"No."

"I've become a philosopher now, too." He gave a laugh. "Private philosopher." He laughed again, shorter, drier. "Amateur philosopher."

He ought to be at home, Djanali thought. Why doesn't Winter take him off the case? Or Birgersson? It would cause less of an upset if Birgersson did it.

"I know you think I should be taking time off at home right now," Haiders said. "That's what you're thinking."

"Correct."

"I know you mean well, but you're wrong." He opened the car door. "There are lots of ways of dealing with sorrow." He put a foot into the road. "If I find the kids don't want to go to school any more, or develop other problems, I'll run a mile from all this. But not until then." He was outside in the street now, and bent down toward Djanali. "Are you coming or not?"

Lars-Olof and Ann Hansson were sitting at opposite ends of the sofa. Djanali and Halders were facing them, in armchairs. She looks shattered, thought Aneta, when Angelika's mother turned to stare out of the window, seemingly to study the various shades of green out there.

Lars-Olof Hansson stared down at the table.

Behind the couple was a sort of bookcase and a recently taken photo of Angelika. Her student cap was brilliant white, contrasting with her black skin. She' s even blacker than I am, thought Djanali.

Lars-Olof Hansson had noticed what Djanali was looking at, and turned to face her.

"That was taken just five or six weeks ago."

Djanali nodded.

"That's about the age she was when we adopted her," said her father. "Five or six weeks."

"Shut up!" shouted his wife, who left the room in a huff.

He's so full of sadness, Halders thought. There are so many ways of dealing with sorrow.

When he spoke again, his voice sounded hollow. He looked at Djanali. "Were you born here?"

"I was, actually," Djanali said. "In East General Hospital. But my parents are from Africa."

"Where exactly?"

" Upper Volta. That's what it was called when they came here. It's called Burkina Faso now."

"Hmm." Hansson was staring down at the table, then he looked up at her. "Have you ever been there?"

"Yes."

"What was that like?"

"Well… I'd expected to feel more than I did." This interview is turning out a bit different from what I'd expected. But what the hell? "I'm glad I went, though."

"Angelika wanted to travel as well," said Lars-Olof Hansson, just as his wife re-entered the room.

"That's enough, Lasse." She gave him a look like nothing Djanali had ever seen. He suddenly looked completely helpless. Like a drowning man, she thought.

"To Uganda," he said. And that was all he was capable of saying about Angelika Hansson's origin, or Aneta Djanali's.

"We have a few problems figuring out how Angelika was making her way home that night," Halders said.

"What can I do about that?" Lars-Olof Hansson was standing now. leaning against the wall by the verandah door. "I've told you everything. Everything I know."

"Why was she alone in the middle of Gothenburg for several hours?"

"You are the ones who should be telling me that."

"Nobody we've spoken to was with her for nearly four hours that night. Or evening."

"I've told you everything I know," said Lars-Olof Hansson.

"But what was she doing?" asked Halders.

"I don't know, I've told you already."

"Did she have a job?"

"What do you mean, a job?"

"A job. A summer job." Halders persisted.

"She would have told us if she did."

"Did she ever go out on the town by herself?"

"Would that be so bizarre if she did?"

"Did she?"

"I didn't follow her."

Halders waited. He could tell there was more to come.

"She thought a lot about… about her origins," he said. "She became a little… confused, I guess you might say." He looked at his wife, but she didn't respond. "It seemed to get worse. Yes. I suppose she might have gone off and thought a lot about that. I don't know."

"Was she depressed?"

"I don't know." He thought about it. "I don't have a goddamn clue."

"What about boyfriends?" Djanali asked. Ann Hansson looked up. Djanali turned to face her. "You must have thought about that these last few days."

The woman nodded. Her face lost all vestige of character, just like that of her husband a few minutes before. Precisely the same kind of helplessness.

Djanali waited. She wanted to be able to offer her leads. Prompt her. But she didn't have any.

"There weren't any boyfriends," Ann Hansson said. "Not that we knew about, at least."

"Did you talk about it?" Djanali asked.

"Talk? Me and… Lasse?"

"You and Angelika."

"Well… what can I say… Of course we talked about it. But she didn't have a… steady relationship," said Ann Hansson, beginning to weep, silently, for the first time since they'd visited her. "This business of the pregnancy-it's absolutely incomprehensible. It's like… like a nightmare inside a nightmare."

"This is no nightmare," said her husband. "This is reality." He looked at his wife. "Come on, we've got to face it."

Bergenhem was in Winter's office. It was ten-thirty in the morning. The air conditioning was clattering away. Bergenhem was tanned after many hours spent on the sun-drenched cliffs to the northwest of Gothenburg. He looks stronger than he has for ages, Winter thought. Calmer.

"I suspect she did have a boyfriend," Bergenhem said. "I spoke to a friend of hers, Cecilia, who just got back from Paris yesterday, and she thought she'd seen Angelika with a guy. Several times." Bergenhem consulted his notebook, then looked up. "Twice, in fact. You've got the report, written up immediately after the interview."

"Just one guy, then."

"Yep. She'd seen Angelika and this guy twice: once at a café where they'd arranged to meet, and once when she passed them in a streetcar." Bergenhem looked up. "That time at the café the young man was on his way out, and she just said hi to him."

"She's only seen him those two times?"

"Yes."

"Never on his own? Or with anybody else?"

"It seems not."

"What had Angelika said about him?"

"They never discussed it."

"Hmm."

"She'd asked, of course, but Angelika kept quiet."

"In what way? Did she laugh it off? Or look worried or frightened or annoyed or disappointed-or what?"

"I don't know," Bergenhem said.

"Find out."

"Yes. Of course."

"And this friend of hers-she didn't recognize the guy at all?"

"No."

"Are you planning to question her again?"

"Later this morning. I just wanted to have a word with you first."

"OK. Bertil and you can talk to her." Bergenhem nodded.

"I want this guy tracked down, and soon," Winter said. "He's out there somewhere."

But they couldn't find him. They had several conversations with the girl but got no further, and it looked as if the only chance they had of finding the missing boy was if Angelika's friend Cecilia happened to see him again in town.

She had given them a description of him.

Another day passed. They had hoped to make a public appeal. But the information was so vague. They didn't have a face yet.

"If he's in the country he would have been in touch by now," Bertil Ringmar said at the morning meeting.

Winter's right-hand man, older than he was, was sitting on a chair at the edge of the group. There will be fewer and fewer of us for every week that passes, Winter thought, for every week with nothing to show, but we won't know for certain until we can come up with something resembling a key to it all.