She quickly stood up, aiming for the restroom, but Jacob caught her with a firm grasp on her upper arm.

"Stop it," he said. "This is a blow, but it's not your fault. Instead of feeling sorry for yourself, help us."

"The conference room," Mats Duval said, moving past them. "Right now, 81 al of you."

Gabriel a walked after the superintendent, giving Jacob a sharp look.

Dessie, who was suddenly extremely conscious of Jacob's hand on her arm, shook herself free and fol owed the police through the sports section of the room.

Mats Duval raised an eyebrow in surprise when she sat down with the investigating team around the table.

"Our work is covered by confidentiality laws," he said.

"First the kil ers dragged me into this nightmare," Dessie said. "Then you did the same. So now I'm here, whether you like it or not."

The superintendent frowned.

Jacob threw his arms out.

"So let her join in. How hard can it be? She's been useful so far. We owe her something."

Mats Duval straightened his back.

"If you stay as an observer only. You can't write anything about what we talk about. You're clear about that?"

"Unless you order me to, right?" Dessie said sharply.

The superintendent let the subject drop. One of the detectives handed around enlarged copies of the latest photograph.

"Okay, we've got another double murder," Mats Duval said, "but so far no bodies. So what do we have? Can anyone identify the scene of the photograph?"

Chapter 60

Dessie took a deep breath and stared hard at the photograph in front of her.

A naked young man was lying on his stomach along the back of what looked like a leather Chesterfield-style sofa. Both of his hands were stretched above his head. On the left side of the sofa sat a young woman with her hands placed demurely in her lap.

On her head she was wearing Mickey Mouse ears.

The sofa was in front of a large window. The picture had been taken from a low angle, meaning that the bodies were shot with the daylight coming from behind them.

"Mil esgarden," Gabriel a said.

Mats Duval looked at her.

"Do you recognize the setting?"

She nodded her head.

"The artwork they're imitating. The man is supposed to be the flying statue in the garden outside. The woman might represent one of the animal sculptures that were in an exhibition there this past winter."

"Get the security recordings from Mil esgarden," the superintendent said, and one of the detectives disappeared through the door. "What does this business with works of art mean in this context?"

"We don't know yet," Gabriel a said. "So far it's just a theory."

Dessie squinted and held the picture closer to her face. Either she needed glasses or the picture was bad.

"I don't know, but maybe…," she said hesitantly.

"What?" Jacob said.

She pointed at a shadow next to the man's forehead.

"There," she said. "That could be a balustrade or a railing. Because it's so high up, it must be on the roof of a tal building."

"And?"

"Railings like that are unusual on residential buildings in Stockholm, unless they're to stop snow from sliding off the roof. This must be some official building."

"For instance?"

She hesitated and fiddled with her pen.

"Wel, I might be wrong…"

"Jesus!" Jacob shouted. "Spit it out!"

Dessie jumped and dropped her pen.

"The Royal Palace," she said.

Jacob blinked.

"The Royal Palace? How's that? Have the kil ers checked in with the king?"

She shook her head.

"The palace is in the background. That's what I see. The murder scene is exactly opposite."

Mats Duval stood up.

"The Grand Hotel," he said on his way to the door.

Chapter 61

The five-star hotel by the harbor on Sodra Blasieholmshamnen had 366 rooms and 43 suites spread over eight floors. About half of them had a view of the water and the Royal Palace.

The hotel manager was calm but stern, even with the police, even with homicide.

"Natural y we're happy to cooperate," she said. "But I hope the search can be conducted with discretion."

Mats Duval ordered al available staff on the investigation to take part in the search.

Jacob and Gabriel a didn't wait for the reinforcements to arrive from headquarters.

They headed for the second floor and methodical y went to room after room on the side facing the water. They were accompanied by a receptionist holding a digital hotel register.

Jacob knocked, and whenever there was an answer, he moved on at once.

The kil ers were hardly going to be sitting with the bodies, just waiting to be discovered. That much was clear.

In the rooms where there was no reply, the majority of them, Gabriel a opened the door with a master key.

The suspense was like a drug. Jacob realized that he was holding his breath every time a new door opened.

The search on the second floor gave them nothing.

They ran up the stairs to the third floor.

"What have the other hotels looked like?" Gabriel a asked, slightly out of breath as she chased after Jacob along the guest corridor. "Have they been as upscale as this? The Grand Hotel is the finest in Stockholm."

Jacob knocked on the door at the far end and got an irritated "Oui?" in reply.

"Sorry," he said, "wrong room," as he moved on to the next.

He knocked, no reply.

"No," he said. "Nothing in this price range. Not even close."

Gabriel a put the key card in the door, and the lock clicked. Jacob opened the door and got a gruff "What the fuck?" from the bed in response.

"Sorry," he said again and closed it.

"There are cameras everywhere," Gabriel a said, pointing at the ceiling.

"Hasn't been like that anywhere else," Jacob said, striding on. "They're breaking their pattern."

At that moment, Gabriel a's cel rang. She answered with her usual grunt, listened for seven seconds, then hung up.

"Fourth floor," she said. "Two Dutch tourists."

Chapter 62

Nienke Van Mourik and Peter Visser, with separate addresses in Amsterdam, had checked into the Grand Hotel on Saturday evening, June 11, for four nights.

They would never get to check out.

Jacob studied their dead bodies with detached concentration. There was no room for anything else, not here, not right now. Sorrow and grief for their wasted lives could come later, at night in his terrible prison cel in the hostel, when it was darkest and the alcohol in the bottle was running out.

He didn't know the works of art Gabriel a had referred to, but the bodies had definitely been arranged. The dead woman's toy ears affected him particularly badly. Maybe because Kimmy had loved Mickey Mouse and had had a similar pair of ears when she was little.

He turned away.

God, these murders were so messed up, horrible in every way he could imagine, inhuman.

The 32nd District of New York police had the highest murder stats in Manhattan, but he'd never seen anything like this. Al the kil ings were coldly planned, and arranged with little respect. In Harlem, people murdered out of jealousy, passion, revenge, or for money. People kil ed because of drugs, love, or debts, not to create art exhibitions.

He rubbed his face with his hands. Mats Duval glanced over at him and turned to one of his detectives.

"Get the recordings from the camera in the corridor," he said. "Check what the surveil ance is like in the lobby and the elevators. Has the medical officer arrived yet? We need a time of death as soon as possible."

"There are two champagne bottles in the bathroom," Gabriel a said. "One empty, the other half ful. Four glasses, too, al with remnants of light yel ow liquid in the bottom."