agnes hardly touches the food. It’s nice to be sitting here, and on this one evening she is allowed to do what she likes with the food. Her Widget is not in use on New Year’s Eve. Per has arranged for linen table napkins and candles.

‘You look so nice,’ he says, lowering his eyes.

‘Thanks,’ she says, embarrassed. ‘It feels great to wear something other than tracksuit bottoms and sweatshirts.’

She thinks Per looks very handsome. He is wearing a checked shirt. On his wrist she notices a silver chain she has never seen before.

‘Nice bracelet. Is it new?’

‘Yes, actually. It’s a New Year’s present.’

‘Oh. Who’s it from?’

‘Guess.’

Agnes gives him a hesitant look.

‘It’s not from a girl, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

Agnes changes the subject. She doesn’t know much about Per’s personal life but, clearly, he must have relatives, friends and others who care about him. She doesn’t want to seem nosy.

They talk about all sorts of things, avoiding any mention of her illness. Films they’ve seen, what they like to do in their free time. Per tells her that he used to work only part time while he was going to college, but last autumn he was offered a full-time position replacing someone who’d taken a leave of absence. So he decided to give up his studies. He found college boring, anyway, and he hadn’t been doing very well.

‘It was my mother who was always talking about me continuing my education,’ he says. ‘She thought I should make something of myself. And I can understand that. She was a nurse, after all. My sister started her studies before I did, even though she’s two years younger than me. So that really put the pressure on me.’

‘Just think, neither one of us has a mother,’ says Agnes.

‘I know.’

For a moment, they both fall silent.

‘I think a lot about her during the holidays, like today,’ Agnes goes on. ‘Mamma loved New Year’s Eve. We always went out to visit friends, or else we had a party at home. My mother was such a happy and social person. She loved being with people. She always talked louder and laughed longer than anyone else.’

Agnes smiles at the thought. Per looks at her with that preoccupied expression of his.

‘My mother wasn’t like that at all. She was quiet and reserved. She did her job but, otherwise, she just stayed at home. I can see Mamma sitting on the sofa, wearing an old dressing gown, with some knitting on her lap as she watches TV. That was her daily routine. But I think she was happy.’

Per raises his glass and looks at Agnes, a little smile tugging at his lips.

‘You’re beautiful, you know. You really are. Here’s to you, my girl. Cheers.’

‘Cheers.’ Agnes smiles at him.

The apple juice tastes good.

AN HOUR LATER, Knutas was sitting in front of his computer with two meatball sandwiches and a beer. The only one who seemed happy that he’d returned home was the cat, who jumped up on his lap and curled up contentedly. Lina, who had been expecting her husband to come through the door and join the party at any moment, was furious and abruptly cut him off when he rang her again. She didn’t even want to hear his explanation. It was enough for her to know that he’d driven all the way out to Ljugarn only to turn around again. Nothing could be so important on New Year’s Eve that it couldn’t wait another day, or at least until after midnight. That was what she had shouted in his ear before ending the conversation and dismissing him for the rest of the night. Lina was usually very patient about the irregular hours required by his job, but even she had her limits.

Knutas shook off his feeling of discomfort and took a bite of his sandwich. He’d had better meals on New Year’s Eve. And better company, too, he thought as he petted the cat.

Then the email appeared in his inbox. His heart pounding, he clicked it open and looked at the image of the message. Exactly the same typeface as before. The words glared at him. ‘I am a killer.’ Who are you? he thought. Who the hell are you? And who are you thinking of killing next?

Knutas ate his sandwiches and drank his beer, letting the thoughts whirl through his head. It would be another week before Fanny Nord returned home. He had a good mind to go out to the airport and meet her in person. Maybe he’d be lucky enough to find this bastard out there. He was still staring at the message on the screen. What did it tell him? He clicked on the print icon and then took the printed text into the living room. He lit a fire in the fireplace, put on a favourite CD by Simon and Garfunkel, and got another beer out of the fridge. In his mind, he pictured Lina’s face. She wouldn’t be any happier tomorrow when she came home to an empty house. His plane to Stockholm left at eight thirty. Before settling down on the sofa, Knutas went back into his home office to fetch his copy of the first letter. Then he sat down on the sofa and compared the two print-outs. Who had written them? Rikard Karlström was a possible candidate. Erna Linton was, too. And Marita Ahonen. Or was the perpetrator some unknown individual they hadn’t even come across?

With these thoughts in his mind, Knutas fell asleep on New Year’s Eve, with still a whole hour left until midnight.

WHEN AGNES GOES to bed on New Year’s Eve, she is feeling more light-hearted than she has in a long time. The fireworks were fantastic. She had joined the few patients on the ward who were still awake, along with the staff, and they had all gathered in front of the conference-room windows to watch the colourful pyrotechnic display. It felt magical to be standing there next to Per and seeing the whole sky exploding with shooting stars and glitter. The two of them together, standing very close.

He arouses strange feelings in her, but they’re not unpleasant. She gets a tingling in her body whenever she looks at him, but it’s not the same prickling sensation she used to have. And with a combination of joy and alarm, she realizes that she is falling in love with her personal nurse. Which is insane, of course. I wonder if he feels the same way, she thinks, smiling to herself. He gave her such an odd look when they drank a toast at midnight. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

Her father had phoned shortly after midnight to wish her a happy New Year. When Agnes asked him about Katarina, he said that they’d quarrelled, so he’d driven her back to the airport earlier in the day. He said that their relationship might be over, slurring his words a bit. But in the next breath he told her it didn’t really matter. Katarina wasn’t an easy person to be with. She was very controlling and had a bad temper. So the truth finally came out, now that he was slightly drunk. He’d never said a negative word about Katarina before.

But he wasn’t complaining, he assured Agnes. He was celebrating New Year’s with some of his co-workers from his construction job. And that was just fine with him.

Agnes has to admit to feeling a certain relief.

She leaves the light on for a while. She’s not sleepy at all, even though her body is aching with fatigue. She’s glad that Linda has moved out. She doesn’t have to take anyone else into consideration. She’s thinking about Per, and that makes her happy. She pictures his face and his weary eyes, which fascinate her. He told her that he has the next few days off, so he’s going to Gotland to visit a friend. An old classmate from school. But he has promised to phone.

