The head teacher of the local primary school, preschool and nursery looked at Rebecka across the desk with open dislike. She was a dumpy woman of around fifty. Her thick hair was dyed the color of a black tulip and was molded like a helmet around her square face. Her glasses, shaped like a cat’s eyes, hung on a cord around her neck, tangled up with a necklace made up of leather, feathers and bits of china.

“I really don’t understand what it is you think the school can do in this particular situation,” she said, picking a hair off her cardigan with its striking pattern.

“I have already explained,” said Rebecka, trying to hide her impatience. “The staff are not to allow Sara and Lova to leave with anyone but me.”

The head smiled indulgently.

“We do actually prefer not to get involved in family matters, and I have already explained this to the girls’ mother, Sanna Strandgård.”

Rebecka stood up and leaned over the desk.

“I couldn’t give a toss what you prefer or don’t prefer,” she said loudly. “It’s your bloody responsibility as head teacher to make sure the children are safe during school hours and until they are handed over to their parents or to the person who has responsibility for them. If you don’t do as I say, and make absolutely clear to your staff that they are to release the girls only to me, your name is going to be plastered all over the media as an accessory to inappropriate interference with children. Trust me, they’ll love it. My cell phone is absolutely stuffed with messages from journalists who want to talk about Sanna Strandgård.”

The skin was stretched tightly around the head’s mouth and jawline.

“Is this what happens when you live in Stockholm and work for some smart law firm?”

“No,” said Rebecka deliberately. “This is what happens when I have to deal with people like you.”

They looked at each other in silence until the head gave up with a shrug of her shoulders.

“It isn’t exactly easy to know what’s supposed to be happening with those particular children,” she snapped. “First of all, they can be collected by both the grandparents and the brother. Then all of a sudden last week Sanna Strandgård came marching in here and said they weren’t to go with anyone but her, and now they can’t go with anyone but you.”

“Sanna said last week that the children weren’t to go with anyone but her?” asked Rebecka. “Did she say why?”

“No idea. As far as I know, her parents are the most considerate people you could wish to meet. They’ve always supported her.”

“As far as you know,” said Rebecka crossly. “Now I’m going to fetch the girls.”

At six o’clock that evening Rebecka was sitting in her grandmother’s kitchen in Kurravaara. Sivving was at the stove with his sleeves rolled up, frying reindeer steaks in the heavy, black cast-iron pan. When the potatoes were ready he used the electric whisk in the aluminum pan to turn them into creamy mash with milk, butter and two egg yolks. Finally he seasoned the whole lot with salt and pepper. Virku and Bella sat at his feet like trained circus dogs, hypnotized by the wonderful smells coming from the stove. Lova and Sara were lying on a mattress on the floor, doing a jigsaw puzzle.

“I brought some videos, if you want to have a look,” said Sivving to the girls. “There’s The Lion King and a couple of cartoons. They’re in that bag.”

Rebecka was leafing distractedly through an old magazine. The kitchen was crowded but cozy, with Sivving spreading himself out in front of the stove. When she went to borrow the key for the second time in one day, he’d immediately asked if they were hungry, and offered to cook a meal. The fire was crackling cheerfully and the wind soughed in the chimney.

Something very strange has happened in the Strandgård family, she thought. And tomorrow I want to know from Sanna exactly what it is.

She looked at Sara. Sivving didn’t seem bothered by the fact that she was silent, her face turned away.

I’m not going to wear myself out over her, she thought. Just let her be.

“I thought they might need something to pass the time with,” said Sivving, nodding toward the girls. “Although these days it seems as if some youngsters don’t know how to play outside, what with all these videos and computer games. You know Manfred, over on the other side of the river? He said his grandchildren came to visit in the summer. In the end he had to force them to go outside and play. ‘You can only stay inside if it pours down in the summer,’ he said to them. And they went outside. But they hadn’t got a clue how to play—just stood there in the garden, completely lost. After a while Manfred noticed they were standing in a circle with their hands clasped in front of them. When he asked them what they were doing, they said they were praying to God to make it pour with rain.”

He took the pan off the stove.

“Okay, everybody, food!”

He put the meat, mashed potato and tub of ice cream with jam on the table.

“Those kids,” he laughed. “Manfred didn’t know what to say.”