'G.o.d, no, not Natalia!' she cries. 'She promised ...'

She grabs hold of the handle of the fridge, and the door swings open as she falls, dislodging a shelf full of ketchup and jam. Nelly hurries across to her and holds her slender shoulders.

'Nje maja ciastra,' she gasps. 'Nje maja ciastra ...'

She curls up in Nelly's lap and tries to hold her hand over her mouth as she cries, screaming into her palm and shaking uncontrollably.

After a while she calms down and sits up, but she's still breathing unevenly between sobs. She wipes her tears and clears her throat weakly, trying to control her breathing.

'Did someone hurt her?' she asks in a ragged voice. 'Did they hit her, did they hit Natalia?'

Her face contorts again as she tries to hold her tears back, but they run down her cheeks.

Joona takes some napkins from a pack on the worktop and hands them to her, then pulls a chair over and sits down in front of her.

'If you know anything at all, it's very important that you tell us,' he says sternly.

'What could I know?' she says, looking at them in confusion.

'We're just trying to find the person who did this,' Nelly says, brushing the hair from Irina's face.

'You spoke to your sister on the phone,' Joona goes on. 'Did she tell you where she lived, or what her job was?'

'There are those men who trick girls from poor countries, who say they're going to get good jobs, but Natalia was smart, she said it wasn't anything like that, that it was real. She promised me, but I've been to the furniture factory ... no one there had heard of Natalia, durnaja dziautjynka ... They're not employing anyone, haven't done for years.'

Her eyes are red from crying, and tiny red spots have appeared on the fair skin of her forehead.

'What's the name of the factory?' Erik asks.

'Sofa Zone,' she says blankly. 'It's out in Hgdalen.'

Nelly remains seated on the floor with Irina, stroking her head and promising to stay with her for as long as she wants. Erik exchanges a quick glance with Nelly, then walks back out through the noisy kitchen with Joona.

80.

Margot Silverman is sitting in front of a computer in the investigation room, looking at Erik's recording of Rocky's hypnosis again.

His large head is drooping forward as he describes his visit to the Zone in a languid voice. He talks about the dealers and strippers, and the fact that he thought he could pick up some money there.

As Margot listens her eyes drift along the walls of the room. The victims' patterns of movement are marked in three different colours on the large map.

Every place, every street where they could have come into contact with the preacher is marked.

On the screen, Rocky shakes his head as he says that the preacher smells of fish-guts.

Margot sees the pin in the map marking Rebecka Hansson's home in Salem.

Serial killers usually stick to their home patch, but in this case the locations are spread out across the most densely populated metropolitan district in Scandinavia.

'The preacher snorts back some snot, then starts to speak in a really high voice,' Rocky says, breathing unevenly.

Margot shudders, and watches the big man squirm on his chair and howl with angst as he describes the way the preacher cuts the woman's arm off.

'It sounds like when you stick a spade into mud ...'

After the discovery out in Skogskyrkogrden, no one doubts that the preacher is the serial killer that they're all looking for.

She knows it was Joona who persuaded Nils hlen to order the body to be exhumed. It would have been much easier if she could work with Joona openly, but Benny Rubin and Petter Nslund are backing up Adam, resisting his involvement.

Margot doesn't have the authority to let Joona join the investigation, but she's sure as h.e.l.l not going to stop him from conducting his own inquiries.

Rocky shakes his head and his shadow moves across the glossy Playboy pinup on the wall behind him.

'The preacher chops her arm off at the shoulder,' Rocky gasps. 'Loosens the tourniquet and drinks ...'

'Listen to my voice now,' Erik says.

'And drinks the blood from her arm ... while Tina lies bleeding to death on the floor ... Dear G.o.d in heaven ... Dear G.o.d ...'

Inside Margot's womb the baby moves so violently that she has to lean back and close her eyes for a while.

The preliminary investigation is proceeding systematically according to established routines, but no one really believes that's going to produce results in time.

The police have knocked on doors and questioned many hundreds of neighbours, they've examined all the footage from surveillance and traffic cameras around the crime scenes.

Unless Rocky returns to Karsudden Hospital soon, so that Erik can question him properly, they'll have to make a public appeal for information about him.

Margot switches the video off, and has a strong feeling that she's being watched, so gets up and closes the curtains over the window looking out on to the park.

She opens her bag and takes out her powder compact, looks at herself in the little mirror, and puts some more powder on. Her nose has got shiny and the rings under her eyes look darker. She reapplies her lipstick, blots her lips on a letter from the National Police Board, adjusts her hair, then calls Jenny on Skype.

She can see herself on the screen, and as the call is connected she undoes one b.u.t.ton on her blouse and moves backwards slightly so that her cheeks are framed better.

Jenny answers almost immediately. She looks cross but attractive, with her messy black hair tumbling over her thin shoulders. She's wearing a washed-out vest and the little golden heart is shimmering against her neck.

