“I’m sure you’ve all started to figure this out. You saw what was written on the mailbox, which somehow managed to survive the blast. The Koslow Hoffmann family lives here. Our very best infiltrator. Piet Hoffmann has traveled to northern Albania and a city called Shkodër on my behalf. We believe that the top man of this arms smuggling operation is based there—and that he will connect us to the man who’s shooting people in Sweden.”

“The top man? Who?”

“We don’t really know yet. I thought at first that it might be someone I’d arrested before who was connected with the dead like Zaravic—but he’s been executed too, in the same way. We now have a new name that Hoffmann was able to track down with local help. But whether that’s the top man, or just someone who’s working close to him, we don’t really know yet.”

Grens looked for the first time directly at Mariana and Sven. They were sitting here because he invited them in. Needed them. He’d counted on the cadets’ reactions, they’d responded almost solemnly, proud to be part of something so real, and ready for anything. But for this to succeed, he was dependent on his closest colleagues. What he was going to have them do, he couldn’t really say yet. That depended on Hoffmann. But he must, as their supervisor, know that they too—even though he’d insulted them with his lack of confidence—were prepared to invest themselves totally in an investigation that wasn’t even close to officially sanctioned.

He watched them. Until they finally nodded.

They were with him.

“Thank you. Then it’s like this. I can . . .”

Grens glanced around for his phone, there was a small clock on it.

“What are you looking for, Ewert?”

“My phone.”

His guests started to help him search. But found nothing more than their own cell phones.

“Okay, Sven, can you check yours? What time is it?”

Sven Sundkvist turned over the phone that lay in front of him.

“Quarter past ten.”

“Thank you. So here’s how it is: I can keep Dusko Zaravic locked up for twelve more hours. That’s how long we have to prevent a fourth murder—either Zaravic’s or Hoffmann’s.”

“Hoffmann?”

“I can’t tell you more, not yet. But the whole Hoffmann family is in danger.”

“But if you won’t explain, how are we going to . . .”

“Twelve hours, Sven. That’s how long we have to find the police leak. Piet Hoffmann from where he’s located, and us from here. Okay?”

12:03 PM

(9 hours and 59 minutes remaining)