Free The Treacherous Net by Helene Tursten Page B

with the flower stopper. Each bottle must have cost at least five hundred kronor. How could Moa afford that? A thought suddenly struck Irene; if she was right, it could provide an explanation for Moa’s disappearance. Full of foreboding, she opened one closet door.
    A whole row of designer tops were arranged neatly on hangers, several of them unworn. Five pairs of new jeans—three by Armani, the other two by the hip label Acne. A black sweater in the softest angora wool. Several more beautiful sweaters that also looked as if they had never been worn. On the floor of the closet was a stack of CDs, most still in their cellophane wrapping. Two pairs of leather boots, and a pair of high-heeled ankle boots. Irene picked up the leather boots. The price tags were still on the soles; one pair had cost three thousand four hundred kronor, the other three thousand. The ankle boots were more modestly priced at one thousand two hundred kronor. In the corner of the closet was a Versace handbag.
    Hannu came into the room. “Anything interesting?”
    “Yes. This isn’t right. Moa had jeans that cost two thousand kronor, boots at around three thousand a pair, and expensive perfumes. This handbag would have cost several thousand.”
    “Shoplifting?”
    “Maybe some of this stuff, but not all of it. The stereo, the perfumes, the makeup . . . the tops . . . look at this one, it’s still got the price tag on it. Eight hundred and ninety-nine kronor!”
    Irene shut the closet door and opened the other one, revealing a stack of wire baskets. She started to go through them, and in the top one she found what she was looking for. She pulled it out and put it on the bed. She took out several pairs of old sweats and laid them on the dirty sheet; concealed among the sweats were four sets of underwear. It looked as if Moa had deliberately hidden them.
    “Bingo,” Irene said grimly.
    Hannu reached down and checked the label.
    “Sexy Thing,” he said, holding up a dark red set in see-through lace.
    “It’s the same as the girls were wearing, but a different color!” Irene exclaimed.
    She couldn’t suppress her excitement. They took a closer look at the thong and the skimpy bra. It definitely looked like the same style; the tiny roses were there too. The word Saturday was embroidered on the front of the thong.
    The other sets were different brands, but certainly not the kind of thing you would expect a fifteen-year-old to own.
    “She could have bought them online,” Hannu said.
    “I think Moa did all kinds of things online,” Irene said. “We have to find her computer.”
    She gazed pensively at the see-through underwear.
    “I think Moa was wearing the black Sexy Thing set when she met her killer. He took the bra with him, and forced Alexandra to put it on. Or maybe he put it on her himself afterward. The black bra was the only thing she was wearing when she was found.”
    “We still haven’t found the rest of the girls’ clothes,” Hannu said.
    Their eyes met; each knew what the other was thinking. This investigation is turning into a nightmare . And in the worst-case scenario, this was just the beginning.

“We’ve got an ID on the mummy!” Tommy announced triumphantly.
    His colleagues sat up a little straighter, noticeably encouraged by the news. It was Friday morning, and they’d all had a tough week. Irene was already on her fourth mug of coffee, and was gradually starting to feel human.
    “His name is Mats Persson—no relation, I should add. Date of birth March fifteenth, 1942. He disappeared without a trace on the evening of Wednesday, November ninth, 1983,” Tommy went on.
    “Did he go missing in the vicinity of Korsvägen?” Irene wondered.
    “The last time he was seen alive was just before six o’clock at the city library on Götaplatsen. He spoke to one of the librarians as they were just about to close, and she saw him leave. And that was the last anyone saw of him. A woman waiting outside the city theater saw