The Silenced. Литагент HarperCollins USD

early and go home. On Monday I promise you’ll have a nice new murder to get your teeth into. And with that, I think we can put this whole episode behind us. What do you say, Gabrielsson?”

      * * *

      The bodyguard—Stenberg thought his name might be Becker—opened the car door. The man was looking away the whole time, focused on their surroundings. Stenberg got out of the car and stretched gently. He shaded his eyes with his hand and gazed out across the water, toward the Vasa Museum and Gröna Lund amusement park. A couple of young women in short summer dresses and high heels walked past on the pavement. One of them smiled at him and he couldn’t help smiling back. And why not? It was Friday afternoon, the working day was over, the sun was shining, and Stockholm was looking at its most beautiful.

      Inside the restaurant Karolina was waiting at their table.

      “Hello, darling,” he said, and leaned forward to kiss her. She tilted her head to one side and let him kiss her on the cheek instead of the lips.

      “I’ve already ordered. Veal for both of us. Salad rather than potato gratin.” She looked up and noted his expression. “You’ve let your belt out a notch, and the camera added a few more kilos yesterday.”

      She nodded gently toward his stomach and revealed a row of perfectly white pearly teeth between lips red with the lipstick she had just stopped him from spoiling. Karolina was his rock, the only person he could trust unconditionally. She was strong in every sense of the word.

      He sat down, spread the large linen napkin over his lap, and took a sip of water.

      “How has your day been?” he asked.

      “Fine. The phone keeps ringing. Two different charities are trying to recruit me, and I’m inundated with lunch invitations. If it carries on like this, I’m soon going to need an assistant.” Karolina winked at him.

      “I could put someone onto that if you like.”

      “It’s too soon. An assistant would make it look like we’re taking developments for granted.”

      The waiter appeared with their starters. The thick carpet and subdued conversation of the other guests almost drowned the sound of him approaching.

      “You’re right,” Stenberg said once the waiter had left them. “I’m just worried about you.”

      Karolina patted his hand. “I’ll manage. Now eat; the veal is supposed to be wonderful.”

      Stenberg returned her smile, then glanced up briefly as two familiar men walked in through the doors facing Strandvägen and stopped at the maître d’s little podium. One was Oscar Wallin, the other John Thorning. The men were laughing, as if one of them had just said something amusing. They were behaving like old friends and Stenberg felt his good mood sink.

      “How lovely to see you,” John Thorning said with a surprised smile.

      “Yes, what a surprise.” Karolina repeated the trick with her cheek so that Thorning could kiss her on both sides. “It’s been ages. How are you and Margareta?”

      John Thorning replied something that Stenberg didn’t hear. He was fully occupied trying not to glare angrily at Wallin.

      “I didn’t know that you and John knew each other,” he said.

      “Oh, we’ve had a few dealings. John suggested we get a bite to eat together, and as luck would have it he had a gap in his schedule today.” Wallin nodded toward Thorning.

      “Yes, I wanted to thank Wallin personally for his efforts last winter. That supplementary investigation into”—Thorning made a slight gesture with his hand—“Sophie’s tragic passing. You told me that Wallin helped to iron out the question marks that had been troubling me. So I thought that the least I could do was to offer a bite to eat in return.” John Thorning patted Wallin’s shoulder. “And it’s a good idea anyway, having an early dinner on a Friday. It makes the weekend feel longer, don’t you think? And the boat to Sandhamn leaves from just outside here, so I’ll be sure of getting home okay.”

      Stenberg forced a smile. This meeting was obviously no coincidence. Wallin must have checked his diary with Jeanette. He would have to talk to her about that.

      “We won’t disturb you any longer, Jesper,” John Thorning said. “You and Karolina need a little time to yourselves, and Oscar and I have a lot to talk about. I’m very interested in how things are going with your plans. We should meet again. Soon. I’ll ask my secretary to call Jeanette.”

      They shook hands, and with an effort of will Stenberg managed to squeeze out another smile.

      “John’s looking brighter,” Karolina said as they sat back down. “He seems to have put that sorry business with Sophie behind him.”

      Something in her voice made Stenberg start. An undertone, a trace so insignificant that he wasn’t even sure that he’d really heard it. He stared at his wife, but she looked exactly the same as usual. She smiled at him. Bright red lipstick, white teeth. For a millisecond he got it into his head that Sophie was sitting on the chair opposite him. Looking at him with her shattered eyes. He shuddered and blinked hard a couple of times to make the image disappear.

      “Aren’t you feeling well, Jesper?” his wife asked.

      * * *

      Julia sat with her lower arms resting on the wheel as she fiddled with her cell phone. Both side windows were wound down to keep the summer heat from turning the car into an oven. Even so, she could feel her blouse sticking to her lower back, and she started the engine and air-conditioning the moment she saw Amante emerge from the Forensic Medicine Unit.

      She’d had time to make four calls while he was in there, all with similarly disappointing results. No one could tell her where David Sarac was being treated. Or, to be more accurate, where he had been treated before someone murdered, dismembered, and dumped him in Lake Mälaren. Because she was still convinced that they were right and Pärson was wrong.

      “All sorted out?” she said.

      “Yes.” Amante sat heavily in the passenger seat and closed the door. “My good friend in there promised to put the head in an empty compartment in cold storage. One of his colleagues will find it within the next few days and call the Security Police. A regrettable mistake, blah, blah, blah …”

      “And how much did that cost you, then?”

      “Do you really want to know?”

      Julia didn’t answer. She just took the hand brake off and let the car roll slowly out of the parking lot. Suppressed an urge to put her foot down and force Amante to grab for the handle above the door.

      “Are you planning on telling me what Pärson meant earlier?” Amante said after several minutes’ silence.

      “Which bit?” she muttered.

      “What he said about your solving rate.”

      She glanced at Amante, but nothing in his tone of voice or expression suggested that he was teasing her. The best idea would obviously be to keep quiet. Follow Pärson’s advice, get shot of this mess, and put the whole case behind her.

      “I’ve got the best clearance rate when it comes to murder investigations,” she found herself saying instead. She heard the note of pride in her own voice.

      “In Violent Crime?”

      She shook her head. “In the whole country, actually. Almost all the cases I’ve investigated have ended up solved.”

      He turned toward her and she could sense his skepticism.

      “We’re talking solved from a police perspective,” she added. “Not necessarily guilty verdicts. In two of the cases the perpetrators are dead. And in two more they’ve fled abroad and can’t be brought to justice because of that. And in one … in one the perpetrator was released on appeal, unfortunately.”

      She bit her top lip gently.