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 didn’t answer.
“If you smile,” he said, “I’ll buy you a toy. Would you like that?”
She looked at the ground, feeling unsure of herself. His voice was suddenly soft, his face so kind.
“What do you say?” he asked.
“What kind of toy?” she asked.
“Whatever you want.”
“Really?”
“If you smile.”
She had a strange feeling in her stomach. She thought that a smile would buy her what she wanted most of all in the whole world—a doll to hold tight at night, so she wouldn’t feel so alone.
A doll, for a smile.
The photographer signaled again.
“Okay!” he yelled. “Now then. One, two, three!”
She smiled.
Click.
“There we go! That’s it.”
She had sat expectantly in the car on the way home. As they approached downtown, she couldn’t keep it in any longer.
“Are we going shopping now?” she asked.
But her father had kept his eyes straight ahead the whole time.
“No,” he said.
“But we were going to buy a doll...”
“I don’t have time right now.”
“You promised,” she said quietly.
“I didn’t promise it would be today.”
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.
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