Agnes can’t understand why he seems to care so much about her. She has started thinking about the future. First, she has to get well as fast as possible. If she does everything right, it shouldn’t really take so long, even though she realizes that she is so underweight that it’s going to take more than just a few months. But maybe she’ll be okay by summer. She thinks about venturing out and socializing again, going to the beach and swimming. Will she be able to handle that? Her worst nightmare is having to get undressed in front of other people. But if she gets well, then… No, not if, she corrects herself. When she gets well. She is looking forward to jumping into the water with Per at Tofta Strand. She giggles at such an unrealistic thought.

Suddenly, she’s roused from her reveries. The heavy curtain in front of the window sways. It’s just a vague movement which she sees out of the corner of her eye, so she’s not sure it even happened. Did the curtain really move? She fixes her eyes on the velvety fabric. She must be imagining things. The alarm clock on the nightstand is discreetly ticking. 1.20 a.m. She hasn’t been awake at this hour in a very long time. She hears footsteps out in the corridor which pass her room and then disappear. The night staff are probably still celebrating. Before she came back to her room, she noticed that they had set out a cheese platter and lit some candles in the common room. Maybe they were even drinking wine. They probably weren’t so strict about the rules on New Year’s Eve. Poor things. Even they needed to relax once in a while. She wonders if Per is with them, and feels a pang of jealousy. No, she doesn’t think he is. He’s leaving for Gotland early in the morning.

Slowly, she runs her finger over the downy skin on her arm. Back and forth. She wonders what it would feel like to kiss Per. He has nice lips. His teeth are a bit uneven, but that doesn’t matter. She thinks it’s charming.

Then the curtain moves again. Just slightly, but enough for her to realize it’s not her imagination. She sits bolt upright in bed, without taking her eyes off the curtain. It’s heavy and reaches all the way to the floor so that it will keep out the light, as well as blocking the cold and any sound. Her heart is beating faster. Is there that much of a draught from the window? She listens for the wind, but hears nothing. The room seems suddenly filled with danger. A tangible, menacing feeling, but she doesn’t know why. She tries to reach for the alarm button.

But that’s as far as she gets.

EARLY IN THE morning on New Year’s Day, Knutas was awakened by the doorbell. Groggy with sleep, he stumbled out to the front hall and opened the door to find his son, Nils, standing there. His face was white as a sheet, and his hair was sticking out all over.

‘Sorry. I forgot my key. Happy New Year.’

‘What?’

It took a moment for Knutas to remember what day it was, and then he realized that he must have fallen asleep on the sofa.

‘Are you home early? Or is it late?’

‘It’s six o’clock, and I just left the party. I’m going to bed. Where’s Mamma? I thought you were both going to stay in Ljugarn.’

‘We were. But something came up and I had to work.’

‘That figures. Good night.’

Nils quickly disappeared upstairs. Knutas blinked his eyes in confusion. Where was Petra? Wasn’t she home yet? He looked around and caught sight of her boots in the hall, and next to them was her jacket, where she had dropped it on the floor. He breathed a sigh of relief. Then he went back to the living room. It was lucky he hadn’t lit any candles last night. The fire in the fireplace had burned out on its own.

He sank down on to the sofa. Checked his mobile. Lots of calls and texts with New Year greetings at midnight. One from Lina, too, which made him happy. He looked at his watch. Only 6.10. Too early to phone her. His eyes fell on the print-outs. All of a sudden he thought he recognized the typeface of the letters. He was certain he’d seen those very words before. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he’d known it all along. Lina had a tendency to save everything, including old magazines – for recipes that might come in handy, tips about how to re-upholster a chair, redo a fence, or plant a shrub.

Again he looked at the words that had been cut out and pasted on the card. He got up and shuffled through Lina’s stack of magazines. It didn’t take long before he stopped. There they were. Right in front of his eyes. To think it could be that simple. It was now crystal clear. No doubt at all. Slowly, he picked up the magazine. The words had been taken from the cover, where a number of headlines screamed their messages.

A publication that was read only by members of a specific group. The magazine was called The Nursing Profession.

THE PLANE FROM Visby landed late at Bromma Airport because the wings had to be de-iced before take-off. Knutas immediately caught a taxi to the anorexia clinic. It was an overcast morning and bitterly cold, with a frigid wind blowing from the north. He hurried into the hospital. After losing his way a few times he finally located the clinic, which was in a separate building of the huge hospital complex. In the lift, it occurred to him that he should have phoned ahead. But it was too late for that. He was here now.

When he finally reached the ward, he found the glass door locked. He rang the bell. A woman looked up and then pushed a button to let him in. With a faint whirring sound, the door opened.

The woman came to greet him, introducing herself as the clinic supervisor, Vanja Forsman. She looked nervous, and Knutas hurried to show her his police ID.

‘My name is Anders Knutas, and I’m from the Visby police. I’m here to see one of your patients. Agnes Karlström.’

Vanja Forsman looked as if she might faint.

‘Agnes?’ she repeated weakly. ‘How could the police already… Did someone phone you? Did you say the Visby police?’

She leaned forward to look at his ID again.

Knutas gave her an enquiring look.

‘Excuse me, but I don’t understand,’ he said. ‘I know I should have called ahead, but there wasn’t time. I really need to speak to Agnes as soon as possible. It has to do with a murder investigation.’

Vanja Forsman’s face went white.

‘A murder investigation? You want to talk to Agnes about a murder investigation?’

‘Yes, that’s right,’ said Knutas, relieved that she seemed to understand him at last.

‘I’m afraid you can’t. I’m afraid that’s not possible.’

‘Not possible?’

The woman’s lower lip began to quiver.

‘The patients are only now getting up. We agreed that anyone who stayed up to watch the fireworks could sleep in today. And Agnes… Agnes isn’t with us any more. Just ten minutes ago we found her in bed. And she’s dead.’

