That was when her craving for confirmation among older boys and tough girls began. It wasn’t enough to be an ordinary tomboy any longer. And the name Lillemor no longer fit either. So she started with what she could do on her own and what she could afford. She dyed her hair blonde in the bathroom belonging to one of the boyfriends who passed through her life. She replaced her old clothes with new ones: tighter, shorter, sexier. Because she had discovered what her ticket out of misery was going to be. Sex. It could buy her attention and material things. It gave her a chance to stand out from the crowd. One boyfriend had plenty of money, so he financed the breasts. She would have preferred them a bit smaller, but he was the one paying, so he got to decide. He wanted E-cups and that’s what he got. When her physical transformation was done, it was merely a matter of packaging. The boyfriend after the breast financier had called her ‘little Barbie doll’, and that solved the question of her name. Then all she had to do was decide what would be the best forum for launching her new self. It had begun with some small modelling jobs, requiring scanty clothing, or none at all. But her breakthrough had come on Big Brother. She became the big star of the series. And it hadn’t bothered her in the least that the entire population of Sweden was able to observe her sex life from their living rooms. Who cared? She had no family to berate her for publicly shaming them. She was alone in the world.

She usually succeeded in not thinking about what was going on inside Barbie. She had pressed Lillemor so far back in her consciousness that the girl hardly existed anymore. She had done the same thing with the memory of her father. She couldn’t permit herself to remember him. If she were to survive, the sound of his laughter, or the touch of his hand against her cheek, could no longer exist in the life she was now living. It would hurt too much. But this morning’s conversation with that psychologist had touched strings that stubbornly continued to vibrate inside her. And she didn’t seem to be the only one to have such a reaction. The mood had been subdued after they had each gone into the room behind the set and sat in the chair facing the man. Sometimes it felt as though all their negativity was being directed at her, and she occasionally had the feeling that some of the others were giving her malicious looks. But every time she turned round to see where that creeping feeling was coming from, the moment would pass.

At the same time there was something stirring restlessly inside her. Something that Lillemor tried to fix her attention on. But Barbie forced back the feeling. Some things she simply couldn’t allow to slip out.

Groceries continued to pass along the conveyor belt in front of her at the checkout stand. It never ended.

Searching in the archives was, as usual, both dreary and arduous work. Nothing seemed to be where it should be. Patrik had sat down on the floor cross-legged, with boxes all around him. He knew what sort of document he was looking for, and in a foolish moment he had thought they would be easily found in a box labelled ‘Educational Material’. But no such luck. He heard footsteps on the stairs and looked up. It was Martin.

‘Hey, Annika said she saw you headed down here. What are you doing?’ Martin gazed in wonderment at all the boxes spread out in a circle around Patrik.

‘I’m looking for notes from a conference I attended in Halmstad a couple of years ago. You would have thought they’d be archived in some logical manner, but no. Some idiot has moved everything around, so nothing matches.’ He tossed another stack of papers into yet another box that had been archived in the wrong place.

‘Yeah, Annika’s always nagging us about keeping the documents in order down here. She claims that she files everything in the right place, but then the documents apparently grow feet.’

‘I don’t understand why people can’t simply put things back where they found them. I know I put the notes in a folder that I archived in this box.’ He pointed to the one labelled ‘Educational Material’ and continued, ‘But now they’re not here. So the question is, which damn box are they in? “Missing persons”, “Solved cases”, “Unsolved cases”, and so on and so forth. Your guess is as good as mine.’ He swept his hand round the cellar piled with boxes from floor to ceiling.

‘Well, what fascinates me most is the fact that you actually filed your conference notes. Mine are still back in my office in some pile or other.’

‘I should probably have done the same thing. But I was naïve enough to think that somebody else might have a use for them.’ Patrik sighed and grabbed another stack of documents and started leafing through them. Martin sat down next to him on the floor and started in one of the boxes too.

‘I’ll help you. Then it’ll go faster. What am I looking for? What sort of conference was it? And why are you looking for your notes, anyway?’

Patrik didn’t look up but merely replied, ‘As I said, it was a conference in Halmstad, in 2002 if I remember correctly. It had to do with strange cases that were still raising questions and remained unsolved.’

‘And . . .’ said Martin, waiting for more.

‘Well, I’ll tell you more when we find the notes. So far it’s a vague idea, so I want to refresh my memory before I say anymore.’

‘Okay,’ said Martin. He was still curious, but he knew Patrik well enough to realize it wouldn’t do any good to pressure him.

Suddenly Patrik looked up and smiled slyly. ‘But I’ll tell you if you tell me . . .’

‘Tell you what?’ said Martin in surprise, but when he saw Patrik’s smile he understood what his colleague was getting at. He laughed and said, ‘Fair enough. When you tell me, I’ll tell you.’

After an hour of fruitless searching, Patrik suddenly gave out a yell.

‘Here they are!’ He pulled some papers out of a plastic folder.

Martin recognized Patrik’s writing and tried to read what it said upside down. But it was no use, and he had to wait in frustration while Patrik skimmed through the notes. After he’d read three pages, his index finger stopped suddenly in the middle of the page. A deep furrow formed between Patrik’s eyebrows and Martin tried to coax him mentally to read faster. After what seemed like forever, Patrik looked up in triumph.

‘Okay, your secret first,’ he said.

‘Oh, come on, I’m so curious I’m going to die.’ Martin laughed and tried to tear the papers out of Patrik’s hand. But his colleague was prepared for that manoeuvre and snatched them away, holding them up in the air. ‘Forget it. You first, then me.’

Martin sighed. ‘You’re such a damned tease, you know that? All right, it’s what you thought. Pia and I are going to have a baby. At the end of November.’ He held up a warning finger. ‘But you can’t tell anybody yet! We’re only in week eight, and we want to keep it quiet until after week twelve.’

Patrik held up both hands. The papers he held in his right hand fluttered. ‘I promise, my lips are sealed. But congratulations, for God’s sake!’

Martin grinned from ear to ear. Several times he’d been close to telling Patrik. He was eager to spread the good news, but Pia wanted to wait until the critical first trimester had safely passed. Then he could tell people. It was a relief to tell someone at last.

‘So, now you know. How about you tell me why we’ve been sitting here covered with dust for the last hour.’

Patrik turned serious at once. He handed over the document to Martin, pointed at the spot to begin reading, and waited. After a while Martin looked up in astonishment.

‘Now there can’t be any doubt that Marit was murdered,’ said Patrik.

‘No, I suppose not.’

One question had now been answered. But that only made even more questions pile up. They had tons of work ahead of them.