Margit raised her eyebrows at Persson, who sighed before responding.

“When I joined the police there was none of this garbage about work-life balance. You worked until the case was solved—that was all there was to it.” He pondered for a moment, then capitulated in the face of the light of battle shining in Margit’s eyes. “Very well. Margit, you can go, but you have to come back should it become necessary. And the final responsibility is yours. Until then, you and Thomas can talk by phone.”

Margit looked relieved. “Of course. Thomas, you can call me anytime. I’ll give you my husband’s cell phone number as well, just to be on the safe side. Come to my office, and we’ll go over what needs to be done.” She gave him a grateful wink as she gathered up her papers and got to her feet. “This will work out perfectly,” she said. The comment was clearly addressed to Persson as she turned and left the room.

By the time Margit and Thomas had finished drawing up their plans for the next stage of the investigation, it was late on Saturday night.

Kalle and Erik would travel over to Sandhamn the following morning to start their inquiries; Thomas would join them later in the day. During the evening they had gone through all the material on the cousins. Carina had checked every possible record on the computer to complete the picture.

Since more than 80 percent of all murders or attempted murders in Sweden were perpetrated by someone the victim already knew, they needed to get a picture of both cousins’ lives and work situations, methodically going through the people around them, listing those the police would need to contact. It was like doing a jigsaw puzzle, hoping a picture of someone with a possible motive would gradually emerge.

As soon as the weekend was over they would also request all their relevant financial information. It was surprising how much you could find out by studying the ways in which people used their credit cards.

On Sandhamn, the investigation would focus on mapping Kicki Berggren’s last twenty-four hours: what time she had arrived on the island, where she had gone, whether she had been seen with anyone else.

They had to find out everything they could about the people she had met during her stay. They would also contact the ferry company and the taxi firm that picked up passengers from the boat. A member of the crew might remember when she had traveled or know where she had gone. Every witness statement, however insignificant it might appear, could contribute to solving the case.

But first Thomas wanted to visit Kicki’s apartment.

A home was like a silent witness to the owner’s life. You could find out a great deal about a person’s character, the way she lived, her friends and enemies. Perhaps he would find something that would reveal a connection between Kicki and Sandhamn.

Thomas also needed a better photograph of Kicki than her passport photo, which looked nothing like her. Door-to-door inquiries would start on Sandhamn as soon as possible, and a good likeness was essential.

After some thought, Thomas asked Carina to go with him to the apartment. In a case like this it could be useful to have a woman involved. She would see things he might miss. He was the first to admit that he wasn’t exactly an expert on women.

That was one of the points Pernilla had made painfully clear to him during their last argument before the separation. He had walked into the bathroom to find Pernilla standing there holding a little nappy. It had been left behind when they were clearing away Emily’s things.

“It wasn’t my fault,” she had said. Her eyes looked wild, as if she hated him at that moment.

And perhaps she did.

Thomas was thunderstruck. “I never said it was your fault,” he eventually said.

She looked at him wearily, a small muscle twitching at the corner of her mouth. “For six months you haven’t said a single unnecessary word to me. You don’t even touch me anymore. When you do look at me, which is rare, I can see the accusation in your eyes. Do you think I don’t know what’s going on inside your head?” The tears began to fall, and she wiped them away. “It wasn’t my fault,” she repeated. “I wasn’t responsible for what happened.”

The chasm between them was too deep to be bridged with words, and in any case Thomas had no words at his disposal. He had never been the kind of person who was comfortable talking about his feelings, and now his emotions were in lockdown. Even the idea of trying was impossible.

He understood that Pernilla desperately needed reassurance, to know that he didn’t blame her. But every time he opened his mouth to tell her, the words stuck in his throat.

Deep down, he was convinced that someone must have been responsible for Emily’s death. Every time he saw her little body in his mind’s eye, he was consumed by the need to blame someone. And if it wasn’t Pernilla’s fault, then whose fault was it?

The gnawing doubt just wouldn’t go away. He couldn’t stop wondering what would have happened if Pernilla had woken up that night. She was breastfeeding, after all. Shouldn’t she have known instinctively that something was wrong? A part of him was aware that there was no logic to his reasoning, but he couldn’t get the thought out of his mind. Why had she slept on as her child died beside her?

That was the last time they talked about Emily. A few weeks later he had moved out. The divorce had gone through quickly.

Thomas got to his feet abruptly, running his hand over his forehead as if to erase the memories. What was the point of brooding about the past? He had gone over those final hours of Emily’s life so many times, and every time it was just as painful. He had to make a fresh start.

With a sigh he went over to the window and stretched to shake off the stiffness in his back. Through the window he could see one of the police launches setting off from the jetty at Nacka Strand. He caught himself wishing he were standing there at the wheel, with nothing to think about except patrolling the islands.

Then he looked away. He had a murder to investigate.

SUNDAY, THE THIRD WEEK

CHAPTER 20

When Thomas went out to Sandhamn on Sunday, he had a photograph of Kicki Berggren with him. They had found it in her apartment early that morning. It was the only useful thing he and Carina had found so far.

Kicki had lived close to her cousin, in a similar residential block in Bandhagen. Her three-room apartment wasn’t large, but it was well planned and considerably more homely than Krister’s. It consisted of a bedroom, a living room, and a small dining room.

One corner of the living room was occupied by the computer and TV; there was also a sofa and a coffee table with piles of celebrity magazines all over the place. Thomas recognized pictures of everyone from the royal family to the Beckhams. The bookcase was from IKEA; he had the same one, but in a different color. Just like Krister’s apartment, it was filled with magazines and DVDs, although there were a few books on the top shelf.

It was obvious that Kicki Berggren had been away. Her suitcase was still in the hallway, and a film of dust covered the furniture.