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before. He made her relax. For the first time she didn’t give a thought to how she looked or how he might judge her expertise in bed.
    To be one hundred percent in the moment was something that she had known only from giving birth to her children.
    Yet eventually she chose to break it off with him. For the children’s sake, she decided to stay with Olle. When the drama of the serial murders was over and she woke up in the hospital with her family around her, she realized that she lacked the will to go through with a divorce, even though she felt that Johan was the great love of her life. Security counted more, at least at the time. With much anguish she put an end to their affair.
    The whole family went to Greece on vacation because she needed to get away and have some distance from everything. But it hadn’t turned out to be that simple.
    When they were back home, Johan had written to her. At first she considered throwing out the letter, unread. But her curiosity got the better of her. Afterward she regretted it.
    It would have been best for all parties concerned if she hadn’t read even one line of that letter.
    Karin Jacobsson and Thomas Wittberg walked down to Östercentrum as soon as the investigative meeting was over. The pedestrian street between the shops was almost deserted. The wind and rain were having their effect. They hurried into the mall at Obs supermarket and shook off the worst of the rain as they stood inside the glass doors.
    The shopping center was quite modest: H&M, Guldfynd, a couple of beauty parlors, a health food store, a bulletin board. Obs with its rows of cashiers, then the bakery and pastry shop, the customer service counter, the Tips & Tobak betting parlor and tobacco shop. Restrooms in the back, a recycling station for bottles, and the exit leading to the parking lot. Along with weary retirees and the parents of small children, needing to rest their feet, drunks occupied the benches in the mall whenever the weather was bad.
    Most of them kept a hip flask in a bag or pocket, but as long as they didn’t do any drinking inside, the security guards left them in peace.
    Jacobsson recognized two local winos sitting on the bench nearest the exit. They were filthy and unshaven, dressed in worn-out clothes. The younger man was leaning his head against the wall behind him and staring indifferently at the people walking past. He wore a black leather jacket and tattered running shoes. The older man had on a blue down jacket and knit cap. He was leaning forward with his head in his hands. Greasy locks of hair had crept out from under his cap.
    Jacobsson introduced herself and Wittberg, even though she was fully aware that the two men knew who they were.
    “We haven’t done anything. We’re just sitting here.”
    The man in the cap glanced up, his eyes crossed. And it’s not even eleven o’clock in the morning , thought Jacobsson.
    “Take it easy,” Wittberg told them. “We just want to ask you a few questions.”
    He pulled a photo out of his pocket.
    “Do you recognize this man?”
    The younger drunk kept on staring straight ahead. He refused to give either of the police officers even a glance. The other man stared at the picture.
    “Hell yes. That’s Flash, of course.”
    “How well do you know him?”
    “He’s one of the gang, you know. Usually hangs out around here, or at the bus station. He’s been doing that for twenty years. Of course I know Flash, everybody does. Hey, Jonas, you know who Flash is, don’t you?”
    He poked his pal in the side and handed him the photo.
    “What a fucking stupid question. Everybody knows him.”
    The man named Jonas had pupils the size of peppercorns. Jacobsson wondered what he was high on.
    “When did you last see him?” asked Wittberg.
    “What did he do?”
    “Nothing. We just want to know when you last saw him.”
    “Hmm, when the hell was it? What day is today? Monday?”
    Jacobsson nodded. The man stroked his chin with fingers that had