"Of course," said Yngvesson dryly. "Hang on a minute and the computer will tell you its license plate number as well."

Yngvesson played the sequence one more time.

"There." He rewound, then played it again. "There. That's a sentence of some kind. Or a sequence of words, at least. Not just a mad burbling."

Winter could hear the burbling. It sounded worse every time he heard it. Like watching a snuff movie. People being killed for real. A snuff tape. A real murder.

"I'll crack this, by God, I will," said Yngvesson.

"Can you tell if he's young or old?" Winter asked.

"One thing at a time."

"But will it be possible?"

The technician shrugged, barely visibly, once again absorbed in his work.

Ringmar went to fetch some coffee. He muttered something as he headed for the half-open door.

"Come on, it's your turn," Winter shouted after him.

Ringmar came back, but had forgotten the milk. He had to go back again. Winter was at the window, smoking. Mercators weren't as good as Corps. You could import Corps yourself from Belgium. Maybe ask one of the thousands at EU headquarters who commute between Sweden and Brussels.

A canoe passed by on the river. Winter watched the ripples from the paddle-the only movement out there this afternoon. No cars, no streetcars, no airplanes, no pedestrians; no sound, no wind, no smell, nothing except the man paddling eastward with the sun like a spear in his back as rays found their way through the buildings at Drottningtorget.

"OK?" said Ringmar from behind him, putting the cup of coffee on Winter's desk.

"What do you say to putting a tail on Mr. Samic, the club and restaurant king?" asked Winter, without turning around. He took a last drag on his cigarillo before stubbing it in the ashtray on the window ledge.

"Why not?" said Ringmar. "If we're smart about it."

"I was thinking of Sara," Winter said.

Sara Helander. One of the new detectives, already an inspector and on her way to higher things. Relatively unknown about town. Good-looking, without being stunning. Nobody should look too stunning in this job, Winter thought. Except me. But that's in the past now.

He glanced down at his khaki shirt, shorts, and bare feet in deck shoes.

"Have you spoken to her?" Ringmar asked.

"Yes," said Winter, turning to face him. "She knows as much as the rest of us, and is up for doing it."

"When?"

"Starting now." Winter checked his watch. "Exactly now."

"Then why bother to ask me?"

Winter shrugged. Ringmar drank his coffee. "Is she on her own?" "So far. Then we'll have to see." "Put somebody else on it, Erik." "I don't have anybody else right now." "Find somebody else." "OK, OK."

"Which car are you giving her?" "Yours," said Winter.

Ringmar choked and spat out half a mouthful of coffee over Winter's desk, thankfully missing all the paper.

The shadows were long and stretched when he drove to the Bielkes'. The old houses were in the dark behind neatly trimmed hedges that held at bay the light trying to force its way into the gardens.

The big verandah was deserted. Winter parked close by it. The gravel crunched under his feet as he walked from the car to the steps.

Irma Bielke emerged from a door on the right before Winter got as far as the verandah. Just for a second he thought she looked very much like the girl in the photograph from Angelika's party. The same age. He looked again, but the similarity had gone.

She was fifty, but looked younger. He would've thought she was about his age.

He hadn't called in advance, just showed up.

"Jeanette's not at home," she said. "Neither is Kurt."

"I've come to chat with you, actually," Winter said.

"With me? What about?"

"Can we sit down for a few minutes?"

"I'm on my way out."

On her way to the verandah, Winter thought. What she was wearing was equally suitable for lounging around at home, or for going out-the same as everybody else: shirt or blouse, shorts, and bare feet in comfortable shoes.

A candle was burning in the room behind her. Winter could see it through the door. It was on a little table near the window.

"Are you allowed to just drop in on people like this?" she asked.

"Can we sit down for a few minutes?" Winter asked again.

"There's nothing else to be said," she replied. "Not to Jeanette, not to Kurt, and most of all not to me."

"I'm not going to lay down the law," said Winter. "I just want to ask a few questions."

"Are you suggesting that there are any questions left to ask?" she said.

"It won't take long."

She gestured toward the cane furniture farther back on the verandah.

"Please spare me all the crap about this being for Jeanette's sake," she said. There was a sudden trace of steel in her voice. "Going on about how the rapists, or whatever euphemism you might use, will be arrested more quickly the sooner we help you, by answering all the questions that come raining in from all sides."

Winter said nothing. He sat down. She remained standing, leaning against the wall. Her eyes were dead. Winter stood up, remained standing. There was a smell of trees and dry grass. The candle seemed brighter now.

"How is she?"

"How do you think?"

OK, Winter thought. Let's stop beating about the bush.

"She won't be going to university," said Irma Bielke.

"Really?"

"The application had been sent, and she'd been accepted, but she's decided to turn it down."

"What's she going to do instead?"

"Nothing, as far as I know."

"Go in for something else?"

"I said, nothing."

She sat down and looked at him.

"Aren't you going to ask me how I feel?"

"How do you feel?"

She looked at the room where the candle was burning.

"It wasn't the end of the world. There are worse things to worry about." She looked up at Winter as he sat down. "Aren't you going to ask me about what worse things?"

"What worse things?"

"HIV, for instance," she said. "We got the test results this morning."

Winter waited.

"Negative," she said. "Thank God. I've never known it to be so positive to have a negative response." Winter thought she gave a curt laugh. "You've chosen a good time to visit. We're happy again."

She moved into half shadow. Winter wondered what to say next.

"Where is Jeanette this evening?"

"She's gone swimming with a friend," she said. "It's the first time… since it happened."

"What about your husband?"

"Kurt? Why do you ask?"

Winter said nothing.

"Why do you ask?" she said again.

Here we go, Winter thought. The candle had gone out. There was a smell of sea, all the stronger now.

She was looking past him, at something in the garden. Winter could hear the wind, sounding like something moving through the treetops. Her face was expressionless. "I don't know where he is." She seemed to give a laugh, or it might have been something else: "I seldom do."

"Is he with Jeanette?"

"I don't think so."

She stood up.

"Is that all, then?"

"Not really."

"I have no desire to talk to you anymore."

"When did you last hear from Mattias?"

She stopped in her tracks. Like freezing a video frame, Winter thought, but more sharply focused.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Mattias. He's apparently found it difficult to stay away from here."

"Are you referring to Jeanette's former boyfriend?"

"Are there several Mattiases?"

"Not that I know of."

"I'm referring to the boyfriend," Winter said.

"I've forgotten what you asked."

"When did you last hear from him?"