HE WAS SITTING at the gate for the Visby flight, casually leafing through the previous evening’s papers. He’d arrived at the airport with plenty of time to spare and had already checked in and gone through security. One of the papers had an article listing all the major crimes that had been committed during the past year. The assault on Markus Sandberg was on the list, along with the murder of Robert Ek. Too bad they won’t get to include what’s going to happen next, he thought. It would be a real gem for their morbid little compilation.

He knew that Jenny Levin had flown home to Gotland. On the afternoon of New Year’s Eve, after he had taken Agnes back to the clinic, he’d returned to the modelling agency’s flat on Kungsholmen. He had a few hours before he and Agnes would eat dinner together.

He rang the bell and a Finnish girl opened the door. That was a serious disappointment. He felt both foolish and angry. But, luckily, he quickly regained his composure and pretended to be a friend of Jenny’s. The Finnish girl told him that she’d left for Gotland a few hours earlier. That definitely complicated matters. He’d be forced to go there and rent a car again, but what the hell. As long as he was able to complete his plan.

He had put the last letter addressed to the magazine in the post box outside the airport. Today, there was no postal delivery, so it wouldn’t arrive until tomorrow. He had no intention of carrying out his threat, but he wanted to make those monsters suffer a little longer. That bitch Fanny Nord was going to shit her pants again. And she deserved it, even though he’d changed his mind when it came to her. He had other things to think about now.

Fury surged inside him when he recalled what Agnes had told him about the photo shoot with Fanny Nord. That woman had kept complaining about how fat she was until Agnes finally broke down. And that disgusting Markus Sandberg had kept snapping pictures as he added his own criticisms. He complained and grumbled about Agnes’s figure, but that hadn’t stopped him from fucking her. What a scumbag. That man got what he deserved.

At first, he’d been furious and disappointed that the bastard hadn’t had the sense to die. And he was angry at himself for not making sure that he’d finished Sandberg off. But, later, he’d read in the magazine about the injuries the photographer had sustained – the article said that he would probably suffer terrible pain for the rest of his life, that he was badly disfigured, and that he would never be able to work again. That made him feel like things had turned out even better than planned. That conceited, pompous idiot who had criticized Agnes’s appearance was going to experience at first hand how it felt to look like a monster. Now that he thought about it, he couldn’t have asked for a better outcome.

He looked up from the newspaper and checked his watch. The minutes were crawling by. He had arrived much too early. The airport was practically deserted. Not many travellers on New Year’s Day. He went back to reading the article and saw Robert Ek’s sunny smile in a photo taken at some flashy fashion show. You haven’t got much to smile about any more, he thought harshly. He grinned to himself as he thought about how easy it had been to lure Ek to the agency. Offer him a little young flesh and the man came running with drool running down his chin. He felt sick when he thought about what that pig had done to Agnes, threatening not to represent her any more if she didn’t lose weight. He remembered the fear in Ek’s eyes when he turned up at the agency on that night. He’d felt a thrill of excitement as he hacked away with the axe. It was liberating to do the job properly. And, this time, he’d made sure that his victim was dead. Now there was only one thing left to do in order to complete his mission. Then Agnes would be avenged.

She and her father’s girlfriend, Katarina, were the first people who had meant anything to him since his mother had died. He twisted the new bracelet on his wrist. Katarina had even dropped by the clinic on New Year’s Eve and left him the bracelet as a gift. She really cared about him. She was almost like a mother to him. He hoped that Agnes would eventually accept Katarina. He loved both of them. During the past three months, since Agnes had been admitted to the clinic, he’d spent many hours with Katarina. And it felt like a genuine friendship had developed between them. They had hit it off from the very beginning, and it didn’t take long before they could talk about every imaginable topic. Sometimes, it almost felt as if they were mother and son. Katarina didn’t have any children of her own.

She had sympathized with his outbursts about the modelling agency and the cold-hearted people who worked there, and how they had slowly but surely broken Agnes down. She never tired of listening to him, and she added her own comments and offered insightful advice, which he would never have been able to think up on his own. Katarina was a smart woman. She had made him believe in himself and realize that he shouldn’t simply accept the shit that was happening all around him. She had convinced him that he had the power to change things. That he was capable of putting things right.

The rest of the world could go to hell. Including that Jenny Levin. She had some nerve turning up at the clinic. She’d come waltzing in, wearing her trendy jeans and those bright-red boots. Tossing her hair about and tilting her head and pretending that she cared. That was her way of mocking them. ‘Look at me. See what a success I am.’ It was no wonder Agnes got upset. As if she hadn’t suffered enough already. It had taken several hours to calm her down.

He had decided to make Jenny his last victim. Fanny Nord had no idea how lucky she was. Taking that trip to Thailand had saved her life.

He sighed with relief when the departure time finally appeared on the board. The flight to Visby would leave on schedule, and he could now begin his journey towards the end. After that, everything would be fine.

THE BODY HAD been left in the bed while they waited for the medical examiner. Since the death had occurred unexpectedly on a hospital ward, and the patient had suffered from psychiatric problems, it was routine to summon the ME. The doctor on call lived close by and would arrive shortly.

Rikard Karlström had been notified and would be taking the next flight to Stockholm from Visby. Knutas dreaded seeing Agnes’s father under such terrible circumstances. Yet he wanted to stay in the clinic to speak to the ME. The staff told him that Agnes had gone to bed after watching the fireworks at midnight, and that she’d actually had a few sips of champagne. She had seemed fine when she went to her room. In fact, she had been unusually cheerful, almost lively. The nurses who had worked the evening and night shifts had all gone home before her death was discovered.

‘It’s so sad,’ said Supervisor Vanja Forsman. ‘I don’t believe she would kill herself. Agnes had finally started to get better, and she was responding to the treatment. We had hopes that she would recover, even though she was still very ill. No, I don’t believe it. She wouldn’t have committed suicide.’

She shook her head and blew her nose loudly.

‘What else could it be?’ asked Knutas cautiously.

‘Her heart must have stopped. Patients with anorexia have such weak hearts. All their organs shrink from malnutrition – the brain, lungs, heart, everything. Most likely, her heart simply gave out. But it’s awful, considering that she was doing so much better. She’s seemed calmer ever since she came back from Gotland. She’d gone there for Christmas, to be with her father. And she was so happy when she came back, and-’

They were interrupted by the arrival of the ME.

