“You know what?” she said in a tired voice, turning toward him. “You can go to hell.”

* * *

The black shirt rustled as Jana Berzelius pulled it over her head. She stood in the hallway and tied her shoes, then flipped through the closet to find a dark tailored jacket.

She moved methodically, a woman on a mission. She had only one choice now, one path to follow. Danilo wasn’t at his home address in Södertälje.

An hour ago she’d been on Svedjevägen in the Ronna district of Södertälje. She had walked past the high-rise apartment buildings with their green, blue and orange balconies. She’d stepped through the door to building number 36, taken the elevator up to the eighth floor and carefully, silently, approached his apartment door.

She had stood in that exact spot a couple of times over recent months, with the hope that at some point, he would be home. But the apartment had always been empty. And now the name on the door had been removed. Danilo didn’t live there anymore.

Now there was only one person who could know where he was.

Only one.

She picked a thin, black knit hat out of a drawer and pulled it snugly over her head. Her gloves felt tight; she opened and closed her fists to soften the leather.

She nodded hurriedly at her reflection in the hall mirror before closing the outer door to her apartment. She ran quickly down the steps, pulled her hat farther down over her forehead and pushed her hands deep into her pockets.

* * *

Henrik Levin stopped the car outside the garage and walked slowly up to the front door of his town house in the southern district of Norrköping called Smedby. He sighed over the thought that they hadn’t gotten further with Danilo Peña. Officers had been in place at his registered address in Södertälje but had only found an abandoned apartment. It was obvious Danilo hadn’t lived there in a while. All the rooms were empty. No furniture, only a braided rag rug in the hallway and a mattress in the living room.

Henrik’s keys rattled as he laid them on the hall table. He kicked off his shoes, took a deep breath and smelled the familiar scents of home. His head was spinning as he went into the kitchen. He fumbled toward the counter, went to pick up a glass, knocked it over, picked it up again and filled it with water. He drank in large gulps and breathed deeply, collecting himself.

In the same moment, he heard the bathroom door open. He turned and saw her standing there, hair sticking up, her eyes questioning.

“How’s it going?”

He didn’t answer at first, taking a few steps forward and embracing her. He inhaled the scent of her nightshirt, felt her fingers against his back, pressed harder against her large, round belly.