"I don't mind staying."

"I'll manage."

"I know that."

"So, why not go home and rest? You're on duty tomorrow morning, aren't you?"

He couldn't see if she'd nodded.

"Will you have to get up early?" he asked.

"Yes. But I've never needed much sleep."

"Me neither." He emptied the bottle and put it down on the table. "In that case, we can sit here a little bit longer."

"Yes."

She saw that he'd put a hand over his face. She heard a muffled sound. She went and sat on the bench beside him, and she put her arm around him, or as far around as she could. He was shaking ever so slightly.

"I need to work."

They were still sitting on the bench. It was morning now, a few minutes past three. The light had come back. The shadows in Halders's face were like bays of a sea, formed in the last few hours. Djanali could hear the shrieks of seagulls. A car passed by on the road behind the hedge. Some small birds flew up out of a bush, perhaps disturbed by the car. She didn't feel tired. That would come later, that afternoon, in the car patrolling up and down in the heat.

"Do you understand what I mean?" Halders turned to look at her. A blood vessel had burst in his left eye. "It's not because I want… to get away. Not in that sense." He rubbed his face, under the base of his nose. But I think it's best… for everybody… if I go to work."

"If you feel up to it, OK."

"Why shouldn't I feel up to it?

She shrugged.

"Do you think I don't understand myself?"

"No."

"Do you think I'm not taking the children into consideration?"

"Certainly not."

Halders stroked his face again. He could hear the rasping from his stubble, which now seemed longer and thicker than his crew cut.

"We have to get back to normal just as soon as possible," he said, looking as if he were seeking support in the far distance. "The important thing is that we all try to get back to normal as soon as we possibly can."

But first have a breakdown, thought Aneta Djanali. It's imminent.

Winter was still searching through the two sets of case notes, one thick, the other thin.

He'd asked Bergenhem to read them as well. Lars Bergenhem was a young and talented detective who'd just come back to work after being off sick with severe headaches and listlessness, but Winter knew what was really wrong. Even police officers were affected by depression at times.

I sometimes wonder if I am at risk myself. It could be the heat, or this case that is so difficult to wash off with a dip in the sea after work.

They drove to the park. The air conditioning was on in Winter's Mercedes. The streets were almost deserted.

"I sometimes come here," Winter said when they'd walked to the spot. The trees were still. You could hardly see the rock. The area was still cordoned off. Anybody who didn't look closely might think there was some new gardening project underway, thought Bergenhem. There is a new project, but not of that kind.

He could see children swimming in the pond. The flamingos were standing on one leg, studying the splashing.

"I've come here several times over the past few years," Winter said. He looked around. "Do you understand what I mean?"

"Yes."

"What do I mean?"

"They always return to the scene of the crime."

Winter nodded, and watched two young girls walk past, who glanced at him and Bergenhem as they stood in front of the police tape.

"He's been here at least as many times as I have," said Winter. "That's the way it goes. He's been here alright."

"Maybe at the same time," Bergenhem said.

"No." Winter looked at his colleague. "I would have known."

All we can do is keep at it, he thought. That's the way it goes.

He'd been here spring, summer, autumn, and winter after the murder of Beatrice Wägner. Not every day, of course, but he made it his business to pass here on weekends and in the evening, sometimes at night.

Late one evening he'd seen a shadowy figure standing by the rock and had gone to investigate, his heart beating a bit faster, and found himself face-to-face with Birgersson when the shadow turned around.

And he knew that Halders sometimes came here too.

He didn't think they'd scared anybody off. They didn't walk into the park hips swinging, with guns drawn, silhouetted against the sunset.

"The girl's our best bet," Bergenhem said. "Jeanette. The one who got away."

"Maybe that was the intention," said Winter.

"What do you mean? That she got away?"

Winter shrugged. "Could be."

"If it is him, she's seen him, touched him. Heard him."

"Yes."

"Those sounds. Some sort of mantra."

"Hmm."

"She said he repeated something she couldn't understand. The same thing. She thought he'd said the same thing maybe three times."

"Yes."

"While he was raping her."

'Yes," said Winter, watching the two girls who'd passed a couple of minutes before walking back again, each holding an ice cream cone. They looked curiously at the tape. "While he was raping her."

"Maybe there's more," Bergenhem said.

Winter looked at the girls. An ice cream was just the thing. In weather like this, what you needed was ice cream and a cold drink.

"Maybe she'll remember a lot more now," said Bergenhem.

"I'm seeing her tomorrow," said Winter. "Ten o'clock."

Bergenhem went up to the trees and peered inside. When he spoke again his voice was muffled by the enclosed space.

"How far do you think he had to drag them?" Bergenhem said.

"Ten meters," Winter said.

"Were there drag marks after Beatrice Wägner as well?"

"Yes."

"What about Jeanette? Was she also dragged in there?"

"We'll talk about that tomorrow. So far all she's said is that she can't remember. She fainted."

Winter looked over his shoulder, and saw that the girls had left.

"How about an ice cream?"

Bergenhem emerged from the copse.

"OK."

They walked around the pond to the ice cream stand. The noise from the children swimming was not as loud here. A couple about the same age as Winter whizzed past on Rollerblades. A man was selling balloons in the middle of the lawn. Three people were lining up at the stand.

"This is on me," said Winter.

They walked back with their cones. The ice cream started to melt.

"We should have gotten cups instead," said Bergenhem.

They sat down on the grass. It smelled dry and brittle. There were patches of yellow in the light green.

"Why did he try to strangle Jeanette?" said Winter after a while.

"What do you mean?" Bergenhem asked.

"She wasn't wearing a belt that he could use… as he did with the other two, Beatrice and Angelika, but even so he'd had something with him… a dog leash, perhaps. He had it with him but he didn't strangle her with it. He didn't kill her."

"You're assuming this same rapist also killed Beatrice and Angelika."

"Yes. I am. For the moment, at least." Winter could feel the cold ice cream on his fingers. It felt good.

"The same person," said Bergenhem. "Five years later."

"Yes."

"Did Angelika have a belt?"

"According to Beier she'd been wearing a belt with her shorts. I checked with her parents later, and that was correct." "But now it's gone." "Yes."

"Just as with Beatrice Wägner." "Precisely."

Anne had one last swim. Andy too. The rest of the crowd sang a song for sunset, or maybe it was about the sunset. She felt a bit dizzy after the two glasses of wine, and it was as if she became sharp and focused again thanks to the water, which felt cooler now than it had an hour ago, or maybe it was two.