It was a woman about the same age as Knutas. He hadn’t worked with her before. They briefly introduced themselves.

‘I’d like to see the patient’s case file,’ she said to a nurse as they headed for Agnes’s room. ‘You can come with me, if you like,’ she said, giving Knutas a nod.

When the sheet covering the body was pulled back, Knutas couldn’t help gasping. Agnes was so small. And so young. She was the thinnest girl he’d ever seen, lying there in her childish pink nightgown with a heart on the front. Her ribs were clearly visible under the fabric. Her emaciated arms lay at her sides. Her face was beautiful but rigid, and her skin had a greyish pallor, lacking all lustre. Her eyes were closed, her cheekbones unnaturally pronounced. It was a child’s face. Knutas could have cried, but he pulled himself together. He sat down on a chair in the corner and let the ME do her job.

She worked in silence, lifting the eyelids, checking inside the mouth. Knutas didn’t say a word. After a few minutes, a nurse brought the case file.

‘Was the patient’s pulse, temperature and blood pressure checked during the past few days?’ asked the ME, keeping her eyes fixed on the body.

‘Yes,’ replied the nurse.

‘And there was nothing out of the ordinary?’

‘No, not that I can see.’

‘What about her blood? When was the last blood test done?’

‘Yesterday.’

‘And how were her electrolyte levels? Sodium, potassium, calcium and phosphate?’

‘Totally normal.’

The ME slowly straightened up and took off her glasses. She turned to look at Knutas.

‘Agnes has pinpoint bleeding in the whites of her eyes, which indicates a strong death struggle and deep breathing. There are also subtle injuries in the oral cavity. She has discrete haemorrhaging from her teeth on the inside of her lips and millimetre-sized ruptures on the folds of the mucus membranes inside her mouth as a result of pressure.’

‘Pressure?’ Knutas repeated, puzzled.

‘Naturally, I don’t want to draw any hasty conclusions, but there is every indication that Agnes was murdered.’

KNUTAS IMMEDIATELY SOUNDED the alarm and contacted his colleagues in both Visby and Stockholm. According to the ME, the nature of Agnes’s injuries indicated that she had been smothered, most probably with a pillow that was pressed over her face. The ward had been cordoned off, and all staff members had been summoned for questioning. The interviews would be handled on site, and no one was allowed to leave the building.

The crime scene technicians inspected Agnes’s room thoroughly, paying particular attention to her pillow. Suffocation with a pillow was especially hard to prove, but if they found the slightest evidence, that would be enough. There might be fibres, skin scrapings, or something else left by the perpetrator on the pillow, as well as saliva or blood from the victim.

Knutas accompanied the supervisor back to her office and shut the door. Vanja Forsman was visibly shocked and upset that a murder had occurred on her watch.

‘According to the ME, Agnes died sometime between one and five in the morning,’ Knutas began. ‘How could an unauthorized individual get into the ward?’

‘All the doors are locked. No one is admitted without permission, and there were no outsiders here yesterday. Not during the day and not at night.’

‘Who was in the clinic last night?’

‘Five patients and the night shift. They start at nine o’clock. There’s an overlap of an hour before the evening shift ends. Well, they’re supposed to stay until ten, but they can leave as soon as they’re finished. Yesterday, most of them were in a hurry to go since it was New Year’s Eve.’

‘So who was duty during the night?’

The supervisor looked through her lists.

‘Let me see now. Elisabeth, Ulrika and Kerstin. Per was here, too, but he left early, around one in the morning. He actually had yesterday off, but he came over to take care of Agnes all day. And he stayed on in the evening, too.’

‘Why is that?’

‘He’s Agnes’s personal nurse. Every patient is assigned a special contact, a personal nurse, as we call them. Someone they have regular meetings with to discuss the treatment; someone they can turn to with any problems or if there’s something they want to change. Per asked to take care of Agnes on New Year’s Eve, as his only patient. He did it voluntarily, and without pay. She wasn’t doing very well, you see.’

‘I thought you said that she was getting better.’

‘She was, but the day before yesterday she had some unexpected visitors, and that threw her off balance.’

‘Who came to see her?’

‘An old friend from Gotland, and she brought along that famous model, Jenny Levin.’

Knutas looked stunned.

‘Jenny Levin?’

‘Agnes worked for the same agency, you know. That place that’s been so much in the news lately… What’s it called? Fashion, something, or-’

Knutas interrupted her.

‘What happened during their visit?’

‘They were all having coffee in the day room and everything seemed fine. But the nurse told me that, all of a sudden, Agnes had some sort of fit. I wasn’t there myself. She started crying and screaming, and there was a big scene. Agnes was completely beside herself, and Per was the only one who could calm her down.’

The supervisor suddenly looked uncomfortable.

‘He sat with her until she fell asleep,’ she said hesitantly. ‘As I mentioned, they had a special relationship.’

‘What does this Per look like?’ asked Knutas.

‘Just a minute. I’ll go and fetch the staff manual.’

A few moments later, she was back.

‘Here he is. Per Hermansson.’

The man was staring solemnly at the camera. He looked about twenty-five, thirty at most. Shaved head, yet that was a popular style these days. A slightly babyish face, very fair skin, clean-shaven, nice, big blue eyes, although there was something a bit preoccupied about his expression. As if he were thinking about something else and didn’t really give a damn about the photographer. Red T-shirt, denim jacket. An earring in one ear.

Shaped like a little beetle.

TINA LEVIN WAS sitting in the kitchen drinking coffee when Jenny came downstairs. Everyone seemed to be sleeping in, and she had spent the whole morning in her room, watching old episodes of Desperate Housewives on DVD. That was about the level of what she could handle right now.

‘Happy New Year, sweetheart. How are you?’

Tina got up to give her daughter a hug.

‘Okay. Happy New Year.’

Jenny looked around the kitchen, which was cluttered with dirty plates and glasses.

‘Wow, what a mess.’

‘I know. At five in the morning a few people got hungry. We’ll clean up later. Have you eaten lunch?’

