Ellen disappeared into a room beyond the kitchen.

“He’s not in the bedroom,” she said when she came back. “He must be at the bar. That’s where he usually is if he’s not at home. Have you tried his phone?”

“I don’t have the number, but if you could give it to me, that would be great.” Thomas took out his notebook to write down the number. “Have you spoken to him today?”

“No. He hasn’t been very well, so I didn’t want to disturb him.”

It was obvious that Ellen was uncomfortable; she spoke slowly and avoided looking him in the eye.

“What do you mean by ‘not very well’?”

Ellen looked unhappy. She tightened the belt on her robe and pushed her hands into her pockets. She sounded embarrassed as she answered. “He’d been drinking the last time I came over.”

“When was that?”

“Saturday.”

“What time?”

“I can’t remember exactly. In the middle of the day, I think. Around twelve.”

“And he was drunk?”

“Yes, but not very drunk. He’d had a few beers.” Ellen pursed her lips. “I know what men look like when they’ve had a few.”

“Does Jonny have a girlfriend?”

“Not as far as I know. He’s never been that popular with women. He’s shy, just like his dad.” She hesitated. “But he’s kind, very kind. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

Thomas glanced at the coat hooks in the hall, where a white denim jacket adorned with sparkling studs hung alongside the wet-weather clothing.

“Is that yours?” he asked, against his better judgment.

“No,” Ellen said. “It’s not exactly suitable for someone my age, is it?”

“Do you know whose it is?”

“I’ve never seen it before.”

Thomas took down the jacket and carefully checked the pockets. In his mind’s eye he could see Kicki Berggren when he went down to reception in the police station to meet her. She had been wearing an identical jacket. It couldn’t be a coincidence.

In one pocket he found a half-empty packet of Princes. The same brand Kicki had had in her handbag, the same brand she had fiddled with throughout their interview. In the breast pocket there was a comb with several long blond strands of hair; more than enough for DNA analysis.

He moved toward the front door, then changed his mind and went back into the sitting room. Something had caught his attention. He looked over the walls. He stared at the sofa, the TV, the stereo.

Then he realized what it was.

There was a radiator under the window, the same kind of ugly gray radiator found in thousands of Swedish homes. Rectangular, with a valve at the bottom to regulate the heat. On one corner he could see something brownish and dried. It looked as if a strand of blond hair was stuck to the brown patch. It wasn’t a big mark, but it was definitely there.

He stopped himself from touching it. “Ellen, I need to bring in a forensics team to go over the house. You mustn’t come back in until they’ve finished.”

Ellen looked terrified. “What do you mean? Why would the police need to go over Jonny’s house?”

Thomas sympathized with her. Her arms were tightly crossed over her chest, as if to defend herself from something she didn’t want to hear. Her pale lips were barely visible as she clamped her mouth shut, trying to suppress her anxiety.

“I have another question,” Thomas said. “Have you or Jonny kept any of Georg’s nets?”

Ellen didn’t understand the question. “Nets?”

“Fishing nets, I mean, with needles marked GA? Have you kept any of those?”

“I suppose so,” Ellen said, “but I don’t remember how many. I’ll have to look in the boathouse.” Her hand flew to her mouth as she was struck by a sudden realization. “You don’t think Jonny had anything to do with the deaths of those two cousins, do you?”

“I’m not at liberty to say at the moment. We’ll have to wait and see. If Jonny comes home or calls you, please ask him to contact me immediately. It’s extremely important.”

He put his arm around her shoulders and guided her gently toward the door.

“I need you to give me your keys to this house. And the boathouse.”

Ellen’s hand was shaking as she passed over the keys.

She looked lonely and frightened. Thomas felt sorry for her, but there wasn’t much he could do. The most important thing was to get a team over as soon as possible, so they could find out if Kicki Berggren had been in Jonny’s house.

He was fairly sure the answer would be yes.

“Do you have any masking tape or something along those lines, so I can seal the door while I’m waiting for backup?”

Ellen nodded. “In the kitchen. My kitchen,” she said as she walked out.

Thomas accompanied her back to the big house. He waited in the hallway while she fetched the tape. Through the door of the sitting room, he could see a tall Mora clock in one corner. The furniture looked dark and old-fashioned.

Thomas yawned. He was exhausted after a long day’s work. The thought of traveling back to town first thing tomorrow morning wasn’t exactly appealing, but he would have to live with it.

“Go to bed, Ellen,” he said when she returned. “It’ll all work out, you’ll see.”

He went out and closed the door behind him, then took out his cell phone to call the station. With a bit of luck they might be able to send a team over right away by helicopter.

Perhaps it wouldn’t be such a late night, after all.

TUESDAY, THE THIRD WEEK

CHAPTER 27

Thomas stared at the preliminary autopsy report, which had been sent over to Nacka by the pathologist.

It described the body of a female, medium height, normal build, whose death had occurred sometime between five and ten on Saturday morning.

According to the report, the woman had received a blow to the right temple. This blow had resulted in internal bleeding around the temple and right eye, with some damage to the skin. The left-hand side of the back of the head had also sustained damage; it had been struck at an angle and from below the victim with considerable force. The attacker had used something hard and pointed. There was evidence of limited bleeding just behind the right ear. A major hemorrhage had occurred in the brain; this was likely the cause of death, but there had also been a number of hemorrhages in the chest cavity and stomach, as well as inside the mouth and pharynx. Traces of blood had been found in the intestines.

He continued reading the clinical text. It was hard to believe that it concerned a human being, a flesh-and-blood individual who had laughed and loved and appreciated life. If that had been the case, he thought, remembering her apartment in Bandhagen.

Samples of blood, urine, aqueous humor from the eye, and a liver biopsy had been taken and would be sent to the National Forensics Laboratory in Linköping as soon as possible, with a request for priority analysis.

He suddenly stopped reading.

The report stated that the cause of death could not be established beyond doubt. It had not been possible to ascertain what had caused the extensive internal bleeding.

Kicki Berggren had probably been killed by hemorrhage in her brain, caused by either the blow to her temple or the back of her head. But there was no explanation for her other internal bleeding. There had to be more to this.