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“It’s my way of celebrating,” Laura said fervently and pulled him into the hall.

“Does it have to be so loud?”

His glow was going out as if the opera music was a bucket of water thrown over a fire.

“I’m on a high,” she said. “I’m ecstatic.”

He stared at her in wonder. Her unruly hair, glistening forehead, and glassy gaze bore out her words.

“Are you drunk?”

Laura shook her head.

“No,” she said, “I’m just happy.”

She danced around the hall, pulling him to her, letting go of him as quickly, ending up standing in front of him, her arms hanging at her side.

“Now we can travel soon,” she whispered.

“What?”

The symphony orchestra in the living room thundered on with undiminished strength. The kettledrum rolls went through the house like waves of rumbling thunder. Laura’s eyes were on fire. The strings burst into a showdown. Stig stood there paralyzed.

“Can’t you turn it down?” he yelled.

Laura didn’t answer, just grabbed Stig by the arm, led him to the kitchen, closed the door, and looked at him eagerly.

Even though the volume was somewhat lower in the kitchen the contrast between the peace at the shipyard and the chaos in the house was overwhelming. All his feelings of freedom and longing for Laura were blown away, but when she crept into his lap, put her arms around his neck, and pressed her body against his, the paralysis brought on by the music lifted and became a vibrating backdrop to his growing lust.

It’s remarkable how she affects me, he had time to think before desire took over and made him tug at her clothes with impatience and excitement.

“You are a magical creature,” he whispered and she nodded eagerly with her mouth attached like a suction cup to his neck.

He groaned with pleasure. The image of Evita returned.

“We’ll go away together,” he muttered and she moved his suspenders out of the way, unbuttoned his shirt, and pulled it down over his shoulders with surprising force.

“We’ll go away together,” he repeated as she licked his chest and nibbled his stiff nipples.

It was over in a few minutes in a crescendo that made Stig cry out and Laura beat her hands on the kitchen table so that glasses and bottles rattled, tipped over and rolled over the edge, and shattered into a cascade of slivers against the floor.

Laura swept her arms over the table and swept it clean. The smell of wine and desire mingled, and they sank exhausted onto the table.

Ann Lindell registered all of the sounds as she stood on the uppermost step. The sound of the doorbell, a man’s voice and Laura’s overwrought tone, the music that came crashing on, the banging on the table against the wall, the scream, and bottles shattering.

She could imagine what was going on up there. Despite her predicament she felt a twinge of envy toward Laura. This must be the man she had talked about, the married colleague. What was it Laura had said his wife’s name was? Jessica. Laura said something about it being her task to solve the problem, to separate the two of them, that the man was too weak and afraid for something like that.

Suddenly Lindell was convinced that Laura was going to murder Jessica. In light of what had transpired and in light of Laura’s complete lack of empathy her comment could not be interpreted in any other way. Was the man in on this? Perhaps two people had been involved in the murders of Blomgren, Andersson, and Palmblad?

When the sounds of intercourse had ceased Lindell thought about resuming her attempts of trying to make herself heard, but realized the senselessness of screaming to the point of exhaustion. She would not be heard and perhaps it wouldn’t matter anyway if the man was part of it.

Then it struck her: Laura turned on the music to cover her screams. The man was unaware that Laura was keeping Lindell imprisoned in the basement. The music could not be interpreted any other way.

She summoned her courage, started beating on the door with her left hand, and screamed.

Stig Franklin stepped out onto the stairs. He carefully