‘Uh-huh. I had a few sandwiches while I was watching TV. I was thinking of taking the dogs for a walk. I need some fresh air. I’ll go out of my mind if I stay indoors any longer.’

In reality, she was longing for a smoke, but she kept that to herself.

‘I’ll come with you.’

Tina was already getting up from the table.

‘No,’ said Jenny, and it sounded harsher than she’d intended. ‘I mean, I’d really rather be alone. I need some time to think, Mamma.’

‘Are you sure?’ Tina said uneasily.

‘Yes. And don’t worry. I’m just going for a short walk, and I’ll have the dogs with me.’

‘Okay. There’s still a lot to clean up in here, and in the barn, too. And we have to feed the sheep.’

‘Did you have fun at the party?’ asked Jenny, trying to make up for her curt response.

‘Yes, it was a big success. I hope we didn’t disturb you too much.’

‘Not at all. I fell asleep in front of the TV.’

‘Did you see the fireworks?’

‘Yes, I did. From my window. What’s the temperature outside?’

‘Minus ten. Can you believe how cold it’s getting?’

‘It’s incredible.’

Jenny went to the front hall and put on her long down jacket. Then she wound a heavy scarf around her neck several times. She rummaged in a drawer to find a pair of Lovikka mittens, and checked her pockets to make sure the pack of cigarettes and lighter were still there.

‘I’ll help you later, after I get back.’

‘You don’t need to do that, honey. Johan and Emma are here. They’ll help out when they get up.’

Jenny whistled and the dogs instantly came running.

‘Oh, by the way,’ said Tina, ‘leave Semlan here. We’re going to need her. A sheep has wandered off somewhere.’

‘Okay.’

Jenny took Sally with her and shut the front door in the face of the older sheepdog, who whined with disappointment.

The cold struck her like an icy wall as she stepped outside. It was cloudy, with a light wind, but she had on warm clothes and the air felt crisp and fresh. She glanced over towards David’s farm. She would have liked to go and visit, but he’d been out partying like everyone else and had sent her a text at midnight. She didn’t want to disturb him. He might not even have slept at home.

Instead, she headed in the opposite direction, waving to her father, who was sitting on the rumbling tractor. Then she continued down the lane to the road. The young dog, Sally, happily dashed about in the snow, rolling around and burrowing tunnels into the drifts. Jenny couldn’t help smiling at the dog’s obvious delight. It was unusual to have such a heavy snowfall on Gotland. Luckily, her father had cleared the road. Otherwise, no one would have been able to get through. High banks of snow towered up on both sides.

Her mood was already improving. No doubt everything would work out in the long run. Given Markus’s situation, she knew he would never fully recover. Their relationship was over, but they could still be friends. Hopefully, he would regain his ability to speak.

Most importantly, the police needed to catch the murderer, who was still on the loose. A shiver raced down her spine when she pictured the man with the doll again. She hardly dared think that he might be the killer. No matter what, she just needed to get away until the police caught the man. Fortunately, she was due to leave on her next trip abroad very soon. She would talk to the agency and ask them to change her tickets so she could leave from Visby, then change planes in Stockholm to fly on to New York. There was no way she wanted to set foot in that flat on Kungsholmen again.

It started snowing. She had turned on to a smaller road, heading towards the woods. She’d been so lost in her own thoughts she almost forgot why she’d come out here. By now, she was far enough away from the farm not to be seen and she dared smoke. She took out the pack of cigarettes, looking for somewhere to sit down. For some reason, she didn’t like to smoke while she walked. She wanted to sit down and smoke in peace and quiet.

Up ahead, next to the road, she saw a dilapidated farm. From what she remembered, no one lived there any more. She decided to sit on the rickety front porch. It should hold her, even though the boards looked like they might be starting to rot through. On the porch, she would also have a roof over her head, and that suited her perfectly, since it was now snowing harder. She trudged over to the farmhouse and cautiously went up the crooked stairs. The porch swayed alarmingly under her feet. She sank down on to a wooden bench and lit a cigarette, sighing with pleasure as the smoke filled her lungs. Exactly what she needed. The dog disappeared around the side of the house.

Jenny took another drag on her cigarette, letting everything that had happened in the past few weeks pass through her mind: Markus beaten to a pulp and lying on the floor of the cabin on Furillen; Robert murdered; and waking up in his house after the hazy and unwanted sexual escapade, whatever it was. She still couldn’t remember a thing about it. And the distressing visit to Agnes at the clinic. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t erase from her memory the image of that emaciated girl with the big eyes. Her screams still echoed in her head.

It was snowing even harder, and Jenny realized that she ought to head home. She whistled, but Sally didn’t appear. She called her several times. No response. She started to feel annoyed. She really wanted to go back now. So she got up and stubbed her cigarette out on the railing.

It was quite a large farm, with several buildings scattered about. Maybe the dog had found a dead animal or something else of interest. She was only a puppy, and still unreliable.

Jenny went down the steps. She plodded through the deep snow around the side of the house, again calling Sally. Now, she saw a trail leading under a stairway to a cellar door on the other side. With a sudden feeling of foreboding, she went over to have a look. The door was ajar. Slowly, she approached, trying to shake off her fear.

The moment she reached for the door handle, someone grabbed her arm and pulled her into the dark.

With a thud, the door closed behind her.

ON NEW YEAR’S Day Johan didn’t wake up until the afternoon, and with a noticeable hangover. Emma was lying in bed next to him and still seemed sound asleep. The guest room, which was small but cosy, was upstairs, with a view of the wintry-white fields and meadows. Several sheep with thick woollen coats were crowded around the gate. It had started to snow. He sat up and saw that it was feeding time. Tina and Fredrik drove up on the tractor to put out hay for the sheep, who stayed outdoors year round. Johan thought to himself about the life his friends led. Hard physical labour every day, even after a big New Year’s bash. The party was still going on when he and Emma had withdrawn to their room at around five in the morning, although the guests had dwindled to a small group in the kitchen, looking for a snack. He had fallen asleep listening to them talking and laughing downstairs. He wondered when their hosts had finally gone to bed.

