Winter took out the photos taken at the graduation party and laid them on his desk, which was only just big enough.

It was the same occasion. Possibly also the same time. But a different angle. Whereas Lars-Olof Hansson had taken his pictures from straight in front of his daughter, Cecilia had taken them from the side. From Lars-Olof Hansson's left.

There were several people in the way.

He couldn't see the boy, nor the man who might have been the boy's father. Nor could he see the man with the beard and glasses.

But he could see the woman. The woman who was on her way out of the picture. Winter produced Hansson's photo and looked at the woman standing on the left of the frame, then at Cecilia's picture, and there she was, taken from the front. As if she'd left one photograph and walked into the other.

He showed Cecilia. "There's the woman, in your picture."

"God, you're right. I don't remember her. Not taking a picture of her." She looked at Angelika's pictures, and then at her own. Winter and Bergen hem waited. She looked up. "But… shouldn't we be able to see at least a little bit of… the others, in my photos as well?"

"If the pictures were taken at the same time," Winter said.

"But she's in the shot. So it must be the same time. The same minute, surely?"

Winter said nothing.

"This is spooky," said Cecilia. "It's like… ghosts."

They showed up later!

"But the boy's real," said Winter. "You've seen him in town twice, with Angelika."

"But not here. Why didn't I notice him here?"

Winter didn't reply, neither did Bergenhem. There was no answer they could give at the moment. Winter felt his flesh creep again.

"There's something else I want to show you," he said.

Cecilia looked hard at the brick wall.

"No, I don't recognize the place."

"Take your time."

"That wall's quite unusual. I think I would've noticed if it was in a bar I'd been to."

"But you recognize her?"

"Are you kidding? That's Angelika."

"Do you recognize anything she's wearing?"

Cecilia studied the picture of her friend.

"Those are winter clothes," she said. "I mean, she's wearing the kind of clothes you wear indoors in winter."

Winter nodded.

"I think I bought her that cardigan last year."

"When exactly?"

"Last winter."

"When, exactly?"

"I think it was after New Year's. Yes. After New Year's."

"This year, in other words?"

"Eh? Yes, it must have been."

Bergenhem was making notes.

"How often did you go out together?" Winter asked. "You and Angelika?"

"Quite a lot."

"What does that mean? In terms of frequency."

"I don't kn… Why are you asking me that?"

"How close were you?"

She paused to think before answering. She looked again at the picture of Angelika at the table in front of the brick wall.

"Angelika was kind of… private that way. She never said very much about what she was up to… on her own."

Winter waited.

"Like with that guy. She just refused to talk about it."

"What about this place?" Winter gestured toward the photo she was still holding.

"I don't know." She looked at Winter. "I mean, if she went somewhere when I wasn't with her she's hardly likely to come and describe the decor to me afterward! It doesn't have to be a secret just because she didn't tell me about it."

"Who said anything about it being a secret?"

"It seems like that. Like all this is about secrets."

"But isn't it normal to talk to your friends about places you've been to?"

"I suppose so… Yes."

"Why didn't she say anything about this place, then?"

"Well, she might have," said Cecilia. "That's what I mean. She wouldn't necessarily say there was a brick wall there, though, or anything like that." She looked at the picture again. "Who knows, I might have been there myself. Maybe in a different room."

"Would you be able to make a list of all the places in Gothenburg you and Angelika went to, and others that you knew about?"

"All you need to do is read the Gothenburg Entertainment Guide."

"Did you go out that much?"

"No, no. But all the places we went to would be in there."

"So you should be able to point them out for us now then."

Bergenhem had left. Winter reached for his pack of Corps on the shelf next to the sink, and found that it was empty. He needed a smoke. An excellent excuse to leave, buy some more, and then go home before Elsa went to bed.

It was a pleasant evening. He walked by the water. There wasn't much traffic near the railway station. A lot of people were sitting outside Eggers Hotel. A group with suitcases came out of the hotel and walked toward the station. Winter thought he could see the envy in their eyes as they glanced furtively at the sidewalk café. Traveling on a night like this when they could be sitting out there. He waved to some colleagues who were getting into a police van outside Femman shopping mall. They drove off, with a flash of the headlights.

Gone. He had some of the photographs in his inside pocket, and pictured them in his mind's eye, saw the faces of the four people that nobody had recognized, who were there but not there. Gone. Except the woman. She had been there in both versions.

The boy had been there, at least in Angelika's pictures. They'd made an appeal for him to come forward immediately after they'd first spoken to Cecilia. But now they had a picture of him; his face would soon be displayed everywhere. Bergenhem had gone to take care of that.

Winter walked across Brunnsparken and came to his tobacconist's in the Arcade.

"I'm sorry," the woman in the shop said. "I warned you, but I didn't know myself that the time had come."

"The time had come?"

"They're not importing Corps any more. We can't get them at all."

"What!" Winter felt his mouth go dry. A tingling in his chin. He swallowed. He felt bad. "You can't get them at all?"

"I was just about to put aside the last pack yesterday, but a customer came in, and, as I had it in my hand, I couldn't exactly say 1 didn't have any and hide it under the counter for you."

"I suppose not."

"Well, I couldn't, could I?"

"No, of course not." said Winter. "Thanks for the thought, anyway."

"You could take it up with Swedish Match."

Winter tried to smile.

"I called the other tobacconists in town, but nobody has any left," she said. "Haven't had any for ages, they said. We were the only ones still selling them, and you were the only customer who still asked for them. Aside from that man yesterday."

Another victim, Winter thought. He felt he'd been taken by surprise, or something more. Don't panic.

He'd been thinking about giving it up. This was his opportunity. Divine intervention. A favor. Fate had done him a favor. The tobacco distributor. Everybody was working together to safeguard his health. His family needed him, his child needed him. Now was the moment to choose a life free of poison.

He suddenly felt desperate for a smoke, absolutely desperate.

"There are other brands, you know, Inspector," said the woman, turning to the well-stocked shelves behind her.

"I've been smoking Corps for fifteen years," said Winter. "No other brand." He hoped he didn't sound like he was about to burst into tears.

"But there are others."

"Not for me," said Winter, and bade her farewell. Now he needed to concentrate on getting home in one piece and discussing with Angela what to do next. She was a doctor. He needed some of those nicotine patches. Nicotine gum. Morphine.