But now he was—and his thoughts were troubled.

“If a body has been found. If we compare all the registries we have—dental records and fingerprint bases and DNA and . . . well, how many reasonably current unidentified bodies will there be? Would we be able to count them on two hands? If she were . . .”

“That’s exactly what I want you to determine. Find out that she’s no longer here or in the area.”

Lucas looked at Amelia, who looked at Ewert Grens. Neither of them seemed to think what he was saying was very clear.

“Superintendent Grens—that she’s no longer here?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“Because we need to do our due diligence if we want Interpol’s help. So they can help us with the same thing—just a little farther away. In Albania. So we can go through all the unsolved murders and unidentified women’s bodies that have been found there.”

He then left the cadets on the stairs; both seemed happy to be assigned a task that might involve Interpol. That’s what a training period was for, right? Figuring out the things that were so obvious to an old cop who was just about to retire, the day-to-day of a police officer’s life. So while Lucas and Amelia continued into the police station, somewhat symbolically, Grens headed to that little café on Sankt Eriks Street where he traded forensic technician Nils Krantz’s time and knowledge for a cup of coffee and a double-sized piece of princess cake. He then took a long slow walk along the deserted streets of Kungsholmen so he could speak with Sven in private about why it was so important that he continue watching Mariana Hermansson, their closest colleague for many years—what he didn’t mention was if Mariana passed his test, was ruled out as the leak, Grens would have to find someone to look into Sven instead. And when he finally entered his apartment building on Svea Road, he decided to take the stairs tonight instead. He was panting as he reached his floor, and saw his intruder hadn’t broken in this time—he was sitting in front of Grens’s locked door.

“Good evening.”

“Good evening, Detective.”

“Maybe you need your own key?”

“I wasn’t planning on living here for very long.”

“I’ve never had an extra set, Hoffmann. There’s never been a need. But tonight I stopped by a shoemaker in the subway station at Odenplan and had him make me one—though why shoemakers make keys and change clock batteries is beyond me.”