The party had been a huge success. They had enjoyed a sumptuous three-course dinner of lobster and steak, and far too many bottles of excellent wine. At midnight, they had all gone outside to the small hill behind the sheep barn to set off fireworks, and had watched the firework displays in the surrounding area at the same time. Then there was dancing into the early hours. He hadn’t caught even a glimpse of Jenny all night. She must have decided to stay in her room, exhausted after that frightening experience in Stockholm. And that had put Johan in a real dilemma. Even though the threatening incident had high news value, he had promised not to pursue the story until after New Year’s Eve. Today, they would have another talk about it.

He let Emma sleep and climbed out of bed.

Downstairs in the kitchen he found the worktop cluttered with dirty plates from the party, along with glasses holding the dregs of wine and champagne. He wrinkled his nose at the smell, but decided to ignore the clutter for the time being. A lamp had fallen over, and the telephone lay on the floor. It looked like things had got quite lively down here.

There was fresh coffee, so he poured himself a cup. Then he opened the fridge and took out some cheese and butter. He cut a few slices of bread, turned on the radio, and drank several glasses of water. After eating some bread and cheese he’d probably feel a lot better. He hated having a hangover. Fortunately, it didn’t happen very often these days.

He sat down at the table and began eating his breakfast, enjoying the peace and quiet. The radio was replaying requests from the past year.

Then the theme music started up for the news programme, and the announcer spoke: ‘It’s two o’clock, and here is the news for Gotland. A sixteen-year-old girl from Visby was found dead this morning in the Stockholm clinic where she was a patient. The cause of death has not yet been determined, but the police suspect that the girl was murdered. Forensics officers are now conducting a search of the crime scene. No suspect has been apprehended.’

Johan immediately rang the editorial offices of Regional News. No answer. There was no regional broadcast on TV on New Year’s Day. Damn. He tried Grenfors’s mobile but got a busy signal. A Gotland girl had been found murdered in Stockholm the day after the threatening incident Jenny had experienced. Was there a connection? Had the two girls known each other? Johan dashed upstairs to Jenny’s room. A ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign hung on the door handle. He ignored it and knocked. No response. Was she still asleep? Cautiously, he pushed down the handle and opened the door.

The room was empty. He looked at the bed, which had been neatly made. No trace of Jenny.

THE HUNT FOR Per Hermansson, who was wanted for murder and attempted murder, was immediately launched on all fronts. A quick check revealed that he’d had several days off from work, both when Markus Sandberg was assaulted and when Robert Ek was killed.

And, during this first week of the New Year, Hermansson was supposed to be on holiday, although no one knew what his plans were. He was not in his flat, and he didn’t answer when any of his phone numbers were called. The police swiftly obtained permission to search his home, and broke the lock on the door. Knutas had just left the anorexia clinic and was sitting in a taxi when Jacobsson rang.

‘We’ve checked with the airlines. At ten o’clock this morning Per Hermansson took a plane from Bromma Airport to Visby.’

‘Bloody hell. How could he know that Jenny had gone to Gotland?’

‘Yesterday afternoon, a guy rang the bell at the flat on Kungsholmen that’s owned by the agency. Another model was there, and she spoke to him. He asked for Jenny, so she told him she’d gone home for the holiday.’

‘Damn it! And I just found out that Agnes had a visit from Jenny and a girl named Malin Johansson the day before New Year’s Eve. For some reason, the visit made her very upset, and it was Per Hermansson who calmed her down. Have you talked to Jenny’s parents?’

‘No. They’re not answering their mobile phones, and there seems to be a problem with the landline. We still haven’t been able to get in touch with Jenny.’

‘Do you know when the next plane leaves for Gotland?’

‘If you go out to the airport right now, you can catch the one-thirty. I’m sure it’s not fully booked.’

‘Okay. Can you pick me up in Visby?’

‘Of course. There’s just one thing I don’t understand. Why would Hermansson murder Agnes?’

‘A mercy killing?’ suggested Knutas.

THE GRIP ON her arm was so strong that she whimpered in pain. The man’s face was only millimetres away from hers in the dark. She could feel his breath, hot and damp against her cheek. His lips grazed her ear as he whispered.

‘How nice that you decided to come over, Jenny Levin. And here I thought that I’d have to break into your house, but you’ve saved me the trouble. This makes everything much easier for me. Thanks for that, my lovely fashion model. But now it may not be much fun being Jenny Levin any longer. Now, you’re just an ordinary girl, you see. Nothing special. No cameras flashing. No catwalk lights. Just little Jenny.’

His voice changed from feigned regret to scornful hatred.

He shoved her away with such force that she tumbled across the cellar and landed on the cold cement floor.

He stared at her. She could just about make out his face in the dim light. He was younger than she’d thought, but she recognized him. And his cap.

His eyes were filled with insanity, or maybe cold, suppressed rage. She wasn’t sure which. Maybe both. Maybe the man was a psychopath.

‘What do you want?’ she stammered.

‘What do you think I want, sweetie?’ he snarled. ‘You sweet little model.’

He softly hummed a tune about a little model and a carousel.

‘What do you want with me?’ she said. ‘What have I done?’

He went over to her and squatted down so his face was only a few centimetres away from hers. He took off his cap. Jenny flinched.

‘Do you recognize me?’

His voice was unnecessarily loud in the cramped cellar room, and he exaggerated the enunciation of each word.

‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘You were in the anorexia clinic with Agnes.’

‘Exactly,’ he replied. ‘A-n-o-r-e-x-i-a c-l-i-n-i-c,’ he spelled out. ‘Where Agnes is still a patient, thanks to people like you.’

‘What do you mean? What have I-’

She didn’t get any further before he punched her in the mouth.

‘Shut up,’ he spat. ‘Who the hell do you think you are? You come waltzing into the clinic wearing your high heels and tossing your hair, pretending that you really care about Agnes. But you were just mocking her, and all the other patients, too. You know that as well as I do!’

Jenny lay on the floor, pressing her hands to her bleeding lips.

‘But I just wanted to-’

His fist slammed into her face. For several seconds, everything went black. She was paralysed with terror. She was alone here with this madman, completely helpless. And the farm was deserted. No one lived here, no one ever came here. Now he was standing over her. She could see his black, shiny boots right next to her face.

