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the parking lot, sections of the stone wall near Österport could be seen. A red Volvo drove past. For Bergdal, it seemed so far away that it might as well have been on the moon.
    Anders Knutas adjusted the tape recorder on the table, cleared his throat, and pressed the record button.
    “Interview with Per Bergdal, the boyfriend of murder victim Helena Hillerström,” he said in an authoritative voice. “The time is four ten on the fifth of June. The interview is being conducted by Detective Superintendent Anders Knutas, and the witness is Detective Inspector Karin Jacobsson.”
    He cast a somber look at Bergdal, who was slumped forward, staring down at the table. “When did you discover that Helena was missing?”
    “I woke up just before ten. She wasn’t in bed. I got up, but she wasn’t in the house, either. So I thought she must have gone out with the dog. She usually takes the first walk with Spencer in the morning. I’m a sound sleeper, so I didn’t notice when she left.”
    “What did you do?”
    “I lit a fire in the woodstove and made breakfast. Then I sat down and drank my coffee and read yesterday’s paper.”
    “Didn’t you wonder where she was?”
    “When the eleven o’clock news came on the radio, I started thinking it was strange that she hadn’t come back yet. I went out on the porch. You can see all the way to the water from our house, but today there was a thick fog, so I could see only a few yards. Then I got dressed and went out to look for her. I walked down to the beach and called, but I couldn’t find her or Spencer.”
    “How long did you look for her?”
    “I must have been out there at least an hour. Then I thought that maybe she’d returned to the cabin in the meantime, so I hurried back. The house was still empty,” he said, and his voice faded out. He hid his face in his hands.
    Anders Knutas and Karin Jacobsson waited in silence.
    “Are you ready to continue?” asked Knutas.
    “I just can’t believe she’s dead,” Bergdal whispered.
    “What happened when you got back to the house?”
    “It was still empty, so I thought maybe she’d gone to visit some friends of ours nearby. I called them, but she wasn’t there, either.”
    “What are their names?”
    “Their last name is Larsson. Eva and Rikard, her husband. Eva’s an old friend Helena has known since childhood. They live year-round in a house a short distance from ours.”
    “Did they have any idea where she might have gone?”
    “No.”
    “Who answered the phone?”
    “Eva did.”
    “Was her husband home, too?”
    “No, they own a farm, so I guess he was out working.”
    Bergdal lit yet another cigarette, coughed, and then took a long drag.
    “What did you do next?”
    “I lay down on the bed and thought about various places she might have gone. Then it occurred to me that she might have fallen and hurt herself. Maybe she couldn’t get up. So I went out looking for her again.”
    “Where?”
    “Down at the beach. The fog had lifted a little. I saw her footsteps in the sand. I also searched in the woods, but I didn’t find her. Then I went back home.”
    His face crumpled. He started crying, quietly, without moving. The tears poured out, mixing with snot, but he didn’t notice. Karin didn’t really know what to do. She decided not to disturb him. He took a couple of gulps of water and regained his composure.
    Knutas continued the interview. “How did you get those marks on your neck?”
    “What? Oh, these?” Embarrassed, Bergdal touched his hands to his throat.
    “Yes, those. They look like scratches,” said Knutas.
    “Well, you see, we had a party last night. We had invited some friends over. Helena’s friends, actually. We ate dinner and partied and had a good time. Everyone drank a little too much. I have a problem with jealousy. Well, sometimes I get really jealous, and that’s what happened last night. One of the guys was coming on to Helena when they were dancing.”
    “In what