As planned, she’d spent the previous night with her friend Dr. Ulrika Torsten. Christine had lied convincingly, a breathless account of her escape from the Strandvägen shootings, and ending with an offhand mention that the police had sought her out for an official statement. All variations of the truth. She’d built on this by telling Ulrika that the whole affair had left her shaken and in need of a quiet place in Stockholm to relax for a few days. When she added that her husband would arrive in a few days to escort her back to the States, Ulrika had insisted that Christine stay at her home.

So it was, for one night she had imposed on a friend’s gracious hospitality. But late this afternoon Christine gave her regrets for dinner, missing out on a home-cooked meal, and claimed the need for fresh air and an invigorating walk. She was now back at work. David’s work.

It took fifteen minutes, but the candidate she saw was perfect. Slightly on the tall side, perhaps a bit blonder. Otherwise, a perfect match. He was moving fast with a briefcase in one hand and an umbrella in the other.

She hurried away from the wall near the ATM.

“Excuse me!”

The man stopped.

“Do you speak English?” she asked.

“A little, yes.”

“Could you please help me? I’m trying to get money from this machine, but the instructions are in Swedish.” She gave him her most engaging smile and made sure her wedding band was behind her hip.

The man smiled back. Just as David had said he would.

*   *   *

The use of Deadmarsh’s credit card at a midtown ATM machine registered almost instantly with the Stockholm police. The nearest officers were dispatched, and reached the bank in five minutes. They were three minutes too late.

Headquarters built a head of steam, and Commissioner Forsten and Assistant Commissioner Sjoberg were soon meeting in a side room with technicians. They poured over video that had been fed directly from the bank’s security office, and everyone saw a tall blond man in an overcoat withdrawing money from the machine.

“He withdrew a thousand kronor,” Sjoberg said. “He’s running low on cash. Maybe he’s trying to get out of the country.”

“Are we sure it’s him?” Forsten asked.

Sjoberg looked at the screen uncertainly. “It’s not the clearest image … the lighting is poor. Let’s ask someone who’s seen him.”

Sergeant Blix was summoned to join them. When he arrived Forsten explained, “An hour ago there was a cash withdrawal on Deadmarsh’s credit card. We have video from the bank surveillance camera. Unfortunately, since his passport dumped we don’t have a decent photo to compare. Of all the people in the building, Blix, you had the best look at him.”

The video footage looped and Forsten froze it on the clearest image. “Well?” she asked. “Is that him?”