“Please sit down,” Martell said. He blew his nose. That was the second time. He didn’t sound as though it was necessary. Perhaps he needed to do something with his hands. The apartment didn’t smell of smoke. He ought to do something else with his hands, thought Winter.

The door opened in the hall.

“It’s my wife,” said Martell, as if he were keen to reassure his guest.

A woman came into the room. She was tall, possibly as tall as her husband. Her hair was cut short and she seemed to have a tan. She was wearing a long, brown skirt and a tight-fitting polo shirt. She had a paper bag in her right hand, but transferred it to her left and shook hands with Winter before going into the kitchen, which Winter could see into through the half-open door.

“Well,” said the man, who had stood up when his wife arrived but had now sat down again. “What a terrible business.”

Winter nodded, and sat down as well. The woman returned carrying a tray with coffee cups, a pot, and some Danish pastries. She set out the cups and asked Winter if he wanted milk or cream in his coffee. He told her neither, and waited while she filled his cup. The man blew his nose again. The woman raised her cup and her hand was shaking. She took hold of it with both hands and put it down again, without drinking.

“When did you last see the Valkers?” Winter asked.

The Martells looked at each other.

“Didn’t we tell the other officers who were here?” Bengt Martell said.

Winter looked down at the notebook that he’d taken out of his inside pocket.

“It wasn’t quite clear. I might have mixed up some of the information.”

“It was several months ago,” Siv Martell said. “They were here for… a cup of coffee.” She looked down at the table and the coffee things as if to confirm the truth of what she had just said.

“Two months ago.” Winter was reading from his notebook. “Is that right?”

“If that’s what we said, then no doubt it is,” Bengt Martell said. He looked at Winter. “Such things are not easy to recall precisely” He blew his nose again and then tried to find somewhere to put his handkerchief.

Uncomfortable, Winter thought. They seemed to be uncomfortable in their own home, Halders had said. Scared shitless, he’d also said. But they didn’t seem like that now. Under the surface, perhaps.

“We didn’t note it down in a diary or anything,” Siv Martell said. She had started her coffee now, a quick sip. “We rarely do.”

“But you’ve never been around to their place, is that right?” asked Winter.

“Never,” Bengt replied.

“Why not?”

He looked at his wife, who looked out the window.

“What do you mean? Why we never went to their place?” He looked at Winter again. “Does it matter?”

‘All facts are important to us,“ Winter said. ”Details. Things people notice.“ He leaned forward, picked up his cup and drank some of his coffee, which was getting lukewarm. ”We haven’t yet had the opportunity of talking to anybody who’s been to the Valkers’ place.“

He didn’t mention the Elfvegrens. Per and Erika.

‘Anyway, we haven’t.“

“It was never in the cards?”

“Er… you must understand that we didn’t know them all that well.” Bengt Martell leaned forward. “We only saw them once or twice.”

“But you phoned them.” Winter looked up. “You left a message on their answering machine.”

“Yes… That’s why the police know about us.”

“We were going to suggest a meal out,” Siv Martell said.

“I gather you first met at a restaurant.”

“Yes. A dance restaurant. I don’t know if we mentioned this before, when the other officers were here. It was at King Creole.”

“Do you often go there?”

. “Hardly ever,” Bengt Martell said.

So you met at a place you never go to, Winter thought, but even so you wanted to keep the acquaintance going.

“Did you ever meet them together with other people?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

‘At a party, or a gathering with several people present.“

“What do you mean by several? More than us four?”

“Yes.”

“Never.”

“You didn’t know any of the Valkers’ friends?”

“None at all.”

“You didn’t meet any of them at that dance restaurant?”

“No.”

“More coffee?” Siv Martell offered.

“No, thank you.” Winter checked his notebook again. He was getting nowhere with this pair. Was there any point in staying? Perhaps the Martells were lonely people who had a fleeting acquaintance with the Valkers that might have developed into something more.

They might be scared, but at the same time uninterested. It was as if they were doing their best not to think about the Valkers. They were polite but uncooperative. It could be some sort of delayed shock. Or it could be something else, something lurking in the background. A shared experience. An incident. Something.

“What actually happened?” asked Bengt Martell out of the blue. His wife stood up and went to the kitchen.

“I beg your pardon?”

“What actually happened to them?” Martell asked again. “To Christian and Louise. There’s been a lot about it in the press, but nothing about how… how they died.” He seemed to be listening to his wife, who was running water in the kitchen. “How did he do it?”

“I can’t tell you everything for legal reasons,” Winter said, “but I was just coming to that.” He flipped to another page in his notebook and asked some questions about music.

It was overcast when he left the building. There was a wind from the northwest. Winter shuddered, and felt a stab in his throat when he swallowed. A slight headache these last two days might be the sign of an infection coming on. He’d have to rely on his immune defenses. The headache was a sign that they were assembling to repel boarders. There’s a battle taking place inside your body, Angela had said.

His car felt cold, and there was a smell of damp.

He took the letter out of his inside pocket and opened it for the first time. The letter paper bore the logo of the Spanish police, just like the envelope.

The letter was handwritten and in English, straightforward and purposeful. Just a few sentences greeting him, and thanking him for his hospitality. He read it several times. It was a part of the dream. There was no need to reply to this letter. Not even to read it. He could close his eyes and then look, and the letter would have disappeared, just like the dream.

Why do I think about it? he asked himself, and then he thought of Angela.

Angela, there’s something I have to tell you.

No. There was nothing he had to tell her because nothing had happened. Angela: I had a very strange dream last night. You don’t say? Do you want to tell me about it? I’ve forgotten it. Almost completely. Was I in it?

She’d been in it. And only a few hours later he’d picked her up at the terminal in Málaga. Not long afterward they’d stood side by side in the cemetery by the mountain. His father.

Winter rolled down the window, felt the wind blowing into his face, and now his thoughts were filled by his father.

He closed the window again and got out of the car. There was a minimarket only a few yards ahead, and he wanted to buy some throat lozenges. There was a sign over the entrance. It looked new. Krokens Livs was its name.

The wind was making the posters at the entrance to the shop sway back and forth. City of Angels, one of them said, the other was advertising The Avengers.

A local bus shuddered to a halt a few yards away and disgorged a couple of elderly people. Winter went into Krokens Livs, which seemed to have the usual assortment of dairy products, chips, confectionery, videos, dish-washing brushes, and newspapers. He bought a pack of Fisherman’s Friend from a woman who looked Arabic or Turkish.

When he came out, the wind was blowing even stronger. Winter felt a few drops of rain. The yellow buildings on the other side of Hagåkersgatan lost their color in the rainy wind.