“I thought you’d brought guests home with you,” said Winter coming out of the kitchen with Elsa in his arms. “It sounded like the SWAT team busting through the door.”

“Hold on while I count to ten,” she said.

“Hard day at the office?”

“Only afterward,” she said. “I was stopped by one of your colleagues on the way home.”

“A roadblock?”

“No. Sheer harassment.”

Elsa was struggling in his arms, wanting both to greet Angela and to finish her evening meal.

“Just a minute,” said Winter, going back to the kitchen, sitting Elsa on her chair, and letting her continue eating. There was food all over the table.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” said Angela, who had come into the kitchen still wearing her overcoat.

She left the room.

Shortly afterward he heard her crying somewhere else in the apartment.

He picked up the telephone and called his sister.

“Hello, Lotta. Is Bim or Kristina at home this evening?”

“Bim’s here. What’s up?”

“Do you think she could babysit for us on extremely short notice?”

“There are bastards in every job,” said Winter.

“Somebody like that is not fit to be a police officer,” she said. “You can’t behave like that.” She was holding her wineglass in her hand.

“I can easily find out who it was,” he said.

She had seen the furrow between his eyes. He would be capable of doing something drastic. There was a dark streak inside him that could turn him into-anything at all. For one brief, horrific moment.

“And do what?” she asked.

“You’d rather not know,” he said, and took a sip of their Puligny-Montrachet.

“Let’s forget about it,” she said, taking a drink and looking out of the window. “We’re here now.” She looked at him and nodded her head toward the white functionalist building on the other side of Lasarettsgatan. “I like the curtains in my old place.” She looked at the balcony and the window beside it, up on the fifth floor. There was a light on.

There was a good view from the apartment, in all directions, from the top of Kungshöjd.

He nodded.

“I miss it, sometimes,” she said.

He nodded again.

“I was there for quite a few years,” she said.

“So was I,” he said.

“For you it was more like an overnight place,” she said with a smile. “Although you seldom stayed all night.”

“I miss the view,” he said.

“This place didn’t exist then,” she said, looking around the restaurant.

Bistro 1965 was new, and this was the second time they’d been there, and it wouldn’t be the last. Perhaps they would be the first regular customers.

Angela’s pilgrim mussels grilled with coriander came with pumpkin purée. After all, it had been Halloween not long ago, she’d thought as she ordered it. Winter’s slightly smoked goose fillet came with eggplant and vanilla oil.

“It’s good,” she said.

“Hmm.”

“Should we feel bad for leaving Elsa?” she said, taking a sip of water.

“We can take the menu with us and read it out loud to her tomorrow evening,” he said.

“I might want to read it myself,” she said, looking at the gastronomic glossary attached to the back of today’s menu. “Do you know what escalavida is, for instance?”

“It’s a purée made from paprika and onions and eggplant and lemon, among other things.”

“You’ve already read this.”

“Of course I haven’t.” He took a sip of wine and smiled.

“What’s gremolata?”

“That’s too easy.”

“Good Lord.” She looked up. “Get off your high horse.”

“Come on, give me a real challenge.”

“Confit?”

“Too easy.”

“Vierge?”

“Vierge?”

“Yes, vierge.”

He glanced down at the menu he had on his knee. “That’s not on the list.”

“Eh! I knew you were cheating.”

A car passed by in the street outside. The evening had cleared up. There were stars visible in the sky above Angela’s former home.

When he’d gone there for the first time, he’d been in uniform. It wasn’t while he was on duty. Are you mad? she’d asked him. The neighbors will think I’m a crook.

I forgot, he’d said.

How can you forget a thing like that? she’d asked.

“What are you smiling at?” she heard him say.

“That first time,” she said, nodding in the direction of the apartment building that was gleaming in the light from the streetlamps. A car was coming up the hill from Kungsgatan. “You came in uniform.”

They continued the conversation. It calmed them down. There’s always a feeling of absolute privacy when you’re sitting in a public place surrounded by strangers, Winter thought. A strange paradox.

He took a sip of wine. His glass now contained Fiefs de Lagrange, to accompany the rack of lamb with gremolata, ragout with lima beans, and artichokes, and this vierge that he hadn’t thought about when he ordered: a light sauce made of virgin olive oil, tomato, lamb stock, garlic, and herbs. He’d had a taste of Angela’s red wine risotto.

The waitress changed the candle. There were fewer people in the restaurant now. Winter’s mobile rang in the inside pocket of his jacket.

Elsa, Angela thought.

“Hello?” said Winter.

“It’s Bertil. Sorry to disturb you.”

16

WINTER COULD SEE THE BOY THROUGH THE DOOR. HE WAS ASLEEP. Or more likely mercifully anesthetized. Angela was standing beside Winter. They’d taken a taxi from the bistro. I want to be there this time, she’d said. You shouldn’t have to face everything on your own. Besides, it’s my workplace. Even my ward. And Elsa’s asleep.

“He could have frozen to death,” said Ringmar, who was standing on the other side of Winter.

“That, or some other awful fate,” said Winter. He’d read the reports, not that there were many of them so far. One by the hospital doctors, and one by Pia Fröberg, the pathologist.

“When did the call go out?” Winter asked.

“It couldn’t have been long after he disappeared,” said Ringmar.

“When was that? When did he disappear?”

“Just after four.” He checked his notes. “About a quarter past four. But that timing hasn’t been confirmed.”

“Is that information from the nursery-school staff?”

“Yes.”

“What exactly happened? What did they do? What did he do?”

“Nobody can say for sure.”

“So he was wandering around on his own?”

Ringmar didn’t respond.

“Is that what he was doing?”

“I don’t know, Erik. I haven’t interrogated the-”

“OK, OK. Anybody determined to kidnap a child can do it, no matter what.”

Angela gave a start.

There was a woman dressed in white sitting beside the boy. Machines were humming away. Sounds that didn’t sound natural. Lights that were anything but pretty.

“Let’s go to that other room,” said Winter.

A room had been set aside for them.

“Where are the parents?” Winter asked as they walked down the corridor.

“With one of the doctors.”

“I expect they’ll be staying overnight?”

“Of course.”

“I’m going home now,” said Angela.

They embraced, and Winter kissed her. He looked Ringmar in the eye over Angela’s shoulder. Ringmar’s face looked hollow.

The room was as bare as the trees outside the window and the streets below. Winter leaned against the wall in a corner of the room. The three glasses of wine he’d drunk had given him a headache that he was now trying to rub away from his forehead with his left hand. A radio in the distance was playing rock music. He could just about hear it.

Touch me, he thought he heard. And something that sounded like take me to that other place. But there was no other place. It was here, everything was here. He didn’t recognize the tape. Halders would have recognized it immediately, as would Bergenhem. And Macdonald. When was Steve supposed to be visiting them? Take me to that other place. Reach me. It’s a beautiful day.