'Sweet,' she says without batting an eyelid.

's.h.i.t, I'm only messing about, yeah? I get it, you're National Crime, aren't you?'

'Yes.'

'Armed?' he asks, pulling his trousers back up.

'Glock.'

Milan laughs silently and looks down at the walkway. A swarm of tiny insects is hovering in the air by the side of the steps.

'The only place that's at all like your description used to be out in Barkarby,' he says, giving Joona a quick glance. 'Club Noir, that was its name. But it's gone now ... This is neither the country nor the time for big brothels. The most usual sort these days is a flat with a couple of girls from Eastern Europe, all done on the Internet, loads of links in the chain, no one's ever guilty of a f.u.c.king thing ...'

'But this place did exist?' Joona says.

'Before my time. It's not there any more, it can't be, no one ever mentions it ...'

'Who do we ask?'

Milan turns towards him. A faint shadow of a moustache makes his lips look even thinner. His small black eyes are set deep, close together.

'Me,' he replies. 'If it's possible to buy heroin there, I'd know about it ... unless it's a tiny Russian enclave.'

'So where do people buy heroin?' Margot asks.

'If you don't have any contacts, Sergels torg is still the place to go. Nothing changes ... Medborgarplatsen and Rinkeby shopping centre too ... A lot's been getting through lately ... from Afghanistan, but it gets repackaged several times along the way. Once again, no one's ever guilty ...'

Milan rubs his nose hard, spits close to Margot's feet, then repeats that the Zone doesn't exist.

73.

Erik has had a terrible headache for two days. He's spent the morning reading Rainer Maria Rilke's poetry while a morose man tunes the grand piano that's just been brought in through the terrace doors.

Erik looks up as Joona Linna emerges from the study. He's changed into a tracksuit and disappeared into the hall when there's a ring on the door.

'Erik's bought a grand piano,' an excited girl's voice says.

'You must be Madeleine,' Joona says.

Erik puts his book down when he hears their voices, and quickly goes into the toilet and rinses his face. His hands are shaking, and he feels a pang of angst as he looks into his own bloodshot eyes. The three photographs, the smell of plastic in the meeting room, Sandra's green eyes and Maria Carlsson's generous smile are chasing through his mind.

When he returns Jackie and Madeleine are already standing in the living room in front of the piano, whispering and giggling. Jackie folds her white stick away and puts her hand on her daughter's shoulder when he walks in.

'Are you trying to impress me?' she asks.

'It's really, really lovely,' Madeleine says.

'Try it,' Erik says shakily.

'Has it been tuned after the move?' Jackie asks.

'That was part of the deal,' he replies.

Madeleine sits down on the stool and starts playing one of Satie's nocturnes. She moves her fingers softly, and her little body is upright and focused. When she finishes the last note she turns round with a big smile on her face. Erik applauds and can almost feel tears welling up in his eyes.

'Wonderful ... how can you be so good?'

'It's going to need to be tuned again fairly soon,' Jackie says.

'OK.'

She smiles and runs her fingers over the shiny black of the closed lid. Her hand looks like it's made out of stone in the reflection in the varnish.

'But it sounds very nice.'

'Good,' Erik says.

Madeleine tugs at his arm.

'Now I want to hear the robot play,' she says.

'No,' Erik protests.

'Yes!' both Madeleine and Jackie laugh.

'OK, but you've set a very high standard,' Erik mumbles, and sits down.

He puts his fingers on the keys, feels himself shaking and stops himself before he's even started.

'I mean, Maddy ... I'm so impressed,' he says.

'You're good too,' she says.

'Are you this good at football?'

'No ...'

'I bet you are,' Erik says warmly. 'I was thinking of coming early, so I have time to see you score a goal tomorrow.'

The girl's face stiffens and she looks upset.

'What?' Jackie asks.

'When I pick Maddy up after her match,' Erik replies.

Jackie's face goes pale and turns hard.

