But you like to hang out on the stairs.
Mia shrugs. Most of the time.
Do you sleep here sometimes?
The girl picks at the label on the bottle. Sometimes.
The girl picks at the label on the bottle. Sometimes.
Last Friday, Joona says slowly. Early in the morning, Penelope left home. She took a taxi.
No luck, the girl says quickly. She missed Bjorn by, like, a second. He got here right after she left. I told him that she just left.
What did he say?
No big deal, he said. He was just going to pick something up.
Pick something up? Mia nods.
Sometimes he lets me borrow his phone so I can play games on it. But he was in a hurry. He just went inside and came right back out. Then he locked the door and ran down the stairs.
Did you see what he picked up?
No.
What happened after that?
Nothing. I went to school. Quarter to nine.
And after school, in the evening. Did anything happen then?
Mia shrugged. Mom was gone so I was inside and I ate some macaroni and cheese and watched TV.
What about yesterday?
Mom was gone again so I was home.
So you didnt see anyone coming or going?
No.
Joona takes out one of his business cards and writes a telephone number.
Look at this, he tells Mia. Here are two good telephone numbers. One is my own number.
He points at the number on the card, which is also imprinted with the police insignia.
Call me if you need help or if someone is doing something mean to you. And the other number is the Child Hotline. See, Ive written it down: 0200-230-230. You can call them whenever you want and talk about anything you want.
Okay, Mia whispers as she takes the card.
Dont throw that card away, now, the minute I turn my back, Joona says. Keep it, because even if you dont want to call someone now, you might want to later on.
When he came out, Bjorn had his hand on his stomach, Mia said. She demonstrated.
Like he had a tummy ache?
Yeah. Just like he had a tummy ache.
26
Joona knocks on the other doors, but all he finds out is that Penelope was a quiet and somewhat shy neighbor who took part in the annual cleaning days as well as the yearly meetings, but not much else. Once hes done, he slowly climbs the stairs back to the fourth floor.
The door to Penelopes apartment is open. A Sapo technician has just dismantled the lock from the outer door and bagged the bolt in plastic.
Joona goes in but stays in the background to watch the forensic investigators work. Hes always enjoyed hanging around to see how systematically they photograph everything, collect evidence, rigorously note every aspect of what they find. Its ironic how the investigation itself will destroy the crime scene, contaminating layer by layer, even as it progresses. No piece of evidence or a key to reconstructing what has happened must be lost.
Joona lets his gaze wander over Penelope Fernandezs tidy apartment. Why had Bjorn Almskog come here? He had arrived the minute Penelope left. Joona could almost picture him hiding outside the entrance to the building waiting for her to leave.
Perhaps it was a coincidence, but maybe he did not want to run into her.
Bjorn had hurried in, met the child sitting on the stairs with no time to speak to her, explaining he just had to pick something up, and had only stayed a few minutes.
Perhaps Bjorn did pick up something, just as he told the little girl. Perhaps hed forgotten the key to the boat or something else that fit in a pocket.
Perhaps he left something behind instead. Perhaps he only had to take a look at something or make sure of a piece of information or write down a telephone number.
Joona walks into the kitchen and looks around.
Have you checked the fridge? he asks.
A young man with a goatee looks up, surprised, at Joona.
Are you hungry? he asks in a strong Dalarna accent.
Its a good place to hide something, Joona replies drily.
We havent gotten to it yet, the investigator says.
Joona returns to the living room. He notes that Saga is still off in a corner of the room talking on her cell. Tommy Kofoed is placing a strip of tape with picked-up fibers onto OH film. He looks up.
Finding anything unexpected? Joona asks.
Besides a shoe print on the wall?
Nothing else?
The important stuff is at the lab in Linkoping.
Can we get their results in a week?
If we give them enough hell, sure, Tommy says, shrugging. Right now Im going to look at the cut from the knife blade and make a mold of the edge.
Dont bother, Joona says.
So you were able to see the blade? Was it carbon steel?
No, the blade was a lighter color. Perhaps sintered tungsten carbide. Some people prefer it. But, actually, nothings going to really help.
What wont help?
This entire crime scene investigation, Joona says. We wont find DNA or fingerprints. Nothing will lead to the suspect.
So what should we do?
I believe the killer came for something here. And I believe he was interrupted before he could find it.
So maybe its still here?
Entirely possible, Joona replies.
But you have no idea what it could be.
It fits inside a book.
Joonas granite eyes meet Kofoeds brown ones. Goran Stone from Sapo is photographing the bathroom door, the edges of the door, the frame, and the hinges. Then he sits down on the floor to photograph the bathrooms white ceiling. Joona reaches to open the living-room door, about to ask Goran to take a photo of the magazines in the living room, when the flash goes off. The brightness startles him. Things go black for a second. Four white points prick the darkness and then a light blue iridescent palm print emerges. Then theyre gone. Joona looks around, unable to determine where theyd been.