He pulled his hand over his mouth, stood for a moment, looking at the white stroller standing in the hallway. He reached out with both hands, gripping the handle and rolling it back and forth.

There was no price tag, but it looked expensive.

He turned on the light in the kitchen and read the note on the table. “We’re at my mom’s.”

He flipped absentmindedly through the pile of advertisements that lay next to the note, then opened the refrigerator and looked inside. He pulled out cheese, butter and ham.

He toasted two pieces of bread but left them sitting in the toaster even after they were done. He stood with his gaze toward the dark garden, watching the strings of Christmas lights swinging in the branches of the apple trees as they swayed in the wind, saw the kitchen reflected in the dark glass and thought again about Robin Stenberg.

There was something about it that he just couldn’t shake.

As he lifted the sandwich to his mouth, he realized what it was.

It didn’t necessarily mean anything, but he immediately put the food back into the refrigerator, wiped the counter, put on his coat and left.

* * *

The long twig bent against his body and broke in the middle. He continued running, his eyes locked on the deep tracks in the snow.

It was too easy. She didn’t have a chance.

After running around a large boulder, he stopped, closing his eyes and listening. He first heard only the gurgling of a river, but he focused his concentration and heard the vague sounds ahead of him. The crunching of snow, the quick, desperate footsteps.

She wasn’t far from him now.

He smiled, opening his eyes and beginning to run again.

* * *

The door of the police station opened with a squeak. The stairwell was quiet, almost peaceful.

Henrik Levin leaped quickly up the stairs, opened the door to his office, turned on the light and stepped in. He looked for the crime scene evidence log of Robin Stenberg’s apartment, but he couldn’t find it.

His cell phone rang.

The unexpected sound made his adrenaline start pumping.

“Yes,” he answered quickly.

“Where are you?”

Emma spoke in a low voice.

“I’ll be home soon.”

“When is soon?”

“It’s...soon.”

“In a half hour?”

“I hope so.”

“Are you at work?”

“Yes. I’m just checking something.”

Henrik could hear the kids in the background, Felix and Vilma. They were calling for Emma, asking if they could watch a movie.

“Okay,” she said, and was silent for a moment. The children’s voices were calling again, begging for a movie, insisting on watching it right that very minute.

“I see that you’ve been home,” she said.

“I was, but came right back.”

Emma was quiet again, as if she was waiting for him to say something. Then he remembered.

“The stroller is great. Beautiful, and so white.”

“Thanks.”