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up of fiction, presented as such, with colourful, quite lifelike illustrations. Like the factual content, the stories were always about people who achieved success, emotionally or financially. They were of different kinds, but as far as he could see, they were no more or less complicated in the big, glossy magazines than in the more comic-like publications.
    It did not escape him that the magazines were aimed at different social classes, but the content remained basically the same. The same people had their praises sung; the same stories were told; and although the style varied, his concerted trawl through them left the distinct impression that everything was written by a single hand. This was naturally an absurd thought.
    It also seemed absurd to imagine anyone taking exception to, or being deeply upset by, anything written in these magazines. Certainly the contributors didn’t baulk at getting personal, but the splendid qualities and impeccable moral values of the personalities discussed were never questioned. Now of course it was not unthinkable that some people whohad enjoyed success were left out, or not mentioned as often as others, but there was no way of establishing that, and it seemed unlikely in any case.
    Inspector Jensen fished the little white card out of his breast pocket and wrote in small, neat handwriting: 144 magazines. No clues.
    On the way home he felt hungry and stopped at a vending machine. He bought two plastic-wrapped sandwiches and ate them as he drove along.
    By the time he got back, he already had a severe pain in the right side of his diaphragm.
    He undressed in the dark and went to get the bottle and glass. He turned down the cover and sheet and sat on the bed.

CHAPTER 8
    ‘I want a report by nine every morning. In writing. Anything they consider relevant.’
    The chief of the plainclothes patrol nodded and left.
    It was Wednesday and the time was two minutes past nine. Inspector Jensen went over to the window and looked down on the men in overalls, busy with their hoses and buckets of disinfectant.
    He went back to his desk, sat down and read the reports. Two of them were extremely brief.
    The man at the post office reported that the letter was posted in the western part of the city, no earlier than 21.00 on Sunday evening, no later than 10.00 on Monday morning.
    The lab reported:
    Paper analysis complete. White, wood-free paper of top quality. Place of manufacture still not known. Glue type: standard office glue, film in acetone solution. Manufacturer: indeterminable.
    The psychologist:
    The individual who wrote the letter can be assumed to be either of extremely rigid temperament or a very repressed character, possibly obsessive. Any flexibility in this personcan be entirely ruled out. It can be assumed that the individual in question is thorough, bordering on pedantry or perfectionism, and is used to expressing him or herself, either verbally or in writing, but presumably the latter, and probably over a long period of time. Great care has been taken over the actual layout of the letter, both technically and in terms of its design and content, e.g. the choice of typeface (all the letters are of equal size) and the very even spacing. Indicates a fixed and compulsive way of thinking, as is so often the case. Some of the vocabulary choices imply that the author is a man, probably not that young, and something of an eccentric. None of these theories can be substantiated enough to be seen as definitive, but they may perhaps offer some guidance.
    The report was typed in an uneven and slapdash way, with many mistakes and crossings out.
    Inspector Jensen carefully put the three reports in his hole punch, made the necessary perforations in the margin and inserted them in a green file on the left-hand side of his desk.
    Then he stood up, took his hat and coat and left the room.
    The weather was still fine. The sunlight was sharp and white but shed no warmth; the sky was a cold blue, and despite the