Five minutes later, Henrik was back in his office, his chair squeaking as he sat down. He turned his computer on and searched the system. If Robin Stenberg had come into the police station to file a report, the police clerk Axel Lundin should have recorded it as an affidavit. Once entered, an affidavit couldn’t be taken back or deleted. It was archived in the system for all eternity. He stared at the screen.

Ola had been right.

There was no affidavit from Robin Stenberg.

Strange, he thought.

Henrik picked up the phone and dialed Axel Lundin’s number. It rang twice.

“This is Axel.”

He sounded relaxed.

“Hi, this is Henrik Levin, we’re colleagues. I work as detective chief inspector and I need to talk to you about...”

Click.

Henrik stared at his cell phone. The conversation had ended. He called again but didn’t get an answer.

Strange, he thought. Very strange.

* * *

It had taken Ola thirty seconds to find Axel Lundin’s address. It had taken Henrik Levin twenty minutes to find a parking spot.

He called Axel one last time, but there was no answer.

The building didn’t have an intercom system, only a number panel to unlock the door. Just as Henrik pulled on the door handle to see if it might be open, an older woman came out with a long-haired Chihuahua in her arms.

She put the dog down.

“Excuse me,” Henrik said.

“Yes?” said the woman, looking up at him.

“I’m looking for Axel Lundin. He lives here, right?”

“Yes,” the woman said, peering at him. “And who are you?”

“I’m his colleague...”

“Then you’ve just missed him...” She looked down the street. “But that’s him there, standing over there by the car.”

“Thank you,” Henrik said. “Thanks for your help.”

Axel had already had enough of a head start to get into his car, so Henrik turned abruptly and ran quickly back to his own, and began pursuing Axel and his silver Porsche through town.

They drove past the university campus, then slowed down and turned right on Sandgatan toward the industrial district. Axel parked on Garvaregatan, jumped out and disappeared through door number 6.

Henrik looked at the run-down façade, got out and peered through the dark windows. He couldn’t make out much. What was Axel doing here?

Henrik suddenly felt freezing cold. It was afternoon by now and he hadn’t had anything to eat or drink in hours. On his way back to his car, he stopped in his tracks when he saw a sign over the entrance to number 6.

Even though it was broken, he could still make out the letters. “The Bridge.”

He quickly pulled out his cell phone to call Mia to ask her to come quickly, but her line was busy.

* * *

“Maybe I’ll see you in court tomorrow,” Per Åström said as Jana Berzelius shut the door of the taxi.