The Treacherous Net Read Online Free PDF

smile flitted across Anna Jonsén’s face.
    “I was the only child. My mom was so lovely . . . Lasse and I were living in a two-room apartment in Johanneberg. When our second child was on the way, Mom suggested we swap spots. She thought this place was too big for her, and we needed more space. So that’s what we did, back in ’82 when Jessica was born.”
    “And now you’re about to become a grandmother yourself,” Irene said with a smile.
    “I already am; this is Petra’s second child.”
    She got up, went over to the chest of drawers and picked up a photograph.
    “Axel,” she said proudly, handing the framed picture to Irene.
    The boy looked about two years old. He was laughing at the photographer, his pearly white front teeth gleaming against his dark skin. He had dark brown, curly hair. His eyes sparkled with the joy of being alive. In one hand he was holding a little red car, clutching it firmly to his chest.
    “Grandma’s little prince,” Anna said as she replaced the photograph. The proud smile still lingered on her lips as she sat down again.
    “Do you know whether anyone in the area has gone missing?” Tommy asked.
    “Missing? But when?” Anna was understandably confused.
    “We’re not quite sure, but probably during the past fifty years.”
    Irene was taken aback at first, then realized that he had made the time frame as generous as possible just to be on the safe side. Thanks to the windbreaker, they knew the mummy was less than fifty years old.
    Anna shook her head.
    “Not that I know of, and I think I would have heard something . . . but no. Unless it was before we moved here.”
    Tommy nodded, but didn’t pursue the matter. Instead he changed the subject. “Tell me about the fire three weeks ago.”
    “I didn’t see it start. I heard sirens just as we were about to go to bed, and I noticed that the fire engines stopped nearby. When I looked out I could see that the wooden block was in flames; the fire swept through the whole place in no time. It was terrible. And then I saw the firefighters wearing that special breathing apparatus. They tried to save Calle Adelskiöld, but it was no good.”
    “Calle Adelskiöld?” Tommy made a note of the name, even though it wouldn’t be difficult to remember.
    “Yes, Carl-Johan Adelskiöld. He always told us to call him Calle, with a C. He used to have a special order of cigars from me. They stopped importing the ones he smoked, so he changed to Davidoff Long Panatellas. He always used to pick them up on a Friday, and he’d hand in the week’s harness racing coupons at the same time—a whole heap of them! He started doing that as soon as he moved here.”
    “And when was that?”
    “1980. The year Petra was born.”
    “Twenty-eight years ago,” Irene said after a quick calculation.
    “Yes. He’d retired and moved back to Göteborg. He used to say it was good to be back in dear old Lorensberg.”
    “Do you know anything else about him? Did he have family?”
    “Not that I’m aware of. He was always alone when I saw him. Although he did have a cousin. I remember Calle telling me that both he and his cousin used to work for the Foreign Office. He used to talk about it when he came in smelling of booze, which he sometimes did. Pretty often, to be honest.”
    Her tone was indulgent. It was understandable that an elderly gentleman might need to cheer himself up with a good cigar and a glass or two of Cognac now and again.
    “Although in recent years his cousin used to come in quite often to pick up his cigars and hand in his coupons. After all, Calle was ninety. His cousin is no spring chicken either.”
    “So he smoked cigars and drank brandy . . . and got to ninety. I wonder what the health fanatics would have to say about that?” Tommy said.
    Anna Jonsén fished out a pack of cigarettes and offered them around. Both Tommy and Irene declined. Anna lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply, with obvious pleasure.
    “Do you happen to know the