That brought the meeting to an end.
Before Sven-Erik went to his office he called by to speak to Sonja on the exchange.
“Listen,” he said. “If anybody rings and says they’ve found a gray tabby cat, let me know.”
“Is it Manne?”
Sven-Erik nodded.
“It’s a week now. He’s never been away that long.”
“We’ll keep our eyes open,” promised Sonja. “He’ll be back, you’ll see. It’s still warm. He’s probably out courting somewhere.”
“He’s been neutered,” said Sven-Erik gloomily.
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll tell the girls.”
The woman from the national police profiling team answered her direct line straightaway. She sounded cheerful when Sven-Erik introduced himself. Far too young to be working with this kind of crap.
“I suppose you’ve read the papers?” said Sven-Erik.
“Yes, have you found him?”
“No, he’s still missing. What do you think, then?”
“What do you mean?”
Sven-Erik tried to marshal his thoughts.
“Well,” he began. “If we assume the papers have got it right.”
“That Stefan Wikstrom has been murdered and we’re dealing with a serial killer,” she supplied.
“Exactly. But in that case, this is peculiar, isn’t it?”
She didn’t speak. Waited for Sven-Erik to carry his thought through to its conclusion.
“What I mean,” he said, “is that it’s peculiar that he’s disappeared. If the murderer hung Mildred up from the organ, why doesn’t he do the same thing with Stefan Wikstrom?”
“Maybe he needs to scrub him clean. You found a dog hair on Mildred Nilsson, didn’t you? Or maybe he wants to hang on to him for a while.”
She broke off and seemed to be thinking.
“I’m sorry,” she said at last. “When the body turns up-if it turns up, he might have gone of his own accord-we can talk again. See if there’s a pattern.”
“Okay,” said Sven-Erik. “He could have gone of his own accord. He hadn’t been completely honest in his dealings with a foundation that belonged to the church. Then he found out that we were on the trail of his grubby little story.”
“His grubby little story?”
“Yes, it was a matter of about a hundred thousand kronor. And it’s doubtful there would have been enough to make a case. It was a study trip that was actually more of a private holiday.”
“So you don’t think that was any reason for him to run?”
“Not really.”
“So what if it was just the fact that the police were getting closer that frightened him?”
“What do you mean?”
She laughed.
“Nothing!” she said, stressing the word.
Then she suddenly sounded formal.
“I wish you luck. Let me know if anything happens.”
As soon as they’d hung up, Sven-Erik realized what she’d meant. If Stefan had murdered Mildred…
His brain immediately started to protest.
If we just assume that’s what happened, Sven-Erik persisted. Then he would have been scared enough to run if the police were getting closer. Whatever we wanted. Even if we just wanted to ask him the time.
Anna-Maria’s phone rang. It was the woman from the science fiction bookstore.
“I’ve found something out about that symbol,” she said, coming straight to the point.
“Yes?”
“One of my customers was familiar with it. It’s on the cover of a book called
“Yes please! What’s it about?”
“Death. It’s a book of death. Really expensive-fifty-two pounds. And then there’ll be the postage on top of that. I actually rang the publisher in England.”
“And?”
“I asked if they’d had any orders from Sweden. A few-and one in Kiruna.”
Anna-Maria held her breath. Long live amateur detectives.
“Did you get a name?”
“Yes, Benjamin Wikstrom. I got an address too.”
“Don’t need it,” said Anna-Maria. “Thanks. I’ll be in touch.”
Sven-Erik was standing by Sonja on the exchange. He hadn’t been able to stop himself going out to ask.
“What did the girls say? Had any of them heard anything about the cat?”
She shook her head.
Tommy Rantakyro suddenly materialized behind Sven-Erik.
“Has your cat gone missing?” he asked.
Sven-Erik grunted in reply.
“He’ll have moved in with somebody else,” said Tommy breezily. “You know what cats are like, they don’t get attached to anybody, it’s just our own… projectifi… that you read your own feelings into the situation. They can’t feel affection, it’s been scientifically proven.”
“You’re talking crap,” growled Sven-Erik.
“No, it’s absolutely true,” said Tommy, not reading the warning in Sonja’s eyes. “When they start rubbing up against your legs and winding themselves round you, they’re only doing that to mark you with their scent, because you’re a sort of restaurant and resting place that belongs to them. They’re not pack animals.”
“No, maybe not,” said Sven-Erik. “But he still comes up and sleeps in my bed like a baby.”
“Because it’s warm. You don’t mean any more to the cat than an electric blanket.”
“But you’re a dog person,” Sonja cut him off short. “You can’t go making all these statements about cats.”
To Sven-Erik she said:
“I’m a cat person too.”
At that precise moment the glass door flew open. Anna-Maria came hurtling in. She grabbed hold of Sven-Erik and dragged him away from reception.
“We’re going to the priest’s house at Jukkasjarvi,” was all she said.
Kristin Wikstrom opened the door wearing her dressing gown and slippers. Her makeup was smudged beneath her eyes. Her blonde hair was tucked behind her ears and lay flat and uncombed at the back of her head.
“We’re looking for Benjamin,” said Anna-Maria. “We’d like a word with him. Is he at home?”
“What do you want?”
“To talk to him. Is he at home?”
