LITMIR.BIZ

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      “There was nobody else here then?”

      “No, no way. On Sundays it’s just dead here, like.”

      “When you went past Hans Juhlén’s office, did you see what he was doing then?”

      “No. But I could hear him using the computer keyboard. You know, you’ve got to have good hearing to be a security guard, so you can notice sound that might be weird or something. And my night vision is pretty good too. I was the best in the test in fact, in the selection. Not bad, eh?”

      Mia was hardly impressed by Jens’s senses. She raised her eyebrows to indicate ridicule and turned toward Henrik, whose gaze had fastened on one of the Yucca palms.

      When she saw that Henrik appeared to be lost in thought, she thumped him on the arm.

      “Hans Juhlén’s computer?” she said.

      “Yes?” said Henrik.

      “He seems to have used it quite a lot.”

      “Yes, all the time,” said Jens and clapped his hands.

      “Then I think we should take it with us,” said Henrik.

      “So do I,” said Mia.

CHAPTER EIGHT

      POLICE OFFICER GABRIEL MELLQVIST was shivering. It was cold. His shoes were leaking and the cold rain trickled down from his cap onto his neck. He didn’t know where his colleague Hanna Hultman was. Last he saw her, she was standing outside house number 36 ringing the doorbell. Together they had gone door-knocking at about twenty detached houses this morning. None of the residents had made any observations that were of any importance to the investigation. And not a single strange man or woman had been glimpsed. On the other hand, most people weren’t even at home on Sunday. They had been at their summer cottages, on golf courses, at horse-jumping competitions and God knows what. A mother had seen a little girl go by, probably it was a playmate who was going home for the evening, and Gabriel wondered why she had even bothered to mention it to him.

      He swore to himself and looked at his watch. His mouth was dry, and he was tired and thirsty. They were clear signals that his blood sugar was too low. Even so, he went off to the next house which was behind a high stone wall.

      Door-to-door canvassing was not his favorite occupation. Especially not in the rain. But the order had come from the very top of the criminal department and that meant it was best to do as he was told.

      The gates were closed. Locked. Gabriel looked around. From here he could hardly see Östanvägen 204 where the murder had been committed. He pressed the intercom next to the gate and waited for an answer. Pressed again and added a “Hello!” this time. Gave the locked gates a bit of a push and they rattled. Where the hell was Hannah now? She couldn’t be seen anywhere on the street. She couldn’t have gone down one of the parallel streets. No, not without telling him first. She’d never do that. He sighed, took a step back and walked straight into a puddle. He felt how the cold water was sucked up by the sock in his right shoe. Oh great! Really great!

      He looked up at the house again. Still saw no sign of life. He wanted most of all to give up and go off to the nearest lunch place and just get some grub. But then he saw something out of the corner of his eye. Something that moved. He screwed his eyes up a little in an effort to see what it was. A security camera! He pressed the intercom, shouted a few times to elicit an answer and managed in his enthusiasm to suppress the sensation of dizziness that gradually crept up on him.

      * * *

      Forty minutes and ninety-eight kronor later, Henrik Levin had eaten his fill. The Thai buffet had consisted of far too many tasty dishes. Mia Bolander had accompanied him, but chosen something lighter, a salad.

      Henrik regretted his choice of lunch when he got back in the car again. He felt heavy and drowsy and let Mia drive to the police station.

      “Next time can you remind me that I must have salad too,” he said.

      Mia laughed.

      “Please?”

      “I’m not your bloody mother! But all right, then. Does Emma want you to lose weight or what?”

      “Do you think I’m fat, then?”

      “Not your face.”

      “Thanks.”

      “She won’t let you fuck her, is that it?”

      “What?”

      “I mean, you seem to want to go easy on the carbs, which means you want to lose weight. I read online that the biggest motivation for men to lose weight is that they want to have more sex.”

      “I was just talking about a salad. I just want to eat salad next time. What’s wrong with that?”

      “Nothing.”

      “Do you think I’m fat?”

      “No. You’re not fat. You only weigh eighty kilos, Henrik.”

      “Eighty-three.”

      “Sorry, eighty-bloody-three kilos, then. You’re a pudding, right! Why would you want to weigh any less?”

      Mia winked provocatively.

      Henrik remained silent and kept his real reason for wanting to eat lighter to himself.

      Mia didn’t need to know that seven weeks earlier he had embarked on a low-carb diet. He was also aiming to get more exercise on weekdays. But it was hard to keep to his new lifestyle choices, especially when Thai food tastes so much better with rice. After work it was simpler: home, eat, play, bath time, tuck into bed, TV, sleep. His time with his five-and six-year-old kids when he got home was pretty much routine. Admittedly, he hadn’t actually asked his wife, Emma, if he could spend an hour, once or twice a week, at the gym. Hopefully she would say yes. But deep inside Henrik was afraid of what answer he would get. A firm no.

      His wife already resented his spending too little time with the family.

      But he felt that if he were in better shape, they would have better and more frequent sex. To him it was a win-win situation.

      But those few times he had asked Emma for permission just to play football with the local club on a Saturday, he was turned down. The weekends were for the family, she said, and they should be out in the garden, visiting the zoo park, going to the cinema or just spending family time together. She felt she and Henrik needed to nurture their relationship by spending more time cuddling together.

      Henrik didn’t particularly like cuddling. He liked having sex. To him, sex was the greatest proof that you loved your partner, he thought. It didn’t matter when or where you did it. Just that you did it. That wasn’t what Emma thought. For her, it had to be pleasurable and relaxing, and you needed lots of time and the right setting. Their bed still remained her preference and then only when the children weren’t awake. Since Felix, who was afraid of ghosts, insisted on going to sleep every night between them in bed, their opportunities for sex were few.

      Henrik had to settle for the hope that things would get better. This past month he had felt more desire. And Emma had gone along with it too. Once, at any rate. Exactly four weeks ago.

      Henrik smothered a bit of heartburn. The next time it would be only salad.

      * * *

      When Henrik and Mia entered the conference room they were met by the news that police officer Gabriel Mellqvist had fainted while knocking on doors in Lindö. He had been found by an elderly lady who had heard her doorbell ring a number of times. But since she was confined to a wheelchair, she couldn’t hurry to the door. When she finally opened it, she saw the policeman lying on the ground.

      “Luckily Hanna Hultman had come to his aid and in Gabriel’s pocket found a glucose syringe that she jabbed into his thigh,” said Gunnar. “That was the bad news. The

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