“Of course.”

“And the more it changes, the more men we’d get?”

“Obviously. If the triangle turns into a square, it means that the Hulk has struck again.”

“I’ll stick with the triangle,” said Ringmar.

Halders went back to the desk.

“If they give us a few more detectives we might be able to do a proper check on what buses were running those nights,” he said. “Talk to the drivers. There can’t be all that many of them.”

“Taxis,” said Ringmar.

“Are you crazy? Our dark-skinned friends are all operating without a license. When’s the last time we got any useful information from a cabbie?”

“I can’t remember,” said Ringmar.

The sun made everything look even more bare. Yes, that was how it was. You could see what it was really like. Nothing existed anymore, just the trunks and branches of trees, and the ground.

The sun isn’t serving any useful purpose here, he thought. It belongs somewhere else now. Take off.

The children had spilled off the streetcar at Linnéplatsen. It was always the same, day after day. They always walked in a long line over the dead grass of the soccer field in the middle of the square.

Sometimes he followed them.

He’d parked his car on the other side, where the children were headed.

It was the first time he’d driven to this place.

He’d talked to the boy in his car. That had happened once.

He wanted to do it again. No. No. No! He’d shouted out loud during the night. No!

Yes. Here he was. Just because he wanted to… see, get… close. No big deal.

The long procession of children broke up, and they spread out in all directions. One little girl disappeared into some bushes, emerged on the other side, then turned back again, going around the bushes this time. He looked at the two women in charge and could tell they hadn’t noticed her.

Just think if some stranger had been standing behind the bushes when the little girl emerged on the other side?