‘Just wanted to-?’ he hissed. ‘Just wanted to-? Let me tell you why you and I are here right now. The whole insane fashion industry nearly killed my girl. Do you understand? The only person I’ve ever cared about. Agnes was thin and beautiful, but she wasn’t good enough. They told her she wasn’t good enough. Do you hear me? They shattered her self-confidence. She was a sweet young girl with her whole life ahead of her! But they told her that she wasn’t beautiful enough. She needed to lose weight. And did she ever lose weight! She almost starved herself to death. She weighed ninety-five pounds when she arrived at the clinic. And Agnes is tall. She’s five foot nine. Do you know what that means? Ninety-five pounds. Do you have any idea what happens to someone who’s anorexic? Do you? Their heart shrinks and they go into cardiac arrest. Do you realize that we have patients who are so weak that they can’t even raise their head? Can you even comprehend that?’

‘But I have never-’ Jenny ventured, her voice a whisper.

‘You have never-?’ he snapped. ‘Oh, right. You’ve never hurt a fly, have you? You’re lily white and fucking innocent. Don’t you get that you’re part of the whole thing when you go swishing around and posing for all those fashion photos? Do you realize what a complex you give young girls who try to live up to the image you’re projecting? And that’s exactly what you are – an image, an illusion, a dream. You’re not real. You’re a symbol for that whole stinking industry. Even worse, you’re a symbol for that bloody agency which destroyed Agnes’s life and almost succeeded in killing her. That’s why you’re going to die, you fucking, deceitful nobody. And that’s precisely what you are: a nobody, with no substance whatsoever.’

Jenny lay still, incapable of moving a muscle, panic-stricken, listening to his strident outpouring of words.

Then, abruptly, he stopped talking. He walked resolutely over to the door, and for a moment she hoped that he would open it and disappear. Instead, he leaned down and picked something up.

And the next second she saw what he was holding.

He turned to face her but stopped at the sound of loud barking from outside.

‘What the hell?’

Jenny didn’t move. She was frozen in place on the floor, hardly daring to breathe. Now she remembered his name. Per. He was Agnes’s personal nurse. She had spoken a few words to him at the clinic.

He crouched down and leaned his back against the wall. For several minutes, he merely sat there, seeming to weigh up what he should do next. He glanced at Jenny, and then apparently decided to deal with her later. He stood up and peered out of the window.

‘I fucking hate dogs,’ he muttered.

He opened the door just enough to slip out as the dog growled and barked wildly.

‘Fucking shit!’ he shrieked, presumably because Sally had dug her teeth into him.

Good Sally, Jenny thought. Good dog.

She listened tensely. It lasted only a few seconds. A loud commotion, a thud against the wall, then the barking suddenly changed to a quiet whimper.

Per came back in and gave Jenny a cold look. He was holding an axe in his hand. She saw that there was blood on it.

‘Don’t,’ she pleaded. ‘Please. Don’t.’

HALF AN HOUR after Jenny had left for her walk, Sally came limping into the farmyard. Without Jenny. The dog was bleeding from a wound on her head, and her left rear paw was injured. She was in very bad shape.

‘What in the world…?’ cried Tina, who had just returned from the field. She climbed down from the tractor and squatted down to examine the nasty-looking wound on the dog’s head. A bloody gash, as if she’d been stabbed. The dog whimpered. Tina’s throat went dry. Where was Jenny?

She stood up and looked in the direction her daughter had taken. The snow was really coming down, making the visibility worse every minute that passed. She could see only a few metres, and then the landscape vanished, as if in a heavy fog. Johan came out of the house.

‘Jenny’s not in her room. Do you know where she is?’

‘She was just going out for a walk,’ Tina said in bewilderment. ‘With the dog.’

Tears began running down her face as she again fixed her eyes on the road.

‘Oh, good,’ said Johan, sounding relieved. ‘I was worried that she didn’t sleep here last night.’

‘She did. But she wanted to go out for a walk. With Sally. But now the dog is back and covered in blood. Oh, Johan, what could have happened to her?’

Tina started to sob, tugging at the sleeve of Johan’s jacket.

‘Where is Jenny?’

Before he could answer, several police cars drove into the farmyard. Jacobsson and Knutas were the first to get out. They briefly introduced themselves.

‘What’s going on?’ asked Jacobsson.

‘Jenny went out for a walk with the dog, but now the dog is back, injured and bloody,’ said Johan. ‘And Jenny is missing.’

‘When did she leave?’

‘About half an hour ago.’

‘Which way did she go?’

The snow continued to fall, effectively erasing any footprints. The police spread out and set off in different directions. Knutas and Jacobsson hurried down the lane and then took the tractor path that led towards the woods, since Tina had said Jenny might have gone that way. The path had been cleared. They walked at a set distance from each other, each surveying one side of the road, but the visibility was very poor. And dusk was already settling in.

Further along, the path divided, and they split up. Knutas took the fork into the woods. Before long, he came to an old abandoned farm. The cladding on the dilapidated buildings was grey with age, and a thick layer of snow covered the roofs. He gave a start when he saw footprints leading towards the farm. His heart started beating faster. He took out his service weapon and trudged over to the porch. But the footprints continued around the side of the farmhouse. He followed them, noticing the tracks of an animal as well. Maybe a dog. When he came to the back of the building he realized at once that someone was there. A cellar door was ajar, and light glimmered from a little window. Slowly, he crept over to the door and peeked inside. Inside the dim cellar room he saw that a candle was burning in a lantern. Jenny Levin was huddled on the floor in a corner, and Per Hermansson was pacing back and forth, hefting an axe in one hand. He was saying something that sounded almost like a chant, although Knutas couldn’t make out the words.

He tore the door open, his gun drawn.

‘Police!’

Then everything happened very fast. Per threw the axe at Knutas, who ducked to avoid being struck. That gave Per enough time to shove him to the floor and then rush through the door. Knutas quickly got to his feet and raced after him.

‘Stop! Police!’

Hermansson disappeared around the side of the house and ran into the fields. Out of the corner of his eye, Knutas saw a car parked a short distance down the road. He ran as fast as he could.

