Those who were most drunk tried to make contact, to provoke. The gang pushed their smallest member to the front, waited, then attacked. Bartram looked to his right now too.

“I recognize her.”

“Eh?”

“That blonde girl over there, in the gang. Nearest to us. She’s the vicar’s daughter.”

“Yes. Maria Östergaard.”

“She recovered pretty quickly.”

“That was a week ago. And I said at the time that it wasn’t all that serious.”

“But she’s out on the town, even so. What does our vicar have to say about that?”

“Why not ask her? Here she comes.”

It was true. Hanne Ostergaard was hurrying toward them, practically running, crossing over the Avenue from the theater, and the two police officers watched her march up to the gang of youths. She grabbed hold of her fair-haired daughter.

“Come home with me this minute!”

“You can’t tell me what to do.”

“I asked you to stay at home tonight.”

“You always want me to stay at home.” She tried to pull her arm away. “Let go of me!” She looked at her friends.

“I just want you to come home with me,” Hanne said. She had let go of her daughter’s sleeve. “I’m worried stiff by all this. What if it happens again?”

“Nothing’s going to happen,” the girl said. “I haven’t even had a beer.” She breathed in her mother’s face. “Can you smell beer? Well, can you?”

Hanne had started crying. “Please, Maria, I just want you to come home with me now. I get so… so terribly worried.”

“There’s nothing to be worried about, Mom. I’m with my friends. I’ll be home by one, as I said.”

Hanne looked at the girl, at the group of teenagers, then over the street at the two police officers. She made a move as if she were about to run over to them, ask them to arrest the girl and take her home to the house in Orgryte.