She had tried to catch his eye but couldn’t. Then she understood. His voice had been soft.

She had felt a small shudder pass through her body. She had been afraid that he would notice, afraid that he would see that she had learned how to tell when something was wrong. When something was terribly wrong.

Jana moved her gaze from the photograph to the window. Her hands were clenched into fists. That day, as a nine-year-old in the car on the way home from their summerhouse, she had learned not to trust anyone. If she wanted something, she had to rely on herself. There was no one else to do it for her. She couldn’t leave anything to chance.

If she wanted to stop the gnawing sense of uneasiness in her body, she would have to find Robin Stenberg. Tonight.

Chapter Ten

CHAPTER TEN

MIA BOLANDER PARKED outside Vittra School and walked through the gate into the schoolyard. She was met by happy cries, running children and flying snowballs.

Three little girls with their hats pulled down over their foreheads came running toward her. Their cheeks were red from the cold and snot was running down the upper lips of all three.

“Who are you?” they said in chorus.

“I’m Mia.”

“Why are you here?”

“I’m meeting someone.”

“Who?”

“A man who works here at the school.”

“What’s his name?”

“I can’t say.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s a secret.”

“Why is it a secret?”

“Because it is. I need to know how to get to the third grade classroom.”

“The yellow group is over there.”

One of the girls pointed with her mitten toward one of the entrances.

Mia stepped inside and was met by the smell of the damp outerwear that hung lined up on hooks in the hallway. The floor was wet with melted snow. A hand-written sign instructed everyone to take off their shoes in the cloakroom. Mia ignored the sign, walked forward, turned to the right and took the stairs to the second floor.

She walked through the lounge, looking for the right classroom, and finally found it all the way down the hall.

The class was empty except for a man, a few years older than herself, who was standing in front of a whiteboard writing the day’s lesson. She knocked on the door frame and walked in. She noticed the map of Sweden, the calendar and the colorful alphabet on the walls.

“Mia Bolander, police.”

“Wonderful, great that you could come right now,” the man said, introducing himself as Stefan Ohlin. “You had some questions?”

“Yes, about your testimony.”

“Come in. Sit down.”

Stefan pulled out a chair from a round table and gathered up the notes that lay on it.

“Group work,” he said. “The yellow group is learning about the Bronze Age.”

Mia nodded and looked at his reddish hair and beard, freckled face and hands.

“How long can we talk?” she asked.