Stefan glanced up at the clock on the wall.
“The children will be coming back soon.”
“Okay, can you describe the man for me now?”
“Well, I wouldn’t have hardly noticed him if he hadn’t been acting so nervous, as if he didn’t want to be seen. In any case, he was wearing dark clothes, had his jacket collar pulled up to his nose, was wearing a hat.”
“Did he have a mustache? Beard? Light or dark hair?”
“He had dark hair. It was sticking out on the sides. I thought he looked foreign.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it was his hair that made me think that. And his eyes.”
“Which were?”
“Also dark.”
“A dark-haired man, possibly foreign. How old?”
“Oh, hard to say. Around thirty, maybe.”
“Anything else that stood out about him?”
“No...it was mostly that he was acting so nervous...but I hope I’ve been able to help anyway.”
Mia closed her notebook.
“Your observations are very important to us,” she assured him, getting up from the chair to leave.
“Wait!”
Stefan held his hand up in the air, smiling.
“GUV!” he said. “I just remembered the license plate. GUV 174.”
* * *
“We have a description of a man who might have picked up the girl,” Mia said into the phone.
Henrik Levin sat in his office with the phone to his ear. His gaze was fixed on his bulletin board as he listened to Mia tell about her meeting with the teacher at Vittra School.
“You’re saying that we’re looking for a foreign-looking man, with dark clothes and dark hair,” Henrik said. “I know that this isn’t going to sound good, but there are quite a few people who fit that description.”
“I know,” Mia said. “I’ll check with the convenience store and see if they have a security camera, since he poked his head in there. Maybe we’d get a better description.”
“That wouldn’t be a bad idea.”
“The teacher seemed a bit unsure, but ask Ola to search for license plate number GUV 174 or something similar. It should be a Volvo or Fiat, a dark color.”
Henrik combed his hand through his hair and shifted his weight in his chair, feeling a pang of hope.
“Bye,” Mia said, ending the call with a normal closing. No swearwords, nothing cynical, no sighing. Just “bye.” Henrik was almost shocked. What had happened to her?
“Did you get somewhere?”
Ola Söderström suddenly appeared, leaning against the door frame, smiling. His ears were sticking out from under his striped hat. He always wore a hat, no matter whether he was inside or outside, no matter what the season.
“Good thing you came by. I have some new information for you. First, I want you to look for a car with the license plate GUV 174.”
“Okay,” he said.
“Then, I have the feeling that the dead woman on the train, or rather, her passport, was fake. Björn Ahlmann said she was fifteen years old, but according to her passport, she was eighteen. And the train attendant thought her name was Noi, not Siriporn.”
“But Noi isn’t a given name, it’s a nickname. It’s common in Thailand, especially because first names can be so long.”
“How do you know that?”
“My cousin married a Thai woman. They met in Phuket. Love at first sight. They just clicked.”
Ola snapped his fingers.
“Even if the passport is fake, we shouldn’t underestimate its importance,” he continued. “I’ve sent a request to all of the airlines. I haven’t heard anything yet, but we can still hope that her name is on the passenger list somewhere. It would be good to know where they came from.”
“Both of their names should be on some list,” Henrik said.
“If they flew on the same plane, that is. They may not have.”
Ola scratched with his hand up under his hat.
“It might help that they looked Asian,” he said. “I mean, more people would have noticed her, or them, on the train.”
“Right,” Henrik said. “If you don’t find anything from the license plate, we have one relatively poor description of the man who was driving the car. Check it out, see if you can get anything from that. The capsules we found in the woman’s stomach were supposed to be delivered to someone, after all, and I’m wondering who.”
“I know where to look,” Ola said.
“Great. So get to it.”
* * *
The sound of the doorbell made Jana Berzelius jump up from the chaise lounge. It was late in the afternoon, and she went suspiciously toward the door. She wasn’t expecting any visitors; she never had any.
She padded silently into the hallway and looked through the peephole. She clenched her jaw when she saw the face of her colleague, prosecutor Per Åström.
He rang one more time, then knocked, too.
Slowly, she turned the dead bolt, leaving the chain fastened.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“You haven’t been answering your phone.”
“I’m really busy.”
“With what? Why are you avoiding me?”
Per threw up his hands.
“Look,” he said. “We haven’t seen each other in eight months...”
“We see each other multiple times every week at work.”
“You know what I mean. I want to see you again. There. That’s what I came here to say.”
“Great,” Jana said, closing the door and resting her forehead against it, eyes closed.
The doorbell rang again. And again. Short, quick buzzes as if a child were standing outside and wanted to come in.
She hesitated before opening the door again.
His eyes—one blue and one brown, characteristic heterochromia—met hers.
“One more thing,” he said. “Would you have dinner with me tonight?”
“No.”
“Great! Should we go to The Colander? The usual?”
“No.”
“Eight o’clock?”
“No.”
“Perfect! Should I pick you up?”
“No. I want someplace new.”
Per looked confused, pulled at his blond hair.
“Are you sick?” he said.
“Just need a change. Let’s go to Ardor, eight thirty. I’ll meet you there.”
Then she shut the door.
* * *
“I didn’t find any car with license plate GUV 174,” Ola said upon meeting Henrik Levin in the hallway. His