“But it feels as if this is a new type of leader, a sort of brain of the operation, that we haven’t encountered before,” Henrik said. “No one will say anything, no one has met this Old Man, no one really knows who he is. Yet everyone seems terrified of him.”

“Axel didn’t want to say, either?” Gunnar asked.

“He seems scared, as I said,” Henrik said.

“Of course he is. All snitches are scared.”

“And Robin Stenberg seemed scared for his life,” Mia said.

“There’s something with that assault and battery. He saw something he shouldn’t have seen,” Gunnar said. “And he presumably wanted to have some sort of confirmation of it. That’s why he started the thread on Flashback. Then he maybe was threatened, and finally made that police report.”

“And had the bad luck of ending up with Axel Lundin...” Mia said.

“Whom he maybe knew already...from The Bridge,” Henrik said.

“We have to get Axel to tell more,” Mia said.

“That’ll be difficult,” Henrik said. “He’s more scared of The Old Man than of us.”

“But it’s not completely impossible that Axel is the man from Central Station and the man outside Stenberg’s apartment.”

“But he’s no murderer.”

“You can’t just say that like we have any proof of it...”

“Axel is at the bottom of this food chain. We want the higher-ups, The Old Man.”

The room fell silent.

“Have any of you thought that The Old Man could be a woman?” Mia said.

“What makes you think that?” Gunnar asked.

“It’s just a thought. Maybe a sidetrack, but there’s a mysterious woman who has cropped up in the building at Garvaregatan 6.”

“You mean the woman with the knife who the vagrants said stabbed one of them in the stairwell?” Henrik asked. “But is that even true?”

“I don’t know if they’re telling the truth. But she really scared the shit out of them.”

“Interesting,” Gunnar said. “Could it be the same woman who was seen outside of Stenberg’s apartment?”

“Yes, we know she can handle a knife,” Mia said.

Chapter Twenty-Four

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

THE COFFEE IN Henrik Levin’s mug quivered as he drove over the icy, uneven road. He noticed the white veils of snow that had drifted over Gamla Övägen. An envelope containing two color copies lay on the passenger seat. One was a photo of Danilo Peña. The other was a photo of Axel Lundin.

Henrik parked the car and, carrying the envelope in his right hand, walked through the hallway of Vrinnevi Hospital.

Pim sat on the edge of the bed, turned toward him. Her black hair hung over her face. She looked so tiny; her body slender and pale.

Henrik walked in and greeted her.

“I heard you tried to run away,” he said, waiting for the interpreter to translate.

“I just wanted to go home,” Pim said, quietly.