But just as she raised the phone to her ear, someone called.

She saw from the display that it was Henrik Levin.

“Yes?” she answered.

“You have to get down to the train station. Right now!”

* * *

The X2000 to Stockholm with departure time 10:24 p.m. stood still on Track 1 at Norrköping’s Central Station. It had taken an hour to evacuate all of the travelers and get them on a bus to Nyköping where a regional train had been waiting to take them to their planned destination.

All of the platforms had been roped off, parking lot and building, too.

Henrik Levin stood at the police tape and watched as Mia Bolander parked her wine-red Fiat Punto at the intersection of Norra Promenaden and Vattengränden. He waved when she got out of the car. She pulled her white hat down over her ears and zipped her jacket all the way to her chin to keep out the cold.

“So what happened?” she asked, ducking under the tape.

“A young woman was found dead in a bathroom. Her name is Siriporn Chaiyen, Thai national. We found her purse with her passport and other possessions in it.”

“How old?”

“Eighteen.”

Henrik saw her raise her eyebrows.

“Come on,” he said, showing her the way to the train and the bathroom in Car 5 where Anneli Lindgren crouched down with tweezers in her hand. The small room was illuminated with bright lights.

Henrik and Mia stood in the doorway and studied the dead woman. She was young, with a characteristically Southeast Asian appearance.

“A suicide?” Mia asked.

Anneli looked up.

“No...” she said, getting up from the floor. “At first glance, it looks like an epileptic seizure, like she asphyxiated. But exactly how she died, I’m not sure yet.”

“So what are we doing here?”

“We can eliminate suicide,” said Henrik. “And it’s probably not an epileptic fit.”

“Who found her?”

“A train attendant, Mats Johansson,” Henrik said. “He is unfortunately in shock, but we were able to speak with him for a moment before he was taken to Vrinnevi Hospital. He said that he had been rushed by a crazy woman who had forced him to open the bathroom door. I know what you’re going to ask next—who was that woman?”

“Yes. But what, don’t I get to?”

“Well, you should, but I don’t know the answer.”

Mia gave him a questioning look.

“Why not?”

“She disappeared from the train.”

“And where is she now?”

“No one knows.”

Chapter Eight

CHAPTER EIGHT

IT SMELLED STRONGLY of bleach in the corridor of the National Laboratory of Forensic Science in Linköping.

Pathologist Björn Ahlmann looked up as Henrik Levin and Mia Bolander walked into the room. Björn stood at his stainless steel autopsy table with a serious look on his face. His eyes flashed a silvery blue.