So no, they hadn’t actually ‘had sex’. They had made love.
Now, though, Gunnar Nyberg said, with uncharacteristic distinctness: ‘The three relevant ferries in Frihamnen that evening were: the French M/S Marie Curie, which arrived from Le Havre with a mixed cargo at 16.15; the Soviet M/S Cosmopolit, which arrived from Odessa with a mixed cargo at 18.25; and the German M/S Mercedes, which arrived from Kiel carrying a load of cars at 19.35. What we’re doing now, trying to track these ferries down after twenty years and a redrawn map of Europe, it doesn’t seem like it’s going to be an easy task. Maybe we can say that, at this point, both time and space are pointing to Cosmopolit.’
‘From Odessa in the Soviet Union,’ said Paul Hjelm.
‘Now Ukraine,’ added Nyberg.
They were silent for a moment. A system of coordinates very similar to a plus sign loomed large in a number of minds. A quadrant which had been standing alone for so long was slowly finding its way in towards the other three.
‘Time for a hypothesis,’ said Paul Hjelm. ‘If the noseless Shtayf came from Ukraine and went to Leonard Sheinkman’s house, then that’s the link we’ve been looking for. Obviously it’s still very vague, but if it’s true then we’ve got a possible connection between our Ukrainian Erinyes and our professor emeritus. It’s no less interesting given that Shtayf was killed on the same day he visited Sheinkman, and then found by the little lake to the immediate north-west of Tyresö. Nor that Sheinkman went on a pilgrimage to Shtayf’s grave and met his death right above it nineteen years later.’
‘No, it’s not,’ Hultin said. ‘What the hell is all of this? What’s the missing link?’
‘We might be going wrong somewhere,’ said Hjelm. ‘I’ve got a vague feeling there’s something wrong somewhere.’
‘But vague feelings aren’t what we do our job with.’
‘Don’t say that.’
‘Do you have anything else?’
‘No,’ said Hjelm. ‘Gunnar and I are still working on the ferries. Hunting down the old Soviet cargo ship, the Cosmopolit, is our next job. I’m going to be looking at Leonard Sheinkman’s diary more closely, too.’
‘Haven’t you done that already? Is it still “too hard”?’
‘Yes,’ said Hjelm.
Hultin sighed deeply and turned to Kerstin Holm:
‘Kerstin?’
She glanced down into her confusion of papers and replied: ‘Like I said, I’m still working on these murders around Europe. I’m carefully reading the investigations in each of the different languages. We haven’t been sent any more, so that’s one thing at least. But pestering Robbins in Manchester, Mészöly in Budapest, Sremac in Maribor, Roelants in Antwerp, von Weizsäcker in Wiesbaden and Gronchi in Venice has led to certain results.
‘Maribor’s the smallest of these towns. It was also the hanging immediately before Stockholm, in March. The Slovenian police have been making the greatest effort to be helpful European colleagues, and like I said, Maribor is a pretty small town. It seems as though a number of prostitutes did actually disappear from Maribor in March. There are certain hints from Commissioner Gronchi in Venice too, but they’re more vague. Venice was the one before Maribor, in February.
‘Wiesbaden isn’t huge either, and Detective Inspector von Weizsäcker is quite certain: no prostitutes went missing there. That was in December. Maybe we can interpret this as a sign that our Erinyes started growing their ranks just this year? They’ve reached the point now where their strength can spread. And if that’s the case, then we’ve just seen the beginning of it. Plus, I’ve finally managed to get a reply from Detective Superintendent Benziger in Weimar, in Germany. Detective Superintendent-’
‘Do they really have titles like that?’ asked Viggo Norlander. ‘The same plain old titles that we have here?’
‘Of course not,’ said Kerstin Holm. ‘They’re just rough translations. You’ve got to have really detailed knowledge to be able to understand the titles and promotion systems and hierarchies of these national police forces. It’s hard enough here, with us. I barely know which title I have myself – and I’d have no idea how to translate it. Can I go on?’
‘Let me think,’ Norlander replied jokingly. ‘Yes, yeah, that’s fine.’
‘Thank you. Detective Superintendent Radcliffe in Dublin suggested I get in touch with this Benziger. He replied a couple of hours ago. He said: “Dear Fräulein Holm. I sincerely apologise for not having been able to reply sooner. I’ve been on an assignment off grid. Jimmy was absolutely right to send you my way. James Radcliffe, that is. At an international conference recently, I told him that we had come across a modus operandi which reminds me of your case. I know very little about it, however, since it wasn’t linked to any police operation. I refer you in this matter to Professor Ernst Herschel from the history department at the University of Jena. With kind regards, Detective Superintendent Josef Benziger, Weimar.”’
‘So have you been in touch with this Herschel?’ Hultin asked.
‘No,’ said Holm. ‘I phoned but there was no answer. I’ve sent an email.’
‘Thanks. Anything else?’
‘Not at the moment.’
‘In that case, we can finish off with a little film, can’t we?’
‘Yup,’ Viggo Norlander said cheerfully. ‘Your wife and I, Jorge, have been on the move. A kind of honeymoon. We even shared a room in Karlskrona.’
‘No we didn’t,’ Sara Svenhagen retorted tranquilly.
‘No, maybe not,’ Norlander continued without letting it affect him. ‘But I’ve been filming her in all manner of positions.’
‘If you don’t stop, you can’t come to the party,’ said Chavez, still relatively unperturbed, digging among the pieces of rope.
‘What party?’
‘Whoops,’ said Jorge, putting his hand to his mouth. ‘Maybe we forgot to invite you.’
‘Our house-warming,’ said Sara. ‘I take it you’re all coming. Tomorrow evening at seven. Don’t eat beforehand. Birkagatan. Though you’ve all got to make a solemn promise: not to say a single word about this case.’
‘Why didn’t anyone say anything to me?’ Viggo complained. ‘And after all the travelling we’ve done, Sara.’
‘You’re not invited, Viggo,’ said Jorge. ‘Simple as that. We invited everyone but you.’
‘Stop it,’ said Sara. ‘You know full well you’re invited, Viggo. Astrid already said yes. Charlotte’s coming too. And we’ve had replies from everyone else, I think. Jan-Olov, what about you? Will your wife be coming too?’
‘Yes,’ said Jan-Olov Hultin, suddenly revealing that he had a private life. ‘Her name is Stina,’ he added.
‘And then Gunnar, I wasn’t sure about how many…’
‘Two,’ he replied, his voice clear and pure.
‘So everyone’s coming?’ said Jorge. ‘I’ll be damned. I’ll have to go and buy some more Duca.’
‘What kind of South American crap is that?’ Viggo persisted.
‘It’s a full-bodied Italian red. Duca d’Aragona, 1993. And it’s not crap. But they’ve almost always run out. I’ll probably have to go down to Nacka Forum to get some more. But I’ll gladly do that for all of you.’