Now she could hear breathing. That wasn’t from a distant mountain peak. It sounded nearby.

“Hello? Is anybody there?”

Breathing again, clear, intentional. It had taken over from the distant babble.

She suddenly felt scared to death. She wanted the babble to return. That had been reassuring. She thought about the images she’d seen in her mind’s eye. The footsteps, the images again, the pool of water…

More breathing.

“Say something! I can hear that there’s somebody there.” She made her voice sound as threatening as she could, but it came over as tiny, frightened. “Who is it?” And then she thought she could hear something else, something more… and she dropped the receiver. It hit the edge of the table and fell to the floor and lay there, the earpiece pointing upward. She stared at it for a few seconds, then lifted it up.

It was silent now. The silence was broken by a click, then came the familiar dial tone.

For Chrissakes, Angela! Keep calm. There are idiots who dial a wrong number but can’t bring themselves to admit it. There are also madmen who ring numbers haphazardly in the hope of somebody answering.

But she wanted to talk to Erik, hear his voice, be reassured.

His mobile was switched off. She left a message. What was going on? He promised he would never switch it off while he was away.

She looked at the receiver in her hand. Should she leave it off for the rest of the night? That would be stupid. Erik might need to phone. No doubt there was some temporary fault affecting his mobile. She dialed his number again.

“Erik here.”

“Why the hell don’t you answer the phone?”

“Eh? What are you talking about?”

“You haven’t been answering. Your phone was switched off.”

He looked at it, as if half-expecting to see some fault or other.

“When was this?”

“Just now. A couple of minutes ago.”

“Really? Well, it’s working okay now.”

“I can hear that, for God’s sake.”

“What’s the matter, Angela?” He looked at his watch. Nearly one. “You seem…”

“Somebody’s trying to phone me here.”

“What do you mean?”

She explained.

“That’s happened to me,” he said. “I expect it happens to everybody at some time or other.”

“That makes me feel a lot better.”

“But I don’t like what you’re saying. Was this the first time?”

“I’ve never experienced anything like this before. Never in my apartment.”

“So you mean that it has to do with my apartment, is that it?”

“No, Erik. For God’s sake, I don’t know what I’m saying. I expect it was just somebody who dialed a wrong number and didn’t want to own up.”

“Hmm.”

“I’m overreacting. I just wanted to hear your voice. Now I can hear a tram outside. I feel calm again now.”

“You can call me whenever you want.”

“How’s your father today?”

“So-so. I’m at the hospital now, but I’ll probably go back to my hotel before long.”

“Have you spoken to your dad’s doctor yet? Al-Whatever his name is?”

“Alcorta. Of course not. He’s a ghost. In a white coat.”

He slept badly for a few hours. The refrigerator in his basic room was noisier than it had been before. No, no, it was the same as ever. All the noises were the same. The woman in one of the next-door houses bawled her husband into life before six, and a quarter of an hour later Winter heard muffled hammer blows. So, it was the carpenter.

He had emptied his pockets onto the table next to the wardrobe.

Her business card was illuminated by the morning light shining in from the patio.

Winter shook his head and went for a shower.

The table next to his at Gaspar’s was empty. Winter missed his breakfast companion with the hacking cough. The waiter arrived with coffee and tostadas even though Winter hadn’t ordered. He saw how Winter was looking at the neighboring table and made the sign of the cross. Winter lit a Corps after breakfast and watched the smoke drifting up into the sky. The sun was clawing its way up behind the mountain.

Lotta Winter arrived by taxi just as he was getting out of his rented car in the hospital car park. She looked pale and had a hacking cough, though it was nothing compared with that of his former breakfast companion.

‘A decent flight, I hope?“

“No. I was sitting next to a drunk.”

“That’s a charter flight for you.”

“I see you haven’t been in the sun much.”

“Let’s go in,” he proposed.

“If we dare.”

“He’s awake. Mom called not long ago.”

“She phoned me as well. In the taxi.”

“He’s back in the nursing ward.”

“How many times is this?”

“Does it matter?”

“I think I’ll cross my fingers,” she said as they climbed the steps and entered the cool gloom of the entrance hall.

Their mother was waiting for them in the corridor. A short man in a white coat came up to them and held out his hand. Lotta shook it and looked at her brother.

“Soy Pablo Alcorta. Médico.”

“Soy Lotta Winter. Médico también, pero ahora hija de Bengt Winter.”

“Ah.”

She’s been here for three whole minutes and has already met Alcorta, thought Winter, holding out his hand. Maybe I’m the ghost around here.

Bergenhem collected Ada from nursery school and walked around the block with her. She was fascinated by everything. He tried to settle her into the car, but all she did was scream.

It had been impossible yesterday to get her into the child seat in the car, and he’d driven home from the Co-op with her on his knee, behind the steering wheel. Luckily none of his colleagues had stopped the car.

Martina had been quiet all morning, almost as quiet as he had.

She’d gone to work now, and he’d felt as if he’d been liberated when he came back to the empty house. Ada was laughing at something in her own private world. He looked at her, and felt ashamed of what he was thinking. It started to snow.

He prepared a bowl of mashed apricots for her and made coffee for himself. He scanned the front page of the newspaper and tried to read while Ada was eating. He adjusted her bib, and let her splash milk and mashed apricot all over the table.

He put the paper to one side, without remembering anything of what he’d read. He felt stiff all over after an uneventful night spent in the car outside a building in Hisingen. Waiting and waiting, then going home. Martina had already delivered Ada to nursery school by then. An empty house, a feeling of liberation. What a stupid expression! Liberation from what?

He was driving his own car. It wasn’t yet noon. He’d tried to get a good night’s sleep, but that was ages ago. He stopped to make a few purchases. He’d no idea what when he went into the shop. The owner nodded to him, as if he were a regular.

There was something lying on the counter. Had he bought it? Should he buy it? He turned away and left the shop. He had it in his hand. Nobody shouted after him. He looked back, and the owner waved to him. Of course. He knew where he was now.

Of course. It was here.

He looked around as he came out. Nobody there.

He went back and waited outside the shop, looking in another direction.