“From Dad?” asked the girl.

“Yes,” said Djanali. This girl is bright, she thought.

“I got a doll called Victoria. And I got a car that the doll can ride in.” She gave Djanali a meaningful look. “ Victoria has a driver’s license. Really.” She looked at the door, next to the camera. “Mom doesn’t have a driver’s license.” She looked at Djanali. “Do you have a driver’s license?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t have a driver’s license.”

“It’s mostly grown-ups who have a driver’s license,” said Djanali.

The girl nodded. Djanali could picture her in a front seat with a grown-up who had a driver’s license. Did the girl have Victoria with her in the car? Did they have any information about that? Victoria wasn’t with her now. But if Victoria had in fact been in the car as well, she might have seen something Ellen hadn’t seen. Victoria had a driver’s license, after all.

“Do you like riding in cars, Ellen?”

Ellen shook her head and her expression seemed to tense-barely noticeable, but even so. I must check the recording afterward, Djanali thought.

“Do you and your mom have a car, Ellen?”

“No. My mom doesn’t have a driver’s license. I said that.”

“Yes, you did say that. I forgot. So in your house it’s only Victoria who has a car and a driver’s license, is that right?”

The girl nodded, up and down, up and down.

“Where’s Victoria now?”

“She’s sick,” said Ellen.

“Oh, dear.”

“Mom and me are going to buy some medicine for her.”

“What’s the matter with her?”

“I think she has a cold,” said Ellen, looking worried for a moment.

“Has the doctor taken a look at her?”

She nodded.

“Was it a nice doctor?” asked Djanali.

“It was me!” shouted Ellen, and giggled.

Djanali looked at her and nodded. She looked at the eye of the camera that might be seeing everything. She wondered how long Lena Sköld would be able to wait outside. Victoria had to have her medicine. Christmas would be here soon. It was the day before the day now. She hadn’t bought all her presents, nothing yet for Hannes and Magda, although she had bought two CDs for Fredrik, Richard Buckner and Kasey Chambers, because that’s what Fredrik had wanted, among other things. She had written a wish list herself. She would have a Christmas meal on Christmas Eve, Swedish style, with the Halders family, or what was left of it; she might even try the super-Nordic tradition of “dipping in the pot” (she’d never tried dipping bread into the stock from the Christmas ham before) and hoped to avoid having to listen to jokes from Fredrik apologizing for not having camel meat and tapioca pudding, today of all days. She would open presents piled under the Christmas tree.

She looked at the girl, who had left the armchair now. It was almost a miracle that she had sat on it for so long.

Would Dad come back to the Sköld family, or what was left of it?

“You told Mom that you went for a ride with a mister,” said Djanali.

“Not ride,” said Ellen.

“You didn’t ride in the mister’s car?”

“Didn’t ride,” said Ellen. “Stood still.”

“The car stood still?”

She nodded.

“Where was the car?” asked Djanali.

“In the woods.”

“Was it a big forest?”

“No! At the playground!”

“So the woods were at the playground?”

“Yes.”

“Was Victoria with you when you sat in the car?”

Ellen nodded again.

“Did Victoria want to drive the car?”

“No, no.” Ellen burst out laughing. “The car was big!”

“Was the mister big as well?”

The girl nodded.

“Tell me how you met this mister!” said Djanali. Ellen was now standing next to the brightly colored armchair. A split had developed in the cloud cover that lay like paper over Gothenburg as it waited for Christmas to arrive, and the split let through a beam of sunshine that shone in through the window and onto the back of the armchair. Ellen shouted in delight and pointed at the sunlight that suddenly disappeared again as the clouds closed.

“Tell me about when you met the mister with the car,” said Djanali.

“He had candy,” said Ellen.

“Did he give you some candy?”

She nodded.

“Was it good?”

She nodded.

“What kind of candy was it?”

“Candy,” she said dismissively. Candy was candy.

“Did you eat all the candy?”

She nodded again. They had searched the place looking for candy wrappings, but had naturally realized before long that it was like looking for a needle in a haystack. This was a playground, a park, children, parents, candy…

“What did the mister say?”

Ellen had started to dance around the room, like a ballerina. She didn’t answer. It was a difficult question.

“What did the mister say when he gave you the candy?”

She looked up.

“ ‘You want a candy?’ ”

Djanali nodded, waited. Ellen performed a little pirouette.

“Did he ask you anything else?”

Ellen looked up again.

“Ca-ca-ca-ca,” she said.

Djanali waited.

“Swee-swee-swee-swee,” said Ellen.

Time for a break, Djanali thought. Past time, in fact. The girl is tired of all this. But Djanali had intended for Ellen to look at a few different men from around police headquarters-a twenty-year-old, a thirty-year-old, a forty-year-old, a fifty-year-old, and a sixty-year-old, and ask her to point out the one that looked most like the man in the car. If that was possible. This collection of Swedish manhood was so vain that the fifty-year-old wanted to be forty, and the forty-year-old would have looked devastated if she’d guessed his age correctly. Only the twenty-year-old and sixty-year-old were unconcerned. That must mean something. Perhaps for men most of all. Men were people too. She must try to remember that.

She’d also hoped that Ellen would be persuaded to draw something, including a car in some trees.

“Pa-pa-pa-pa-pa,” said Ellen now, and she danced around the room again.

“Do you mean your papa, your dad?”

The girl shook her head and said, “ Pa-pa-pa-pa!”

“Did the mister say that he was your dad?”

She shook her head again.

“We-we-we-we,” she said.

Djanali looked at the camera, as if seeking help.

“Why did you say that?” she asked.

The girl didn’t understand the question; or perhaps it was Djanali who didn’t understand if she’d understood.

“Co-co-co-co,” said Ellen.

Djanali said nothing. She tried to think.

“Had a radio,” said the girl now. She’d moved closer to Djanali.

“This man had a radio?”

Ellen nodded.

“Did he have a radio in the car?”

Ellen nodded again.

“Was the radio on?”

Ellen nodded again.

“Was the radio playing a song?”

Ellen didn’t answer.

“Was there somebody singing on the radio?” Djanali asked.

“The mister said bad words,” said Ellen. By now she was standing next to Djanali, who was sitting on the floor that was colder than it looked.

“Did the man in the car say bad words to you?”

Ellen shook her head. But her expression was serious.

“Who said bad words?” Djanali asked.

“The radio,” said Ellen.

“The radio said bad words?”

Ellen nodded, solemnly.

“Did a mister on the radio say bad words?”

Ellen nodded again. That’s not allowed.

A man on the radio says bad words, Djanali thought. It’s afternoon. Somebody is sitting in the studio and swearing. Does that happen every day? Can we trace the program? And what do children think is a bad word? Often the same ones as we do. But children are so much better at picking up on them. But I won’t ask her now what the words were.

“I held my hands over Victoria ’s ears,” said Ellen.

“So Victoria didn’t hear anything?” asked Djanali.

Ellen shook her head.

“Has she said anything about it to you?”

She shook her head again, more firmly this time.

Djanali nodded.