“You could be right.”

“Here I’m talking like there was some kind of connection between the murders, but I don’t know anything about it, and maybe you don’t either.”

“It’s one of our theories, but we’re working on some other threads too.”

“You’ll keep me informed of everything, right?” Lasse looked Winter straight in the eye for the first time.

“No matter what happens, I’ll make sure to keep you posted. That’s what we always do, and I’m not about to start changing things now.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“We don’t just sit around and twiddle our thumbs and wait for someone else to figure it all out. We’re constantly coming up with new ideas. We have a good system that we stick to, and the investigation is always moving forward.”

“Got it.”

It’s really true, Winter thought. You’re not just saying this. He’s listening to you now. The dog that’s barking outside has jolted him back to his senses, and he’s stopped rubbing his chin. Now’s the time to spring the question. “There’s something I need to ask you, Lasse.”

“Shoot.”

“You know we’re trying to find out as much as we can about Per’s habits-the people he hung out with, his girlfriends, all that kind of thing.”

“Yes.”

“All that kind of thing,” Winter repeated. “We talked to his girlfriend, or that’s what we thought at first.”

“What?”

“She wasn’t his girlfriend after all.”

“You just lost me there, Erik.”

“You or Karin told us that she was Per’s girlfriend, but that’s not how she described it.”

“You know how it is at that age. They must have broken up or something.”

“It’s more like they had never gone out, not really.”

“And here I thought that I was the one having trouble getting my words out. What are you trying to say-that they were only friends, or that Per never got it together to screw her?”

Winter didn’t like either alternative.

“Answer me, for Pete’s sake.”

“More like the latter,” Winter said finally.

“He never screwed her. Is that what you mean by keeping me informed?”

Winter started to answer, but Lasse interrupted him. “Is this some kind of newfangled interrogation method, Mr. Investigator?”

“Please try to understand, Lasse. This is the type of information that’s absolutely essential if we’re going to get the answers we need.”

“What fucking answers?”

“We’ve got to find out as much as we can about Per and his… interests.”

“Like whether he was a fag?”

“Was he?”

Lasse dropped his eyes and started rubbing his chin again. “Leave,” he said quietly.

“Pull yourself together, Lasse.”

“You ask me if my son was a pervert, and then you tell me to pull myself together?”

“I don’t know a thing about Per’s sexual orientation. That’s why I’m asking.”

Lasse sat with his head bowed over the coffee table and finally looked up at Winter.

“I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important,” Winter insisted.

Lasse muttered something indecipherable.

“Sorry, I didn’t get what you said.”

“Hell if I know.”

Winter waited.

“I can honestly tell you that I have no idea. It’s true that he didn’t date a lot, but I never thought much about it. I was a late starter myself.”

The dog continued to bark, as if it couldn’t stop until Lasse’s ordeal was over. It’s not his dog but it’s a kindred soul, Winter thought.

“Have you talked to Karin about it?” Lasse asked.

“Not yet.”

“Ask her.”

The dog stopped barking.

“I’m really sorry to put you through all this,” Winter said.

“I’m telling you the truth. Even if I knew Per was gay, I wouldn’t lie to you about it.”

How would Lasse have reacted if Per had told him he was gay? Winter remembered the way Mats had been the last year of his life-so fragile and tormented by feverish dreams. “There’s nothing for anyone to be ashamed of,” he said.

“You mean that I was ashamed of Per.”

“No.”

“I don’t have anything against gays, but this came a little suddenly, that’s all.”

“We don’t know anything yet, I assure you. But we can’t ignore any possible clues.”

“Go ahead and talk to Karin and his friends. Do you need to search his room again to check this out?”

“No, but I appreciate your cooperation.”

As he was walking out, Winter glanced over at his sister’s house. He had spent part of his childhood there and come back to visit on occasion. After her divorce, she had grown a little too neurotic to be a general practitioner. Things got better when she bought the house from their parents and moved back in along with her children.

Nobody’s home, you can call tonight, he thought.

THE FRONT HALLWAY WAS COOL AND DARK EXCEPT FOR A STREAK of white light from the other rooms of the apartment. Winter took off his shoes and picked up the mail under the slot in the door: a circular from Mercedes about their new rollout, the latest police newsletter, postcards from a girlfriend vacationing in Thailand and another one in the Canary Islands, a slip from the Kungsport Avenue post office that a package of books had arrived, and a letter with a Spanish stamp-he recognized his mother’s purposeful handwriting and saw a little red blot in the bottom right corner of the envelope that could be anything but was probably a drop of wine.

He walked into the kitchen, set the mail on the table and the two plastic shopping bags from the Saluhallen indoor market on the counter. He emptied the bags: a halibut fillet, an eggplant, a yellow pepper, a zucchini, several tomatoes, a pint of kalamata olives and sprigs of fresh thyme and basil.

He sliced the eggplant, arranged it on a tray and sprinkled salt on the pieces. After pitting a few olives, he poured a little oil into a baking dish, turned on the oven and sliced the pepper, tomatoes and squash. He patted the eggplant dry and sautéed the slices in a large skillet. In the dish, he overlapped the vegetables along with minced garlic and the olives, scattered herbs on top, added a little more oil and finished off with a few twists of the pepper mill. Finally he put the dish in the oven beside two potatoes that he had cut in half and sprinkled with sea salt. He waited fifteen minutes and laid the fish on top of the vegetables.

He ate alone in the living room, looking out over the city and forgoing the distraction of music or a book. He drank half a bottle of carbonated mineral water. You should cook more often, he told himself. It calms you down. The doubting Thomas that has always tormented you about putting up a good front stops knocking on the door.

He smiled to himself and stood up. As he carried the glass and tray through the hallway, he heard the elevator jangle its way up to his floor. The cage opened and closed in rapid succession, followed by the ringing of his doorbell. He glanced at his watch-it was nine o’clock.

He went into the kitchen, put the glass and tray down, walked back to the hallway and opened the door. It was Bolger.

“Hope you’re not getting ready for bed or something.”

“Come in, pal.”

Bolger closed the door behind him, removed his leather jacket and kicked off his shoes.

“Would you like some coffee?” Winter asked.

“If it’s not too much trouble.”

They went into the kitchen and Bolger sat down at the table while Winter fussed with the espresso machine. “Just in case we were planning on sleeping tonight.” He smiled.

“Not that I have any information that would make you sleepy,” Bolger said. “Or keep you up, for that matter.”

“Maybe you just felt like talking.”

“Hmm.”

“You haven’t been here in a while.”

“I don’t remember much about the last time. I was smashed, no doubt.”