'Hi, baby,' Margot says quietly.

'Have you caught the bad guy yet, then?'

'I thought I was the bad guy?' Margot says.

Jenny smiles and stifles a yawn.

'Did you call the bank about that ridiculous charge?'

'Yes, and apparently there's nothing wrong with it,' Jenny replies.

'That can't be right.'

'So call them yourself.'

'I just meant ... OK, never mind ... It's so irritating when they deduct payments for ... oh, what the h.e.l.l.'

'What did you want?' Jenny asks, picking at her armpit.

'How are the girls?' Margot asks.

'Fine,' Jenny says, glancing off to one side. 'But Linda's still a bit down. She needs to learn to make new friends ... she's far too nice.'

'Being nice is a good thing, surely?' Margot points out.

'But she doesn't know what to do when her best friend says she's got fed up of her. She just gets upset and sits and waits.'

'She'll learn.'

Margot would like to be able to tell Jenny about the investigation, about the meaningless hatred and her feeling that the preacher is close by, watching them all.

She feels worried for herself, because she keeps forgetting all the things that normal people know, and the fact that she's going to have a baby, and that people can be happy and secure.

'You look nice,' Margot says, tilting her head to one side.

'No, I don't.' Jenny grins, then yawns loudly. 'Right, I'm going to carry on watching a repeat of the Stockholm Horse Show.'

'OK, I'll call again later.'

Jenny blows her a kiss and ends the call, leaving Margot looking at her own face. Her father's nose and those thick, colourless eyebrows. I look like someone's aunt, she thinks. Like my dad, if he'd been a woman.

The suspicion that there's something wrong between her and Jenny is snaking its way through Margot's head when Adam Youssef comes into the room and opens the window facing the park.

He's been in a meeting with Nathan Pollock and Elton Eriksson from the National Murder Unit in an attempt to prune the list of potential perpetrators and help move the preliminary investigation forward.

'I had Pollock as one of my lecturers when I was training,' Margot says.

'Yes, he said,' Adam replies as he sits down and leafs through a bundle of papers.

'Have you got the new profile there?' Margot asks.

Adam runs his hands through his thick hair in frustration.

'They just keep repeating things we already know ...'

'That's how it works, setting up things that seem obvious as the parameters,' she replies, leaning back.

'The murders are characterised by a high degree of risk-taking, forensic awareness and excessive brutality,' he reads. 'The victims are women of child-bearing age, the crime scenes are the victims' homes ... The motive is instrumental and the violence probably expressive.'

Margot listens to the generalisations and thinks about the fact that Anja's list of names has grown even longer.

Considering that Sweden is the most secular country in the world, she can't help thinking that there are an awful lot of priests and preachers.

They've now got almost five hundred people with direct connections to various faith organisations in the Stockholm area who match the general profile.

This investigation has ground to a halt, she finds herself thinking once more.

If only they had one sighting, just one decent piece of information to go on.

They need to bring things into focus.

There isn't enough time to check out more than five hundred men. Given the murderer's momentum so far, the video of his next victim could appear at any time.

In order to limit the search as things stand, we need to add in some uncertain parameters, she thinks. Previous violent crimes, for instance, or personality disorders.

'There are forty-two men who've been suspects in other cases, nine have been convicted of violent crimes, none for stalking, none for murder, and none for brutality that bears any resemblance to our serial killer's,' Adam says. 'Eleven have convictions for s.e.xual offences, thirty for drugs ...'

'Just give me someone to shoot,' she says wearily.

'I've got three names ... none of them is a perfect match, but two of them have been investigated for crimes of violence against more than one woman ...'

'Good.'

'The first one is a Sven Hugo Andersson, a vicar in the parish of Danderyd ... the other one's a Pasi Jokala, he used to be active in the Philadelphia Church, but now he's got his own congregation, known as the Grtuna Revivalists ...'

'And the third one?'

'I'm not sure, but he's the only one of these five hundred who has a doc.u.mented personality disorder that matches the profile. A twenty-year-old diagnosis for borderline psychosis. But he's got no criminal record, doesn't feature in either police or social service registers ... and he's also been married for ten years, which doesn't fit the profile at all.'

'Better than nothing,' she says.

'Anyway, his name's Thomas Apel, and he's the so-called stake president of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, out in Jakobsberg.'

'We'll start with the violent ones,' she says, and stands up.

Adam goes to his office to call his wife and tell her he's got to work late, and Margot stops in the kitchen, looks in the cupboard and pops Petter Nslund's packet of jam biscuits in her bag before she walks out.

Adam's account of the perpetrator profile has made her think about stalker and serial killer Dennis Rader, whom she wrote an essay about when she was training. He used to call the police and media to tell them about his murders. He even used to send the police objects he'd taken from his victims.

In his case, the perpetrator profile was completely wrong. They had been looking for a divorced, impotent loner whereas Rader was married, had children, and was active in both the church and the scouting movement.