Much worse things than that can happen, thought Josefsson.

“I don’t know,” he said. “The staff didn’t notice anything, you say?”

“No. Surely they would have?”

“You’d think so,” said Josefsson, but in fact he was thinking something else. Who can be on the lookout all the time? Thinking who’s that man standing under the tree over there? Sitting in that car?

“How long does your boy say he was away?”

“He doesn’t know. He’s a child. He can’t distinguish between five minutes and fifty minutes if you ask him afterward.”

Bengt Josefsson pondered this.

“Do you believe him?” he asked.

No reply.

“

Fru Skarin?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I just don’t know.”

“Does he have, er, a lively imagination?”

“He’s a child. All children have lively imaginations if there’s nothing wrong with them.”

“Yes.”

“So what should I do?”

Bengt Josefsson looked down at the few sentences he’d jotted down on his notepad.

Two colleagues came racing past his desk.

“Robbery at the newspaper kiosk!” one of them yelled.

He could already hear the siren from one of the cars outside.

“Hello?” said Berit Skarin.

“Yes, where were we? Well, I’ve noted down what you said. Anyway, nobody’s missing. So, if you want to report it, then, er-”

“What should I report?”

That’s the point, thought Josefsson. Unlawful deprivation of liberty? No. An attempted sexual offense, or preparation for one? Well, perhaps. Or the imagination of a very young man. He evidently hadn’t come to any harm be-

“I want to take him to a doctor now,” she said, interrupting his train of thought. “I take this very seriously.”

“Yes,” said Josefsson.

“Should I take him to a doctor?”

“Have you, er, examined him yourself?”

“No. I called right after he told me.”

“Oh.”

“But I will now. Then I’ll see where we go from there.” He heard her shouting for the boy, and a reply from some distance away. “He’s watching TV,” she said. “Now he’s laughing.”