Noticing a room key on the dresser, Sanderson took it in hand, shrugged on his jacket, and ventured outside. The cool morning air clipped his face as he walked to the office. A woman there said he’d already paid for the room, one night charged to his credit card. Well enough, he thought. But why don’t I remember? She had not been on duty last night, and so her only useful addition was that a diner around the corner served strong coffee. Sanderson surrendered his room key and thanked her.

He found the diner, seated himself, and ordered coffee, eggs, and toast from a waitress whose smile seemed permanently embossed—as if tomorrow could only be better. The first overbrewed cup of coffee energized Sanderson, and he began to get his bearings. He pulled out his phone and dialed Sergeant Blix.

“Good morning, Gunnar.”

“Morning, Inspector. Where are you? Your daughter called an hour ago and said you weren’t at home. She sounded worried.”

“I’m fine. It’s been a tough week, and I wanted to get away for a few days to convalesce. I’ll give Annika a call so she doesn’t worry. Is there anything new?”

“On the investigation you mean? That doesn’t sound like convalescence.”

Sanderson let his silence do the talking.

“The main news is that Deadmarsh used one of his credit cards yesterday.”

“Where?”

“He bought a ferry ticket in Styrsvik. Apparently he was heading back to Stockholm from Runmarö Island. We tried to close him down, but there were only a few minutes to reach the docks. We missed him.”

You missed him because he wasn’t there, Sanderson thought. Based on what he knew, he reckoned that the woman, Dr. Palmer, had ditched her boat and was now aiding and abetting her husband. He considered telling Blix about his own findings—that Magnussen Air Charters had delivered their man to Germany. Sanderson saw two outcomes of this approach. Assistant Commissioner Sjoberg might surmise that his sacked detective was chasing ghosts, in which case Sanderson would be ordered home. And if Sjoberg believed him? Then Sanderson would have to explain why he hadn’t called sooner. He felt himself sliding down a slippery slope—and accelerating.

He let Blix talk for five minutes, promised to keep in touch, and then called his daughter and told her not to worry. Sanderson dialed a third number as two eggs were being pushed across the green Formica counter in front of him. Elin Almgren from SÄPO answered.

“Elin, it’s Arne.”

“Good to hear from you, Arne. How are you feeling?”

“If one more person asks me that I’m going to go on a shooting spree.”

She chortled.

“What’s happening there?” he asked.

“It’s been confirmed—the man in a coma is definitely Anton Bloch, director of Mossad until about a year ago.”

“So Deadmarsh was telling the truth.”