“Good question.” She gave the tiniest shake of her head, put the phone down on the table. “She’d find the whole thing very strange, I guess, the uses to which a picture can be put. But it keeps her alive in people’s minds. I’d kind of prefer it without the gun, though.”

“Me too. Maybe a gun is what it takes.”

“Maybe.”

I sat down. I set a glass in front of Elsa. She lifted it to her eyes, turning the stem.

“How do you get them so perfect, Cal?” she said, her voice full of warmth.

We drank, holding each other’s gaze. The ice shards were almost gone now.

I put down my glass. “Elsa, do we ask Bror to speak to Vee?”

“Interesting.” She rearranged herself in her chair. “Why?”

“I guess I am starting to worry a little about her gaming . . .”

“Thank you. Finally. That fucking game.”

“Yeah. That fucking game. So if Bror could start a conversation with her?”

“Which would be what? I don’t really get what he stands for these days.”

“Believe what you like, and try to be good. More a discipline than a religion.”

“Sounds like a match. Except the bit about being good.”

I laughed. We drank to each other again, holding each other’s gaze.

I put down my glass. “There’s something else.” I slid the scanned Post-It note across the table to her. She read it, tracing the words with her thumbnail.

“Okay,” she said. “It’s a message to Ephraim Tvist from Switchboard:

“ ‘Four twelve: Man called with description of two individuals behaving in a suspicious manner in the vicinity of the town hall. Both were men, both appeared to have dyed their hair blond, both were wearing black coveralls, and walking at a swift march to a white Volkswagen Polo with the registration plate XR310701.’ ”

“Bastard,” I said. “He’s such a master of deflection.”

Her blue-gray eyes, quietly appraising me. “I think he might be playing you, Cal.”

“You know what’s so hard in this place?” I said. “Everyone’s so nice, so understanding, so welcoming that you never really believe someone could be taking you for a fool.”

“And we are sure this is genuine? Where did you get it?”

“One of Bror’s people. Milla. Waiting for me in the town square while you went back to the boat. Why would it not be genuine?”

The tiniest of frowns. “So from Bror . . . ?”

“I don’t think Bror knows.”

“All right,” she said. “This note is significant.”

“Significant? Elsa, Tvist could have prevented the whole fucking thing. And all the while he smiles and tells us he understands how we must be feeling. And all the time he’s deflecting our attention away.”

“You can’t confront him. That isn’t how we do things here.”

“Yeah, I’m starting to realize that.”