Marked For Revenge. Emelie Schepp

such thing as an ugly baby.”

      “No, it’s because no one would dare to say so. But everyone has thought it at one time or another.”

      “But not everyone thinks that babies are ugly!” Henrik protested.

      “Haven’t you ever thought it?” Mia asked.

      “No. Never.”

      “See, it’s because you’re a father. If you weren’t, you would have. You agree with me, don’t you, Ola?”

      Ola held his hand up. “No comment.” He wasn’t going to join in Mia’s fun.

      “Wimp. You agree with me,” Mia said.

      “I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” Ola said.

      They all fell quiet. Ola broke the silence. “Going back to our previous conversation, Henrik, did that train attendant actually have anything to say?”

      Henrik didn’t have a chance to answer before Gunnar Öhrn came into the cafeteria and interrupted them.

      “Mia!” he barked.

      “Yes?” she said, turning around.

      “I want to talk to you.”

      “Is that an order?”

      “Yes. It’s important. In my office in five minutes.”

      Mia sighed and took a bite of the pear.

      * * *

      Gunnar sat in his office and knew that as soon as he had given Mia the assignment, he should let Anders Wester know that a new witness had turned up at the train station. But it was hard.

      He fiddled with his phone and pulled out Anders’s number. It still felt unnatural having the National Crime Squad looking over his shoulder, as if their department had suddenly become a class of special needs kids with Anders Wester as their “normal” peer mentor.

      He knew that if she could hear his thoughts, Anneli would say, Knock it off! You’re being childish!

      He began to type in Anders’s phone number, but when he came to the last digit, he changed his mind and deleted it. He had absolutely no desire to talk to Anders, or to have anything at all to do with him, really.

      Just then, someone knocked on his door. Mia stuck her head in. “You wanted something?”

      Gunnar rubbed his hands over his face several times.

      “Sit down,” he said, pointing at the chair in front of him.

      “What is it?” she said, sitting down.

      “I just want you to interview a witness who was in the parking lot yesterday when the train with the dead woman rolled into the station. He says he saw a man. Find out what he saw. His name is Stefan Ohlin.”

      “Sure, sure, sure.”

      Gunnar took a deep breath.

      “And one more thing.”

      “What is it?”

      “Your attitude is a little, well, how should I say this. It’s too much.”

      “Are you going to fire me or what?” Mia crossed her arms over her chest.

      “No, I’m not going to fire you. But...you’re sucking energy out of the group with your attitude, and I want you to get it together.”

      “Okay. I should shut up, you mean?”

      “That’s exactly the attitude I’m talking about.”

      “What do you mean? I’m just saying what I think.”

      “Well, stop doing that, then. Keep your opinions to yourself and focus on doing a good job instead!”

      Mia didn’t answer, just pursed her lips.

      “This is how it’s going to be,” Gunnar said. “We have the National Crime Squad looking over our shoulders, and I want you to help me live up to their expectations. We can’t give them any reason to question our work.”

      “Sure,” Mia said, nodding slowly.

      “Good. So then, I want you to start by interviewing this Stefan guy. Here’s his number. He’s a teacher at Vittra School in Röda Stan, the neighborhood with all the red houses, and wants us to meet him there.”

      “Henrik and I will go...”

      “You go by yourself.”

      “Okay. I’ll leave right away.”

      Mia got up and walked toward the door.

      “And, Mia...”

      Gunnar looked at her with a frown.

      “Yes?”

      “Show me what you’ve got. Please?”

      “I will,” Mia said with a wide, bright smile.

      She looked happy, Gunnar thought. Way too happy.

      Then he understood.

      She had been telling him to go to hell.

      With her smile.

      * * *

      Jana Berzelius did not seem to be in any hurry when she entered the Public Prosecution Office on Olai Kyrkogata 50, in the middle of downtown Norrköping. But in reality she was in a terrible state. She didn’t know how to handle the fact that she had seen the skinny kid Robin Stenberg at the police station. Hadn’t he understood that she was serious? The last thing she wanted was for the police to get involved.

      She put her briefcase on the floor and stood behind the desk in her office without sitting down. She didn’t want to sit; she just wanted to stand, wanted to escape the unpleasant feeling that Robin Stenberg was about to do something at the police station that wouldn’t turn out well for her.

      It was quiet on her floor. The only thing she could hear through the glass wall was a colleague’s steps and the electronic hum of a printer spitting out copies of a report, a court order or some other document that was hundreds of pages long.

      A photograph hung on one wall of her office. It showed a family standing on the steps of a large yellow summerhouse. Jana looked at the girl’s eyes, meeting the gaze of herself as a nine-year-old girl, and remembered that day. The sky had been clear and the air dry and warm.

      The sunshine had made the house stunningly gorgeous. Her mother always said that you couldn’t imagine a more beautiful place. They had driven from Norrköping to Arkösund, walked down to the cliffs and looked over the sea.

      Then it had been time for the family picture. The three of them, together. She’d been wearing a white dress and had stood unmoving on the stone steps in front of the house, her mother and father standing next to her. Her mother had stood still while her father stamped his feet impatiently, his voice stern, as always.

      “Hurry up!”

      “Just one last adjustment.”

      The photographer waved his hand, signaling that they should move closer to each other.

      “Now smile, all of you! One, two, three.”

      Click.

      “I want all of you to smile at the same time. One more time. One, two three.”

      Click.

      “Are you happy now?” Karl asked.

      “No, one more. Now we’re smiling, come on now, little girl, you, too—give me the prettiest smile you can.”

      But she didn’t smile.

      “Let’s try again!”

      “Wait!” her father said, turning toward her. “Why won’t you smile, Jana?”

      She