Irene presented her questions. Jens answered, “The investigation of Tosscander’s car hasn’t revealed anything. It appears to have been standing untouched in the garage since the owner disappeared.”
“What kind of car did Emil have?”
“The make? A Range Rover.”
A Range Rover. A jeep. Erik Bolin had said Basta had arrived in a jeep the time his picture was taken. Had Basta borrowed Emil’s jeep?
“Where is it now?”
“It was parked out in the yard. We’ve taken it in for a forensic examination. The investigation into the attack on your friend Tanaka has come to a halt. A witness saw a tall dark-clothed man jump into a white parked car that was standing just outside the entrance to the backyard. He had the hood of his sweatshirt pulled up. Before he started the car, he threw a large picture into the backseat. According to the witness, he was alone. He wasn’t sure about the make of the car. Probably an old Jetta or something similar. But we’ve gotten some interesting tips from Emil’s neighbors. According to them, a tall man with a ponytail has occasionally lived at Emil’s. And, according to a neighbor lady who lives under Emil, he’s Swedish. She’s heard them talk with each other. The other neighbor has only run into the guy a few times in the elevator.”
“Have they been able to give a more detailed description?”
“Tall, muscular, about twenty-five years old, shoulder-length dark blond hair in a ponytail. The man who had been with him in the elevator said that he thought the man was an artist because he had paint on his hands and a large sketch pad under his arm.”
Artist? Then if this was the killer, all Marcus’s references to “my personal physician” were meaningless. No matter how much he would have liked to, Marcus couldn’t possibly have transformed an artist into a personal physician.
Jens Metz asked about the new murder in Goteborg. Irene told him the little she knew. When they hung up they agreed to allocate every resource to stopping the murder-crazed beast. There couldn’t be any more killings.
“Right now it’s quiet here because he’s wreaking havoc in Goteborg. But something tells me that he’ll be here again soon,” Jens concluded ominously.
When they had hung up, Irene thought about his last sentence. Why Goteborg and Copenhagen? Was it possible to figure out some sort of connection between these two cities and one of the names on the list? That name might only be on Marcus’s missing computer, but all they could do was check the names they had and hope for a little luck.
Birgitta Moberg stood in the doorway like a God-sent angel and said, “Hi! Did you find any names that seem familiar? No? Then I can help to make some calls. We’ll divide the pile.”
“You’re a pal! Just let me know if you need a favor in return.”
“Well. . you can babysit in a few years.”
HER DAUGHTERS were in the kitchen, well under way with dinner, when Irene came home. Krister was working late and wouldn’t be home until past midnight.
Jenny was pouring steaming vegetable broth over thin-sliced vegetables. Irene could make out tomatoes, carrots, squash, and onion. A faint smell of garlic whirled up into the air, betokening the perfect amount of seasoning in the casserole.
Katarina was spicing large ground-beef patties with generous dashes of black, white, and green pepper. When they had turned a delicious golden brown color in the frying pan, they would simmer in some cream and a little bit of soy sauce. Those who had iron stomachs could add even more pepper at their discretion. Irene usually added a bit extra.
Jenny opened the oven door and scooted the pan with the potato wedges over in order to make room for her vegetable casserole. Irene knew what was expected of her. She got out the ingredients for the salad. It was boring to make salad but it was the family’s collective opinion that that was what she was best at when it came to the cooking arts.
“We aren’t going to be in Boras until eleven. Mattias and Tobbe are leaving earlier to set up the stuff so that everything will be ready when we get there,” said Jenny.
“Are you going to Boras?” asked Irene.
Jenny sighed loudly and rolled her eyes.
“You’re more scatterbrained than Grandma! If someone tells you something, like, in the beginning of the week, you’ve forgotten it by the end.”
Irene faintly started remembering a short conversation with Jenny a few days earlier. Then she had talked about the band having gotten a gig in Boras. But was it really so soon as this weekend?
“We’ve been allowed to jump in at the last minute for the Wawa boys. They’re huge. This is an awesome opportunity. We’re getting paid really well.”
The blush on her cheeks wasn’t because she had a fever. Her eyes were lit up from excitement and happiness. This was what Jenny had dreamed about for the last couple of years. Irene felt affection mixed with sorrow rise within her. Sorrow over the fact that time went by so quickly. Soon the girls would be all grown up. She quickly landed in reality again with Jenny’s next comment; she was far from being able to accept her daughter as an adult.
“And everything is sorted out with the hotel. It’s going to be so cool!”
“The hotel? Are you going to stay at a hotel?”
“Naturally. We won’t be done until after one o’clock. And by the time we’ve packed all of our things, half the night will have gone. We were able to take over the Wawa boys’ room reservation.”
Irene stared at her daughter. She would soon be turning seventeen but she was far from being of age. And now she was going to stay at a hotel in Boras with a strange group of guys. Irene didn’t have any idea what they were like. With an effort, she tried to conceal the anxiety in her voice as she asked, “Will you get your own room?”
Jenny shrugged and said, “Don’t know. Think so.”
Contradictory thoughts were darting here and there in Irene’s brain, but before she had time to reach a decision, Katarina said, “Polo is in the process of becoming superpopular. You have to understand, Mamma. Jenny might be the next Nina in the Cardigans!”
Jenny blushed with delight at her sister’s praise. Irene hadn’t seen her this happy for a long time.
Now she realized: she had to let Jenny go to Boras.
Katarina continued enthusiastically, “Micke and I are driving there to listen to them. Then we’re going home to Micke’s to sleep there. It’s nearby.”
Irene could have informed Katarina that the distance from Micke’s parents’ house in Onnered to her own was barely a kilometer as the crow flies and only slightly longer if one used the asphalt roads. But she didn’t have the energy for that discussion. She had the feeling that she had lost something. And she knew what it was. Her daughters’ childhoods would never come back.
Mostly in order to have something to say, she asked, “Is Micke well now? And how does your neck feel?”
“Both of us are feeling much better. I’m allowed to start training lightly after midsummer. Real training and stuff. Not this stupid physical therapy I’m doing now. Just watch how I’m going to catch up! That Ida Back better not think she can keep her gold medal in the National Championships next year!”
Irene felt very proud of her daughters now. Each of them, in her own way, was a goal-oriented fighter.
Heavenly smells started emanating from the oven. Katarina was browning the beef patties. Irene felt hungry. She quickly set the table and put out a pitcher of ice water.
A calm whimper at knee height reminded her that it was high time for Sammie’s dinner. Two mugs of dry food mixed with the leftovers from yesterday’s beef sausage was a culinary treat, according to him. Irene stared at the dry brown pebbles, which looked suspiciously like rabbit droppings. Even though she loathed preparing food, she would never be tempted to eat dry dog food. Not even if it had been soaked in hot water.
THE POLICE movie was over just after midnight. Irene turned off the TV, stretched, and yawned. Goodness, how confused and messy it seemed to be at police stations in the USA. Large open office spaces where the desks
