hunter? Then came Robert Kennedy's name, with a question mark after it.
The third motive was the unknown alternative, something that it is impossible to imagine. As long as the brain is missing, this unknown alternative has to be a possibility. I cannot afford to overlook the unknown aspect.
It was still dark, but she got out of bed and stood by the window again. It was raining, car headlights were glistening. She was forced to lean against the wall so as not to fall down. What was he looking for? She felt sick and could stay in the room no longer.
By soon after seven she had packed up Henrik's papers, paid her hotel bill and was sitting in the breakfast room with a cup of coffee.
At a nearby table a man and a woman were reading lines from a play. The man was very old. He was peering short-sightedly at the script and his hands were shaking. The woman was wearing a red overcoat and read in a monotonous tone of voice. The play was about a separation, and the scene was set in a hallway, or possibly in a stairwell. Louise was unable to work out if he was leaving her, or if it was the other way round. She finished her coffee and left the hotel. It had stopped raining. She walked up the hill to Henrik's flat. She was exhausted, her mind was swimming. I shall think no further ahead than my next step. One step at a time, no more.
She sat down at the kitchen table and avoided looking at the breadcrumbs still on its surface. She thumbed through his diary one more time. The letter 'B' kept recurring. She tried to think of a possible name that it stood for: Birgitta, Barbara, Berit. There was no clue anywhere to be found. Why was Henrik so interested in President Kennedy and his brain? Something had taken possession of him. But was what he was looking for something real, or merely a symbol? Did the shattered vase actually exist in the real world, or was it only a mirage?
She forced herself to open his wardrobe door, and go through his pockets. All she found was small change, most of the coins Swedish, but there were a couple of euros. In the pocket of one of Henrik's jackets she found a dirty bus ticket, or it might have been for the underground. She went into the kitchen and examined it under the table lamp. Madrid. So Henrik had been in Spain. He had not mentioned anything about that, she would have remembered if he had. Often all he said about his travels was where he had been. He never said why he had gone to a particular place, just the name of it.
She went back to the wardrobe. In one trouser pocket she found the remains of a dried flower that crumbled into powder when she took it out. Nothing else.
She started to go through his shirts. There was a ring at the door. She gave a start. The shrill bell sound cut into her like a knife. Her heart was beating frenetically as she went to the hall and opened the door. It was not Henrik standing there, but a short girl with dark hair and eyes to match, wearing an overcoat buttoned high up at the neck.
The girl looked expectantly at Louise.
'Is Henrik in?'
Louise burst into tears. The girl backed away almost imperceptibly.
'What are you doing here?' she asked. She sounded frightened.
Louise was unable to reply. She turned and went back to the kitchen. She could hear the girl coming in and closing the door quietly behind her.
'What are you doing here?' she asked again.
'Henrik is dead.'
The girl stood motionless, staring at Louise.
'Who are you?' Louise asked.
'My name's Nazrin and I was in a relationship with Henrik. Perhaps we still are a couple. We are friends in any case. He is the best friend you could ask for.'
'He's dead.'
Louise drew up a chair for the girl to sit on. Her overcoat was still buttoned up at the neck. When Louise told her what had happened, Nazrin shook her head slowly.
'Henrik can't possibly be dead,' she said when Louise had finished.
'No. I agree. He can't be . . .'
Louise waited for Nazrin's reaction. But she waited in vain, there was no reaction. Then Nazrin started asking tentative questions. Louise thought the truth had still not struck home.
'Was he ill?'
'He was never ill. He'd had a few of the