I stayed up on the Mikkelsen roof until the sun touched the horizon, but it didn"t feel necessary to stay through the sunset itself. Like with Lodvik, I had dozens of sketches that told me all about a lonely man who felt misunderstood, but who just didn"t feel like a killer to me.
Grimmunder had built Yrsa up in his mind as a sort of poetic ideal, his muse, as much as I still hated that concept. I don"t think Grimmunder totally believed in it either, actually. I think he just really wanted to. He wasn"t happy with his own poetic efforts, and he was sure winning the love of his muse would turn that around for him.
I was pretty sure all it would take was time and practice. More words. He had been younger when Yrsa disappeared than I was now. Too young to give up. Especially considering he
