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stepped out of the elevator and turned the corner. Maybe January is my month after all.
    The investigation team gathered in the conference room. The massive effort of the first few days was winding down. Only the core group was left. Just like always.
    Most of the remaining fifteen inspectors were crowded in here, and their clothes still smelled of raw cold and overheated engines.
    Ringmar, who was acting as the assistant chief investigator, hadn’t slept the night before and had done his best to make sure that nobody else had either. He hadn’t bothered to comb his hair, which was his way of saying how serious things were.
    If we were at war and I was the platoon leader, Winter thought, I would demand Ringmar for my assistant or threaten to hang out at the mess hall all day long. He took the folder that Janne Möllerström, their database expert, was holding out to him. If we were at another kind of war, he corrected himself.
    Möllerström was new and quite young. He had already done an excellent job in a couple of difficult homicide cases, and Winter had insisted on having him again.
    Sometimes there were two database guys, but Möllerström was all you needed. He kept track of everything, and the preliminary investigation database was his most prized possession.
    Winter swallowed and felt the scratchiness he had noticed when getting out of bed that morning, a raw feeling way down in the left side of his throat. “Who wants to start?” he asked.
    They looked around at each other. Winter was as disciplined as they came, and when he let go of the reins like this, it meant he was looking for some creative thinking about the murder. Or murders.
    Nobody said anything.
    “Lars?”
    Lars Bergenhem shifted in his chair. His face has taken on real character since they made him an inspector, Winter thought.
    “I’ve read the reports from London,” Bergenhem offered.
    “And?”
    “I was thinking about the glove.”
    “Go on.”
    “The London team found the imprint of a glove in the bed-and-breakfast, and Fröberg found a similar one in the dorm here.”
    “Correct.”
    “The imprint is in the same place in both rooms.”
    “Correct.”
    “That’s all I had.” Bergenhem’s features relaxed.
    “There’s another thing,” Ringmar said from his favorite corner. He always stood there and fiddled nonstop with his mustache. It might look like he was vain about his appearance, but he simply thought more clearly when his fingers were in motion. “Those marks,” he explained.
    Winter looked at Ringmar, swallowed and felt the scratching sensation in his throat again.
    Ringmar continued. “Is there anything in the latest report from INTERPOL and London about marks in the middle of the room?”
    “No,” Möllerström said, “but they’re not even finished with half of the room yet.”
    “That means we’re faster than they are.” This from an inspector who would be leaving the core group soon.
    “It doesn’t mean a damn thing,” Ringmar snapped, “until we get all the exact times down.”
    “Let’s not turn this into a game of one-upmanship between London and Gothenburg,” Winter said.
    “My sentiments exactly,” Ringmar said. “Where was I?”
    “The marks,” Möllerström answered.
    “Right. The forensic specialists found these marks almost smack-dab in the middle of the room, and now they’re sure what they are.”
    “They’re pretty sure,” Winter corrected him.
    “Reasonably sure, let’s put it that way,” Ringmar went on. “They’re working on the comparisons right now. I just talked with them, or rather with INTERPOL.”
    “It’s time for some direct contact with London,” Winter said.
    “Are you planning to keep us in suspense all day long?” a woman’s voice said. Aneta Djanali was one of the few women at Homicide, new to the division but never apologetic about it. Ringmar had talked to Winter about her, and they agreed that she would remain in the group as they prepared for the