“Correct.”

“The imprint is in the same place in both rooms.”

“Correct.”

“That’s all I had.” Bergenhem’s features relaxed.

“There’s another thing,” Ringmar said from his favorite corner. He always stood there and fiddled nonstop with his mustache. It might look like he was vain about his appearance, but he simply thought more clearly when his fingers were in motion. “Those marks,” he explained.

Winter looked at Ringmar, swallowed and felt the scratching sensation in his throat again.

Ringmar continued. “Is there anything in the latest report from INTERPOL and London about marks in the middle of the room?”

“No,” Möllerström said, “but they’re not even finished with half of the room yet.”

“That means we’re faster than they are.” This from an inspector who would be leaving the core group soon.

“It doesn’t mean a damn thing,” Ringmar snapped, “until we get all the exact times down.”

“Let’s not turn this into a game of one-upmanship between London and Gothenburg,” Winter said.

“My sentiments exactly,” Ringmar said. “Where was I?”

“The marks,” Möllerström answered.

“Right. The forensic specialists found these marks almost smack-dab in the middle of the room, and now they’re sure what they are.”

“They’re pretty sure,” Winter corrected him.

“Reasonably sure, let’s put it that way,” Ringmar went on. “They’re working on the comparisons right now. I just talked with them, or rather with INTERPOL.”

“It’s time for some direct contact with London,” Winter said.

“Are you planning to keep us in suspense all day long?” a woman’s voice said. Aneta Djanali was one of the few women at Homicide, new to the division but never apologetic about it. Ringmar had talked to Winter about her, and they agreed that she would remain in the group as they prepared for the long haul.

“The marks were from a tripod,” Ringmar said. “It might have been for a video camera or a regular camera-or a pair of binoculars, for that matter-but it’s definitely a tripod.”