‘Stop!’ he repeated. ‘Or I’ll shoot!’

The fleeing man paid no attention, just kept on running. All of sudden he was swallowed up by the twilight and the swirling snow. Knutas fired a warning shot in the air and shouted into the void, ‘Stop!’

Clearly, he had no hope of catching up with Hermansson. He caught sight of a shadow off in the distance, then it vanished at the edge of the woods.

Knutas ran in that direction and soon found himself among the trees. He followed a path, holding his gun in one hand, and in the other a pocket torch, which he had luckily brought along. It was easier going in the woods, since he was no longer blinded by the falling snow, and he was able to track the fresh footprints on the ground. His heart was pounding in his chest. The only sounds he heard were his own laboured breathing and branches tearing at his clothes as he moved forward. After a few minutes, he discovered drops of blood next to the footprints. Silently, he cheered. The man must be injured. Maybe the dog had bitten him.

Suddenly, Knutas’s odds of catching the perpetrator had improved substantially. And he saw more and more blood. If he was lucky, eventually, Hermansson might be forced to stop.

Abruptly, the trail he was following ended. The young man must have veered to the right, going deeper into the woods. Knutas paused for a moment to catch his breath. The silence was broken by the sound of wailing police sirens off in the distance. Thank God, reinforcements were on the way. The police dogs would find Hermansson in no time. Knutas shone the beam of his torch on the spot where the footprints had vanished among the trees. He flinched as he heard rustling sound only a few metres away. He stopped, listened intently, unaware of the cold. He noticed a dark silhouette in among the trees. That was where he was hiding.

Knutas took a few cautious steps in that direction. Hermansson no longer had the axe, but he might have other weapons. Maybe even a gun. Knutas knew that the killer must have seen him by now and was probably watching him approach. The beam of his torch could be seen from far away. So there was no longer any need for silence.

‘Per!’ he shouted into the darkness. ‘How are you doing? Are you injured?’

No reply. No sound except his own breathing. And, in the distance, the slamming of car doors. A crow cawing. A faint rustling in the trees. The snow was still coming down, but it was caught by the branches of the spruce and pine trees.

‘You need help, Per,’ Knutas said. ‘You’re injured. I can see that you’re bleeding.’

He waited a moment. Suddenly, he saw that Per was very close.

‘Put down your gun,’ he heard a tense voice say from behind the trees.

‘The police are here,’ Knutas told him. ‘The roads are blocked. We know who you are. You took care of Agnes, and she was very fond of you. We know that. Everyone at the clinic said that the two of you had a special relationship. But now Agnes is gone. It’s time to give up, Per.’

A brief silence.

‘Gone?’ said the voice hollowly. ‘What do you mean, Agnes is gone?’

Knutas felt his blood run cold. Per had no idea that Agnes was dead. A shiver ran down his spine. He didn’t know anything about it!

‘Agnes was found dead this morning in her bed at the hospital. She was murdered. Smothered to death.’

Silence.

After a moment, a man stepped forward, his face pale among the trees. A man holding his hands in the air, staggering towards Knutas, dragging one leg behind him. A man with a look of hopeless despair in his eyes, his lips quivering as he tried to speak. Finally, he managed a whisper, barely audible.

‘Dead? Agnes is dead?’

‘I’m afraid so.’

At that moment, Knutas forgot that he was standing face to face with a murderer. He saw before him a young man whose expression openly revealed his grief. His eyes displayed a sorrow so deep and so heavy it almost felled him to the ground. Per Hermansson shook his head, slowly at first, then with increasing vigour.

His scream started far away, then surged up through his throat and out. A wail that resounded through the dark, silent woods.

THE FLAT IN the seaside town of Hammarby was right on the water, at the foot of Hammarby Terrace, with a view of Södermalm on the other side. She went into the kitchen to make coffee. She took the latest photo album from the bookshelf in the living room before she sat down at the kitchen table. She listened to the laboured hissing and gurgling of the coffeemaker as the water dripped through the filter.

She opened the album, which was bound in black leather. It had been expensive, but the contents were worth it. This was her favourite album. Hers and Rikard’s. Tears filled her eyes as she looked at the pictures. She’d always cried easily. There was a photo of Rikard smiling at her. It was taken last summer. He was suntanned, wearing shorts and a checked shirt with short sleeves, standing on the dock on the island of Ljuströ. They’d been island-hopping for a week, seeing Stockholm’s archipelago together. There he was, sitting on a rock in the evening. How handsome he was. A real man. And there they were together. They had asked the waitress to take their picture in the restaurant where they were having dinner.

To think that, just yesterday, she had almost torn up all these photos. Luckily, Rikard had phoned and stopped her. There was still hope for them. Especially now. Since it was just the two of them. She had done what she had to do. Agnes was keeping her from the love of her life, the man she had finally found. And, besides, the girl didn’t really want to live. Everything was going to be fine. She felt very calm inside. What a difference compared to how she’d felt on New Year’s Eve. For the thousandth time they had quarrelled about Agnes. As usual, Rikard’s spoilt and obstinate daughter was standing in their way.

But then she had pulled herself together. Seen an opportunity, now that the police were still hunting for a murderer. And she’d known for a long time who he was.

Late in the afternoon on New Year’s Eve she had gone to the clinic with a gift for Per. But she didn’t go home. She found a patient’s room that wasn’t being used over the holiday, and that was where she hid. The rest had been easy. She was quite pleased with herself. She had removed what was hindering their happiness. She knew that she could handle this. She’d always been able to get herself out of tight spots. She had the power to govern her own life. And Rikard would be more dependent on her than ever. Now that he had no one else.

She got up and poured herself some coffee. Then she took out the box of Aladdin chocolates that had been in the fridge since Christmas.

She felt like treating herself to something sweet after all she’d been through.

She had just eaten the first chocolate praline when the doorbell rang. Her heart leapt with joy. Was he already here? She patted her hair and cast a quick glance in the mirror before she went into the front hall to open the door. She was so impatient she forgot to look through the peephole, as she usually did. She opened the door to find two people standing there. She didn’t know either of them. One held out a police ID.

‘Police. Are you Katarina Hansell?’