Joona and Saga leave the Riessens’ home and climb into the car. Saga’s telephone vibrates. She looks at the text message and smiles to herself.
“I’m going to have lunch at home,” she says. She blushes.
“What time is it?”
“Eleven thirty,” she replies. “Are you going to keep working?”
“No, I’m going to go to the lunch concert at Södra Theatre with a friend.”
“Could you drop me off in Söder then? I live on Bastugatan.”
“I’ll drive you all the way home if you’d like,” he says.
While Joona had been interviewing Robert, Saga had stayed with Axel. He was just starting a description of his UN career when he was interrupted by a call. Axel had looked at the display, excused himself, and left the room. After waiting fifteen minutes, she’d gone to Robert Riessen’s studio. All three of them then looked for Axel before deciding he’d been called away from the house.
“What did you need to talk to Axel’s brother about?”
“I just got a feeling …” Joona begins.
“Oh, great,” Saga mutters. “A feeling.”
“You know … we showed the photograph to Pontus Salman,” Joona continued. “He pointed himself out right away and then talked blah, blah, blah about the International Criminal Court’s decision to indict—” He stops talking as his phone rings. He searches for his phone without taking his eyes off the road and answers, “That was fast.”
“The date is confirmed,” Anja Larsson says. “The Tokyo String Quartet played at the Alte Oper in Frankfurt when Pontus Salman was there.”
“I see,” says Joona.
Saga watches as he listens to what Anja is saying, nods, thanks her, and hangs up.
“So Pontus Salman was telling the truth?” asks Saga.
“That we don’t know.”
“But the date is correct?”
“We only know that Pontus Salman went to Frankfurt and that the Tokyo String Quartet played at the Alte Oper … but Pontus Salman has been to Frankfurt often and the Tokyo String Quartet has also played at the Alte Oper at least once a year.”
“Do you believe he lied about the date even though he knew we’d check it out?”
“No, but … well, I don’t know. As I said, I just had a feeling,” Joona says. “There’s a good reason to lie if he and Carl Palmcrona were discussing business with Agathe al-Haji after the arrest warrant was issued.”
“That would be a criminal offence, against international law. A weapons export directly to the militia in Darfur—”
“We believed Pontus Salman because he seemed so willing to help us, even pointing himself out,” Joona says. “But because he told one truth, it doesn’t mean that everything he says is true.”
“So that’s your feeling?”
“No, it was something in Salman’s voice … when he said the only strange thing about the picture was that Carl Palmcrona didn’t decline champagne …”
“… since there was nothing to celebrate.” Saga completes the thought.
“That’s how he put it, but my feeling is that there was something to celebrate and they were toasting it with champagne. An agreement—”
“No facts to support what you’ve just said.”
“But think about the picture for a second,” Joona says stubbornly. “There’s an atmosphere in that private box and … look at their faces, they’re very happy about something.”
“Even so, we can’t prove it. We need Penelope Fernandez’s help.”
“What do her doctors have to say?”
“We’ll be able to talk to her soon. But right now, she’s mentally too exhausted.”
“We have no idea what she can tell us,” Joona says.
“No we don’t, but what the hell do we have?”
“We have the photograph,” Joona says. “We have the four musicians in it and perhaps we can tell the piece they were playing by their hand positions.”
“Oh, Joona.” Saga sighs.
“What?” he says, smiling.
“That’s just fucking crazy—I hope you realise that.”
“Robert said that theoretically it might be possible.”
“Let’s just wait until Penelope is a little better.”
“I’ll call,” Joona says. He picks up his phone and calls the police station, requesting a connection to room U 12.
Saga looks at his impassive face.
“My name is Joona Linna and I—”
He stops talking and a large smile spreads across his face.
“Of course I remember you and your red cape,” he says, and listens some more. “Yes, but … I almost believed you were going to suggest hypnosis?”
Saga can hear the doctor’s laughing voice through the phone.
“No, but really—we absolutely, absolutely must talk to her.”
His face takes a serious turn.
“I can understand her feelings, but can’t you change her mind? All right, we’ll just have to figure something else out … Bye.”
He hangs up at the same time he turns onto Bellmansgatan.
“That was Dr Daniella Richards,” Joona tells Saga.
“What does she say?”
“She feels we can question Penelope in a few days. The big problem is we have to find a different place for her to live—she refuses to stay in that underground room. She says—”
“There’s no more secure place.”
“She refuses,” Joona says simply.
“We’ve got to make it clear how dangerous the situation is.”
“I believe she knows that better than we do.”