'That was yesterday,' she says in a heavy voice.

'Mum, I ... I can make my own ...'

'Did you walk on your own?' Jackie asks.

'I don't understand,' Erik says. 'I thought-'

'Be quiet,' she interrupts. 'Maddy, did Erik not turn up after the match?'

'It was fine, Mum,' the little girl says, and starts to cry.

Erik merely sits there with his hands hanging, feeling his headache throb. He suddenly feels sick again.

'I'm so sorry,' he says quietly. 'I can't understand how-'

'You promised me!'

'Mum, stop,' Madeleine cries.

'Jackie, I've had such a ridiculous amount to-'

'I don't care!' she yells. 'I don't want to hear!'

'Stop shouting,' Madeleine sobs.

Erik kneels down in front of her and looks her in the eye.

'Maddy, I thought it was tomorrow, I got it wrong.'

'It's OK-'

'Don't talk to him!' Jackie snaps.

'Please, I only want to-'

'I knew it,' she says, and her dark gla.s.ses flash angrily. 'Those pills, they weren't Alvedon, were they?'

'I'm a doctor,' Erik tries to explain, standing up. 'I know what I'm doing.'

'Fine,' Jackie mutters, as she pulls Madeleine towards the door.

'But this time it-'

She walks into a table that had to be moved to make room for the piano. A vase of dried flowers falls and breaks into three large pieces.

'Mum, you broke-'

'I don't care!' Jackie snaps.

Madeleine looks scared as she follows her mother, crying and hiccoughing.

'Jackie, wait!' Erik pleads, trying to follow them. 'I'm having a bit of trouble with my pills, I don't how it happened, but-'

'Do you think I care? Am I supposed to feel sorry for you now? Because you take drugs and put my daughter in danger? I can't trust you now, you must see that, surely. I don't want you anywhere near her.'

'I'll call a taxi,' Erik says heavily.

'Mum, it wasn't his fault. Please, Mum-'

Jackie doesn't answer, tears are streaming down her cheeks as she leads her daughter outside.

'I'm sorry, I ruin everything,' Madeleine sobs.

74.

Where Mster Samuelsgatan crosses Malmskillnadsgatan, the tall buildings form a canyon that forces the wind to become gusty and hard. Dust and rubbish swirl about restlessly around the little bronze girl whose downturned eyes have been surrounded by prost.i.tutes for more than three decades.

Erik has come with Joona so that he's close at hand if they manage to find Rocky. He's sitting in the Mozzarella restaurant and has just ordered a cup of coffee.

He's already called Jackie and left two messages for her, apologising and then trying to explain that there might be a patient stalking him.

He takes a sip of his coffee, and sees his worried face reflected in the window facing the street. He can't understand how he's managed to ruin everything. Being alone after Simone left hadn't scared him, but then he'd been given another chance, Cupid had crept to the edge of his cloud and fired another arrow his way.

He gets out his phone, looks at the time, then calls Jackie for a third time. When her recorded voice asks him to leave a message, he closes his eyes and speaks: 'Jackie ... I'm so very sorry, I've already said that, but people do make mistakes ... I'm not going to make any excuses, but I'm here ... I'll wait for you, I'll practise my etude ... and I'm prepared to do whatever it takes to make you start trusting me again.'

As Erik puts his phone down on the table, alongside his cup, Joona stops next to two women standing against a blank concrete wall. Leaning on his stick, he tries to strike up a conversation with them, but when they realise he isn't a customer they turn their back on him and begin talking to each other in low voices.

'Do you know somewhere called the Zone?' he asks. 'I'll pay well if you can tell me where it is.'

They start to walk off and Joona limps after them, trying to explain that the Zone might be called something else officially.

He stops and turns to walk in the opposite direction. Further ahead, close to the Kungsgatan towers, a thin woman gets into a white van.

Joona pa.s.ses some scaffolding, and sees a pile of discarded latex gloves and condoms beside the wall.