“Yes to what?” Ringmar wondered.

“His name is Georg.”

“The foster son, Mats. He might have stolen the branding iron from Carlström and used it. We know that he was there.”

“Carlström might have done it himself,” Winter had said. “He’s not a cripple.”

“But why?”

“The big question.”

“We always come up against the Big Question,” said Ringmar. “We’ll have to have a word with him tomorrow.”

“Carlström?”

“Jerner. The foster son.”

“Assuming he’s at home,” Winter said.

He’d looked up the name and address in the telephone directory and called the moment they’d gotten back home, but there was no reply. As they’d driven home from the flats they’d talked about calling HQ and asking them to send out a car to take a look, but it was too soon. And what was the point? If they really were onto something, doing that could cause problems for the investigation. Better to pace themselves.

“The woman,” Ringmar said. “Gerd. Smedsberg’s wife. What happened to her?”

“How deep should we dig out there in the flats, Bertil?”

“We might have to dig as deep down as it goes,” said Ringmar.

“It might be a bottomless pit,” said Winter. “Should we call it a day, Bertil? It will be a long day tomorrow.”

“We haven’t talked about the most important thing,” said Ringmar. “We haven’t gone through it again.”

“I’ll talk to Maja Bergort tomorrow morning,” Winter said. “And the Waggoner boy.”

“I’ll listen to the tapes as soon as possible.”

“I want to go through them again too.”

“They are still around,” Ringmar said.

“Aneta will try again with the Skarin boy. And the Sköld girl. Ellen.”

“The absent father,” said Ringmar.

“There are lots of them to choose from,” said Winter.

“What do you mean by that?”

“There are lots of them we can interview, suspect, investigate.”

“That wasn’t the only thing you were thinking about, Erik.”

“No. I was thinking of myself as well.”

“You were thinking about me.”

“I was thinking about me, and about you too.”

He was staring at the screen, which was the only source of light in the room, apart from the standing lamp by the leather armchair next to the balcony door. He checked his watch. Two o’clock.

Paul Simon was singing something that he didn’t catch, but it was beautiful.

He reached for the telephone and dialed the number.

His mother sounded like a jazz singer after two in the morning when she eventually answered.

“Hel… hello?”

“Hello, Mother. It’s Erik.”

“Er… Erik. Did something happen?”

“No. But I’d like to speak to Angela.”

“She’s asleep. Upstairs. And Els-” He heard a voice in the background, then his mother’s voice again. “Well, you’ve woken her up, so here she is.”

“What’s the matter, Erik?” Angela asked.

“Nothing. I just wanted to call.”

“Where are you?”

“At home, of course.”

“What’s that noise I can hear?”

“It could be the computer, or it could be the Paul Simon CD you bought me.”

“I can hear it now. Hmmm.”

She sounded half asleep, a little hoarse, delightful. Her voice was on low frequency, as if partly in a dream.

“How’s it going down there?”

“Splendid. The sun’s shining, the stars are glittering.”

“What’s Elsa doing?”

“She tried to go swimming in the sea but thought it was too cold.”

“What else?”

“Playing on the lawn. And pointing at the snow on top of the mountain.”

“The White Mountain,” said Winter.

“She can say that in Spanish. If we stayed here for six months, she’d be bilingual.”

“That might not be a bad idea,” said Winter.

“And what would you be doing meanwhile?”

“I’d be there,” he said.

Six months in Spain. Or a full year. He could afford it.

Once this case was over. Who knows?

“It’s Christmas Eve tomorrow. Elsa doesn’t talk about anything else.

Feliz Navidad.”

“Today.”

“Hmm. Did you call to remind me of that?”

“No.”

“Do you still plan on coming on Boxing Day?”

“Yes.”

“Siv couldn’t believe it. That you didn’t come with us, I mean.”

“She’ll have to make up for that.”

“She? She doesn’t need to make up for anything.”

“No.”

“You sound absolutely worn out, Erik.”

“Yes.”

“Will you be able to make progress tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“Steer clear of the whiskey tonight.”

“We hid the bottle the moment we came through the door.”

“Ha ha.” Then he heard her take a deep breath. “We?”

“Bertil. He’s spending the night here.”

“Why?”

“He needs to.”

“What does Birgitta have to say about that?”

“She doesn’t know about it,” said Winter.

“What’s going on, Erik?”

He tried to explain what was going on. That was why he’d called, one of the two main reasons. He felt he simply had to talk to someone else about the situation.

“Good God,” she said. “Bertil?”

“You don’t have to believe it,” said Winter.

“Is that what Bertil says?”

“Of course he says he’s innocent.”

“Good God,” she said again.

“Birgitta rang from-from wherever she is. She didn’t want to say where. And Martin was there too. And Moa. She’s the daught-”

“I know who she is,” said Angela. “What are they up to? Figuring out how to trample all over Bertil?”

“I think they’re trying to work out what Bertil’s son’s problem is.”

“Is this the first time he’s said anything? Martin, I mean.”

“Evidently.”

“So what did he say?”

“Well, Birgitta was a bit, er, vague about that. Something about… abuse. I don’t know what. When he was a little boy.”

“For God’s sake. Bertil. It doesn’t make sense.”

“No,” said Winter.

“So why did he say that? Martin?”

“I’m not a psychologist,” said Winter. “But my guess is that it has something to do with the company the kid keeps. All that brooding. He’s evidently gotten mixed up with some damn sect or other since he ran off.”

“But there must be some reason he ran away in the first place?” said Angela.

“Presumably. But it might only exist in his own head.”

“How’s Bertil taking this?”

“Hmm. What can I say? He’s trying to fulfill his work commitment. As best he can.”

“Will it come to… an official complaint to the police?”

“I don’t know,” said Winter. “But if it does I want to be a thousand miles away from here.”

“Five hundred will do,” she said. “On the Costa del Sol.”

“I don’t want to be there for a reason like that.”

“Do you want to be there at all?”

“Come on, Angela. You know why I’m still here in Gothenburg. I’ll come down there as soon as I can, obviously. If not sooner.”

“OK. Sorry, Erik. What are you going to do now?”

“Try to get an hour or two’s sleep. I’ve stopped thinking. Switched off.”

“Have you found your Christmas presents yet?”

“I’ll start looking tomorrow morning.”

He was flying over the plain on the back of a bird that kept repeating his name, and then a four-word sentence: Klara want a cookie, Klara want a cookie, Klara want a c-Hush, I can’t hear what the children are thinking, what the children are thinking down below. Four young men were wandering over the plain, one of them smiled. His face was black. A tractor was crossing the field, Winter could see the dust rising up into the sky. Ringmar was chasing one of the boys. Lies! Ringmar yelled. Lies! Lies! Winter was in town. Christmas everywhere, packages, shops, a square. It was indoors. A man passed by with a stroller. The man was wearing a checked cap. He turned around toward Winter. You are not listening! You are not looking! You have stopped but you don’t see. Don’t see. Now he was playing the guitar. Winter followed him. The stroller had gone, flown up into the air. There was a sun in the sky, and stars. He was standing up there on the earth, looking down at heaven. It was night and day. Up was down. The cap came past again with the stroller. There were feet in the stroller that didn’t move. Small feet, motionless. The cap rang a bell, shook it upward, downward, riiiiiiiiiiiiiiing, riiiiiing.