“Then we’ll get one for Mommy and put it in the freezer for when she comes home,” Ingrid said, taking Vilma’s hand. “Wave to Daddy now.”

“Bye-bye,” Felix and Vilma said in chorus.

“Bye-bye,” Henrik said, watching them as they walked out of the ward.

Then he slowly sank down into a chair and closed his eyes for a moment.

* * *

Per Åström shifted gears and rode his bike across the field of Himmelstalund toward downtown. He pedaled as hard as he could to keep warm after his tennis match at Racketstadion with Johan Klingsberg, whom he’d beaten three sets to one with a match-point ace.

He would shower when he got home.

He followed Södra Promenaden and passed De Geer High School. He hung his mountain bike on one shoulder and pulled open the door to his apartment building on Skomakaregatan, ascending the stairs to his attic apartment. He set his bike down inside the door before taking off the thin Windbreaker and fleece jacket underneath.

In the kitchen, he drank a large glass of mineral water and peeled a banana, which he ate in five bites. He peeled another and ate it in seven bites.

Still not a peep from Jana Berzelius.

He didn’t like it.

He wished he could call Henrik Levin and ask if he’d heard anything from her, but he knew he shouldn’t. He should wait, just like he always did with Jana. She liked being alone, and he respected that even if it wasn’t always easy.

He thought about calling her one last time. But no, he had already called far too many times.

Was there any way to trace her?

He could talk to someone who knew about cellular technology. But who? He had no idea. In the first place, it was only legal to trace people without their consent using cellular technology in the interest of solving a crime. And second, he risked being laughed off, or even misunderstood and seen as a stalker. In other words, he should talk to someone he knew well, someone who took him seriously. It should be a police officer. But despite working at the police station for so many years, he didn’t know all that many officers.

The first person he thought of was Henrik Levin again, but he was far from a tech expert. The other was Ola Söderström.

He should ask him what to do.

Ola would know.

* * *

Henrik heard the sound of someone clearing her throat and looked up.

A female doctor with bangs and brown eyes stood in front of him. He hadn’t heard her footsteps.

“The patient is doing well,” she said.

“Do you mean Emma?” Henrik said.

“Yes. She’s doing well but needs to stay overnight for observation.”

“What’s wrong?”