Two phone calls had distracted him while the sound had attracted the guards to the house. Now they had discovered the water running across the floor and seeping through the gap under the door.

They’d soon force the lock.

Piet Hoffmann looked around, searching four walls that had turned into a death trap.

6:36 PM

(3 hours and 26 minutes remaining)

Good training.

That’s what he thought when the armed guards broke down the door and made their way across the wet floor. Perfect pattern and in complete control while they quickly secured the area.

Good training—but they made one mistake.

Even though they were looking for an intruder in a locked room, where the window was closed and intact, they never looked up.

And when they reached the bookshelf that covered the far wall—where the leak seemed to originate—without understanding how or why shelves of trinkets would drip large amounts of water, they stopped in exactly the position Piet Hoffmann had hoped. He just needed to lie on his stomach on the attic floor and lower his gun slightly through the hole and press the trigger.

6:43 PM

(3 hours and 19 minutes remaining)

“Sven? Hermansson? Put your cups down and come with me.”

Ewert Grens, after a short search, had found them in the kitchenette at the end of the corridor, each with a fresh cup of coffee in hand, surrounded by stacks of papers spread across the table and chairs, a few documents even sat on the dishwasher and fridge. Any other evening he would have taken a seat, relieved not to have to go home, grateful to be in the company of his closest coworkers.

“Now!”

This time, he didn’t even slow down, just kept walking toward the other end of the corridor, expecting them to follow his shouts. Soon he heard those familiar steps—Mariana’s had a determined bound, Sven’s were smoothly compliant. If it was true that the movement of our feet is an extension of our personalities, he wondered sometimes how he must sound.

“What’s this all about, Ewert?”

“Life and death.”

He pressed the elevator button, and Mariana and Sven caught up to him, stood on either side.

“Isn’t that always the case around here?”

“Right now the difference is just a matter of a few hours.”

“What are you talking about?”

“That Zaravic, in a locked and well-guarded cell, has learned the one thing I didn’t want him to know.”

Two elevators and three corridors later, the detective superintendent stormed into the eighth floor of the Kronoberg jail and could barely contain himself while the guard searched for the key in his rattling bundle. Dusko Zaravic was lying on his bunk, no longer in his tuxedo, just the shapeless uniform of the correctional facility. He didn’t seem especially surprised when three police officers barged into his tiny cell.

“Well, well, you’re a little early.”

“Stand up.”

“And here I thought you were gonna hold me until ten. But of course, I’d be happy to head home now. How about a beer this evening, Superintendent?”