Mikael waits for her to say more, but she slips into silence now, lost in her thoughts. "I don't understand, Mrs. Carlos," he says gently. "Help me to understand."
The front door opens, and a man walks in. He's a small man in his late fifties or early sixties,
with thinning hair. He is slightly stooped and bowlegged, and Mikael wonders if he has ever worked at a job that required him to lift heavy weights. The man is not surprised to see Mikael —his car is parked out on the street, after all—but his expression is questioning.
"This is a friend of Dennis's," Mrs. Carlos tells him.
Mikael stands, holds out his hand. "Mr. Carlos?" he asks.
The man looks at the offered hand and does not take it. "A friend?" he asks. Not unpleasant but not friendly either. "What do you want? Dennis isn't here." His gaze shifts warily from Mikael to his wife and back again.
"He was asking if we'd seen Dennis lately."
