Some of them died. The ones who lived never forgot it. God, he had met victims who had become adults, but the damage was still present, always there in their eyes, their voices.

In their actions. Sometimes there was a pattern that carried on, a terrible inheritance that wasn’t really an inheritance but something much worse.

“I mean here in Gothenburg,” said Paul. “That children can be abducted by somebody just like that, and abused, and dum… dumped, and maybe… maybe…” He couldn’t bring himself to go on. His face had collapsed a little bit more.

“No,” said Winter. “It’s not common.”

“Has it happened?”

“No. Not like this.”

“What do you mean? Not like this?”

Winter looked at him.

“I don’t really know what I mean,” he said. “Not yet. First we need to learn more about what actually happened.”

“Some unknown madman kidnapped our son when he was at a playground with his day care people,” said Paul Waggoner. “That’s what happened.” He looked at Winter, but there was more resignation than aggression in his eyes. “That’s what actually happened. And I asked you if anything like that had actually happened before.”

“I’ll know more about all this soon,” said Winter.

“If it’s happened before it can happen again,” said Waggoner.

“

Isn’t it enough for you to know that it’s happened, Paul?” said his wife, getting to her feet and walking over to them and putting her arm around her husband’s shoulders. “It’s happened to us, Paul. It’s happened to Simon. Isn’t that enough for you? Can’t we… can’t we concentrate on trying to help him? Can’t you understand? Can’t you just let the police do what they have to do while we do what we have to do? Paul? Do you understand what I’m saying?”

He nodded, abruptly. Perhaps he did understand. Winter heard Ringmar open the door behind him. Winter turned around. Ringmar shook his head.

“Did you find the watch?” asked Paul Waggoner.

“No,” said Ringmar.

Larissa Serimov adjusted the strap and felt the weight of her gun against her body. Or perhaps it was more the knowledge of what it could do that she felt. A SigSauer wasn’t heavy, anything of a similar weight could be forgotten about; but not a gun.

This early December day was mild, almost as if they were farther south. Signs of Christmas everywhere but a temperature of eleven degrees, maybe twelve. Brorsson was driving with his window more than half down.

“You’ll get a stiff neck,” she said.

“I only get that in summer,” he said. “For some reason.”

“I know the reason,” she said as they turned off toward the sea. She could hear seabirds through Brorsson’s open window.

“What?”

“You get a stiff neck in the summer because you drive with the window open,” she said, and saw the glint of water beyond the field that appeared to be almost as full of water as the sea.

“But it’s not summer now,” he said.

She laughed loudly.

“Although it’s pretty warm,” he said. “From a purely statistical point of view the average temperature today is high enough for it to count as summer.”

“In that case it must be summer, Billy,” she said.

“Yes, you’re right,” he said, turning to look at her.

“And so it follows that you’ll soon get a stiff neck,” she said, looking out at the rocks and the sea, both of which were totally motionless.

Brorsson rolled the window up.

“Straight ahead,” she said at the roundabout.

They drove to a turning space and parked, and stepped out of the car. The modern terraced houses on the right were built-in steps, like some of the rocks. There were hills behind them. The bay was open here, and the ocean lay in wait beyond the archipelago. There were sailboats still moored to jetties as if to confirm what Brorsson had just said: Summer had refused to die this year. No snow this year, and Larissa Serimov liked snow. Snow on the ground and snow on the ice. That’s my heritage. A white soul in a white body.

“It’s open,” said Brorsson.

They could see the interior of the restaurant through the glass doors. It looked inviting. The horizon appeared to cut right through the building, making it seem like a tower, or a lighthouse. The placidity of the coast this newly born December felt as restful as it was. But not for them.

“We just had lunch,” she said. “Have you forgotten?”

“Yes, I know, but I thought we could get the customers to blow into the bag when they come out.” She noticed his eyes, apathetic and exhilarated at the same time. “I need to book a few more drunks before Christmas.” He looked at her. “The statistics are important as far as I’m concerned.”

“So I’ve gathered.”

“What do you say, then?” he said, checking his watch.

“Can’t you leave poor people alone just for once?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like that poor woman yesterday afternoon in Linnégatan. We wouldn’t have needed to be there at all if it hadn’t been for your statistics.”

“She didn’t stop,” he said.

“She tried to let you pass.”

“She was lucky she got away with it,” he said.

“Got away with what?” asked Serimov.

He didn’t answer.

“Got away with what?” she asked again.

“Arrogant bitches,” he said.

“You have a problem, Billy,” she said.

“So, should we wait here for a while and see what we can do?” he said.

“Certainly not. They live up there, and that’s where we’re going,” she said, pointing.

“In that case there was no need for me to drive down here first,” he said.

“I wanted to see the sea,” she said.

“The sea, the sea! I could kiss the sea!” he said.

Kiss my ass, she thought: She was good at swearing. She had a Russian background, after all. The Russian language is world champion when it comes to swear words. In Sweden people call them “rude words,” but a lot of the Russian swear words are beautiful, she thought, gazing out to sea again.

They got back into the car and drove up the steeply sloping streets.

“Here we are,” she said, and he pulled up.

“I’ll wait out here,” he said.

“Don’t harass the neighbors,” she said. She got out of the car and rang the doorbell.

Kristina Bergort answered after the second ring. Larissa could see Maja peeping out from behind her mother.

“Come in,” said Mrs. Bergort.

“I hope this isn’t too inconvenient for you,” Larissa said, aware of how silly it sounded. She had called in advance and Kristina Bergort had said that it was OK.

The girl was clinging to her mother.

“Magnus called to say that he couldn’t get away from work,” said Bergort.

You are the one I want to talk to anyway, Larissa thought, feeling awkward in the kitchen wearing her police uniform.

The girl looked at her belt and the gun sticking out like… like a… well, sticking out. Larissa realized that she hadn’t spoken to the girl yet.

“Hello, Maja,” she said.

The girl looked up, shyly, smiled quickly, and then looked down again.

“You can go back and play,” said her mother.

Maja turned around and Larissa could see a scratch on her upper arm, like a line of chalk. Larissa watched her walk away. She crossed over the threshold. Larissa was still watching. There was something odd. But what? There was something about the way she moved. What was it? Her leg? It was…

Maja was out of sight now.

“Is there something wrong with her leg?” Larissa asked.

“What? Her leg?”

“Maja’s leg. She seemed to be limping.”

“Limping? Maja? I haven’t noticed anything.” Kristina Bergort looked at her with an expression that could have been one of concern. “Surely I would have noticed?”

Larissa Serimov wondered what to say next. She ought to know. She knew why she’d come here.

“Would you like a cup of coffee?” asked Mrs. Bergort.