“Yes,” Slaton said matter-of-factly. “My wife said she needed help. I tried to contact her, but she didn’t answer. So I took the first flight.” All true, and once again points that Sanderson, if he was thorough, had already verified.

“Has anything like this happened before?” the inspector asked.

“My wife calling for help? No, never. This scares the hell out of me, Inspector. Why are the police involved?”

The cool blue eyes probed. “First I should tell you that we have no reason to believe your wife is in immediate danger.”

“Immediate danger? What the hell does that mean?”

“Yesterday there was a shooting at a café nearby. Two men were gunned down. Your wife was at that café.”

“Was she injured?”

“No,” Sanderson said, “at least not that we know of. But she was seen talking with one of the victims right before the shooting began.”

“Who?”

“I’m afraid that has been vexing us. We’re not sure, which is why we’d very much like to talk to her. Unfortunately…” Another heavy pause.

Another dead stare from Edmund Deadmarsh.

“Soon after this shooting took place, a woman—we believe your wife—was seen by a number of witnesses running across the waterfront.”

“Running?”

“She was being pursued by a man, we think one of the assailants.”

Slaton put his head in his hands, a reaction that was part theater. But only part. He tried to incorporate what he was learning with what he already knew, yet the possibilities remained overwhelming. He needed more information. “A man was chasing Christine? Why? Was this a robbery or something?”

“At the moment, I’d say not. But we really aren’t sure.”

Slaton sensed a degree of honesty in that answer, laced perhaps with frustration. “All right, so this man was seen chasing my wife—what happened then?”

“Again, we have a number of witnesses, and their statements all correlate. They saw your wife jump onto a departing boat to escape her pursuer.”

For the first time Slaton saw an answer he liked, but he gave no tell. Remaining in character, he pulled an incredulous tone. “She jumped onto a boat? Where did she go from there?”

The policeman turned his palms up to say he didn’t know.

“Have you identified any of these people?”

“Not yet, I’m afraid.”

“But you said two men were shot. Don’t people in Sweden carry driver’s licenses or identity cards?”

To his credit, Sanderson remained steady. “We strongly suspect that these men are not Swedish. And this is where I was hoping you might be able to add something.”

“What could I tell you? My wife is a doctor and she came here for a conference.” Slaton held up his phone like a lawyer holding an exhibit to a jury. “She called me for help, and now you’re telling me a man with a gun was chasing her.”