She’s out on Österlånggatan now, but soon turns off again onto one of the smaller streets. She can slowly feel the warmth returning to her limbs. Does she dare go back to Gabriella’s car? The police could have it under surveillance. But how would they even know where it was parked?

She continues down towards Kornhamnstorg where she abandoned it before her failed attempt to talk to the police.

When she arrives at Mälartorget, the car is still standing on the disabled spot at Trattoria Romana. She stops fifty metres from it and scans the street. No police officers. Nothing unusual at all. Just a normal, sleepy winter Sunday in central Stockholm.

Not so much as a parking ticket, she discovers when she reaches the car. Her hands tremble after the events of the past few hours, and she glances at the Italian restaurant she parked at, feels that familiar desire for a glass of wine. Just one. To calm down, to think clearly.

But she steels herself, unlocks the car and hops in. It would be too ironic if she were to hide for twenty minutes from the police and then end up arrested for drunk driving. She presses the start button and puts it into gear. From the corner of her eye she sees a bag on the passenger side. Gabriella didn’t take it with her.

Klara stops, turns off the engine and puts on the handbrake, then bends down and grabs the bag, a spacious leather tote, decorated with a familiar golden monogram pattern. She takes out a sweater, a vanity case, and the clothes Gabriella wore yesterday, and puts them on the passenger seat. She was only going to Sankt Anna archipelago for a night, so she packed light.

No computer, no phone either – she must have had it on her – only a charger in the bottom of the bag, a hairbrush, an old pack of chewing gum, a pot of expensive face powder and a half-full bottle of water.

Something jingles and Klara grabs hold of the keys to Gabriella’s apartment. But that’s all. Nothing of value. Nothing that gives the slightest clue as to what Gabriella was up to, the reason for her arrest.

Klara notices something curious on the face powder’s label, and deeper in the bag she feels the contours of something else. She grabs hold of a thin black notebook she didn’t notice at first. She takes it out, puts the rest of Gabriella’s things back into the bag, then opens the notebook to the first page.

20 October

Beirut