The story continued to evolve and intertwine and so far the detective had found himself at least one step behind. Now he had to find a way to get one step ahead. And so he pushed one of the few numbers he had saved in his phone.

“Hermansson—are you awake?”

“Now . . .”

She stood up and left her bedroom. He was good at picking up on that sort of thing, how Sven—who he would call next—always rolled over to the side of the bed, barely awake, and whispered so as not to wake up Anita, while Hermansson, who lived alone, slammed her feet onto the floor and spoke loudly to clear her throat after a night’s sleep.

“. . . I am. Seriously, Ewert . . . again?”

“You have a notebook? Pen?”

The creak of a cupboard door opening. The sound of paper being ripped out of a notepad. He could follow her movements through the phone, was just waiting for the scrape of a chair being pulled out.

“Good, Hermansson. Now write down ‘Regerings Street 79.’”

“Why?”

“Dead man. Two bullet holes.”

She started writing, the scratch of her pen.

“Another one? A third?”

“Go there as soon as we get off the phone. And remember—I want you to send a picture of the dead man to my phone. Okay? Now on the next line ‘Dusko Zaravic.’ First name is spelled with a ‘k,’ and the last name with ‘z.’”

She dashed this down quickly. This was serious.

“And you’ll understand why when you check the folder in your office. Dusko Zaravic has to be found today—and he needs to be arrested and locked up.”

“Arrested? Why?”

“Use your imagination. Lock him up for the full seventy-two hours we can hold him without proof.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s either the executioner or he’s the next one to be executed. I want him behind bars. Out of the way. So we can figure out the truth.”

A fridge.

That’s what she was opening, he knew the sound.

“And you, Ewert? Where do you plan on hiding while we turn ourselves inside and out?”

“I’m planning to take a drive.”

She was pouring something into a glass, something that gurgled.

“Driving?”

“I’m leaving Kronoberg Station in an hour. Headed to a small town two hundred kilometers south of here. I need an answer someone doesn’t want to give me.”

Chapter 23

One side of the pillow was covered with tiny plastic beads, in a pattern that looked like some kind of tree with sprawling and swaying branches, and it had left an imprint on his left cheek.