"There were lots of people there, as you said yourself."

"They couldn't have been there," said Hansson.

"What do you mean?"

"They showed up… afterward." He looked at the photo again, then up at Winter, who could smell his sweat and the odor of fear and despair. "Don't you understand? They showed up later! They'd been sent to that goddamn party but nobody could see them!" He stared into Winter's eyes like a blind man. "Nobody saw them. Angelika didn't either. But they came with a message. A message from Hell!"

He continued staring right through Winter's head like a blind man.

"And they've gone back!" he shouted.

He needs counseling, thought Winter. Or he may be right, but in a way I don't understand.

Hansson's expression changed again. He shook his head and stared at the photograph in his hand. "You'll never find this group," he said.

"So you think they belong together? Like a… group?"

"It doesn't matter," said Hansson. "They don't exist."

Halders had chosen to play Led Zeppelin at the funeral, toward the end. Aneta Djanali recognized the tune, of course. It was something new for Winter, who was sitting in the third row with Angela and Elsa. The music sounded big in the little church.

Hanne Ostergaard conducted the service. She had been working part-time as a vicar for the police for several years. Somebody to talk to after disturbing experiences.

I must admit that she's been a rock since Margareta died, Halders thought.

"Led Zep was her favorite band," Halders had told Djanali an hour before the funeral. "She has memories associated with that tune, as I do." Then he'd said: "That's something we share. Memories." He'd looked at her. "Do you think it's inappropriate? The choice of music?"

"No. People often choose their own music at funerals nowadays."

"I haven't been to one in ages."

"Led Zeppelin is good," she said.

"It's only a song, anyway."

Halders stood beside his children as the soil was scattered over the coffin. No cremation. It was raining, but that would probably ease off during the day.

He spoke to people afterward, but didn't register what they said. The children stayed close to him.

"Is Mommy in heaven now?" Magda asked.

"Yes," he said.

Magda looked up and the clouds seemed to part in all directions. There was blue in the middle.

"Look, a hole!" she shouted, pointing upward. "Mommy can pass through that hole!"

He tried to look at the sky, but all he could see through the tears was a blur.

"Can you see the hole in the sky, Hannes?" Magda turned to look at her brother.

"There's no hole," he said. "It's just space." He looked down at the ground, which was wet.

"Oh, yes there is," she said, taking down her hand and grasping her father's hand tightly. "Oh, yes there is."

They were driving to the rocks south of Gothenburg. It was twice as hot now, after the rainy days. Angela was driving. Elsa was in the car seat in the front. Winter was in the back, looking out over the fields glistening in the sunshine. He asked Angela to turn off the air conditioning and rolled down the window, so that he could appreciate the smells.

They parked the car. He carried Elsa on his shoulders as they walked over the field. They paused to look at a foal resting in the grass. The mother was standing by its side, nuzzling her offspring.

There was nobody else in their little inlet. Winter changed quickly, walked down to the water's edge with Elsa, and kept dipping her into the sea. Angela took over, and he swam out. It was calm. He lay on his back and watched Angela and Elsa on their blanket on the rocks.

The oppressive feeling he'd experienced earlier sunk down through his body and under the surface of the water. There was not much of it left when he turned over and swam even farther out. He lay on his back again, and gazed at his family, who had become smaller.

Halders had looked as if he were sinking after the funeral. Winter didn't know when he'd come back to work. Tomorrow, or never. Impossible to say.

During the funeral Winter had felt like stone. It had been hard to raise his heavy body from the pew. Earlier memories came back to him, from recently, when Angela had been so close… when Elsa… when what was Elsa… when he'd stood outside that door as if frozen fast to the floor, as heavy as stone. He'd felt his own life falling, faster and faster, down into the bottomless depths.

He closed his eyes and felt the sun on his face. A boat passed by, a hundred meters out into the creek, but he kept his eyes closed. Gulls cried. A voice came floating over the water. There was a smell of gas, wafted toward him from the boat by the slight breeze.

"You almost turned into a dinghy out there," said Angela when he walked up, wetter than he'd ever been. "Firmly moored."

"I didn't know I was that good at floating."

"I know the reason," she said, poking him in the stomach, which was just a little bit rounded. He couldn't see any sign of a potbelly when he looked down. Elsa poked him as well, several times. She almost hurt him.

"All that needs is just one fifteen-k jog," he said. "Come to think of it, I could run back home." He had his sneakers in the trunk. It was a lot more than fifteen kilometers to the center of town. Perhaps too much more? No.

"Do you dare eat that?" she said, nodding in the direction of the baguette with chicken salad he had just picked up.

"Yes," he said, and Angela suddenly burst into tears. She wiped her eyes. Winter put down his sandwich and leaned over the blanket to hug her. Then Elsa started crying. He included her in his embrace as well.

Elsa tunneled between them and crept out. Angela wiped her face again and gazed out into the bay, where boats of various sizes were sailing.

"I was so sad when I saw Fredrik and the children," she said.

"Yes. I took it pretty hard too."

"I hope it turns out alright."

"He's going to try to keep going." Winter fumbled for his packet of cigarillos. "He doesn't want to take time off. Not much, at least."

"I hope it turns out alright," Angelika said again.

They drove home as dusk started to fall, when the red of the traffic lights mixed with the red glow of the sunset. No running home this time. Elsa was asleep in her seat. Her head was to one side, and a stream of dribble hung down from her mouth and onto her sweater. Angela drove fast and well, better than he did. He relaxed into his seat. His body was warm from the sun and salt, dry, his skin stiff in a pleasant way.

It was quiet in Vasastan, but not deserted. There were lots of people sitting at the sidewalk cafes.

Angela parked in the basement garage. Elsa was still asleep when they put her into her stroller.

"Let's have a beer," Winter said.

They sat in the nearest sidewalk café with an empty table and ordered two glasses of draft beer. There was a smell of cooking, and of heat from the day wafting along between the high stone buildings.

"Are you hungry?" he asked.

Angela shook her head.

"Well, I am," he said, and ordered a grilled salmon steak. Angela changed her mind. The food was served, they ate, and Elsa slept in her stroller next to the table. There were several parents there with children asleep in their carriages. Three teenage girls walked by and started laughing when one of them said something into her mobile telephone; Winter thought of his three girls, at that very moment, and for the first time that's exactly how he thought of them, his three girls, and he pushed his plate away and ordered another beer when the waiter came by; he glanced at Angela, but she didn't want any more.