by Viveca Sten
He sat up, his voice sharp.
“What are you doing?”
CHAPTER 96
Herman was sitting in the library, reading, with a glass of good Cognac beside him. The solitude was restful after a busy day with many phone calls. The first thing he’d done when he got home was switch off his cell and put on some Bach, his favorite composer.
The library was the finest room in his spacious apartment, with walnut shelves from floor to ceiling and a crystal chandelier that spread a warm, pleasant light. Two English leather armchairs by the fireplace created the perfect spot for reading, where Herman could leave the troubles of the day behind and be drawn into another world.
He’d picked out a book in the Stockholm Series by Per-Anders Fogelström. He often returned to Fogelström’s work; there was always something new to discover in his account of the city that developed when Stockholm became industrialized at the end of the nineteenth century. The author wrote about the workers who paid the price for the transformation to a modern capital. He described the dirt, the misery, and the unacceptable working conditions. Progress took its toll in the form of human suffering.
The question was whether the city had changed for the better.
Herman put down the book and reached for his glass. He didn’t really feel at home in Stockholm these days; it was so different from the place where he had lived ever since he was a child and used to take the tram out to Djurgården to go for a walk with his parents on Sundays.
These days there was construction going on everywhere, with cranes and road closures. Buildings were either being pulled down, or “renovated” beyond recognition. It was ridiculously expensive to buy, and the waiting list for a rental apartment in the inner city was an incomprehensible twenty-seven years.
What did that mean for young people who came to the capital with dreams of a great future but couldn’t find anywhere to live?
Herman warmed the crystal balloon in his hands to release the aromas. He prided himself on being something of a connoisseur, well versed in the noble drink and in the various French wine producers. It was an interest he had shared with his late father, who had left behind an impressive cellar.
A flowery bouquet of cinnamon and vanilla with a distinctive oakiness filled his nose as he sipped the XO.
The doorbell rang.
Herman looked at the clock: almost nine thirty. It must be a neighbor.
With a sigh he put down the glass and pushed his feet into his slippers, then stood up and went to the door.
CHAPTER 97
Nora had cuddled up with Julia on the bed and read her a story, then they’d both fallen asleep; it was nine thirty when Nora opened her eyes.
Julia was lying on her back beside her, with her teddy bear tucked under her arm, her breathing slow and even. Her round cheeks were slightly pink, her blond hair spread across the pillow. Nora gently stroked her forehead and adjusted the covers.
Darling Julia.
She had started school back in the fall, and she loved it. The years had sped by since she was born, despite the fact that Nora had done her best to enjoy those childhood years this time around.
It had been different with the boys; she’d always felt exhausted, juggling home and work, with everyone vying for her attention all the time. Then one day they were suddenly grown up, and she wondered where those years had gone.
Adam would be twenty-one in August, and Simon was in high school. Two tall young men at the point of flying the coop. She longed to hug them, tell them they weren’t allowed to grow up, but she didn’t want to make herself any more embarrassing than she no doubt already was in their eyes.
When they were little, so many people had told her to make the most of their childhood, but back then she hadn’t understood how that could possibly work. How could she stop and enjoy it, when she was always so tired? If she had any spare time, she just wanted to sleep. Then came the divorce and so much pain; it was a struggle to get out of bed each day.
Then everything sped up.
Sometimes she wished someone had warned her that the years between the ages of ten and twenty went even faster than the years when they were little, but that this was worse, because it would soon be over for real.
She would look at her boys, almost unable to believe that she’d carried these young men in her belly, that she’d fed and changed them when they were helpless babies.
Julia had given her a second chance. The shock at an unplanned pregnancy had quickly turned to joy. She was determined to savor every moment. She still worked long hours, but was more present in the moment.
She was grateful for her daughter every single day.
The night-light gave a soft pink glow; Julia didn’t like the room to be dark.
Nora quietly got to her feet. She needed to spend a few hours on the documents she’d brought home, plus she ought to call Thomas. Jonas was away and wouldn’t be back until Friday.
She went into the kitchen. Yesterday’s bottle of wine was on the counter, and contained just enough for a well-filled glass, which she took into the living room, along with her laptop.
CHAPTER 98
Someone started banging on the door before Herman Wibom had even reached the hallway. It wasn’t like his neighbors to be so rude. After all these years he knew most of them; there wasn’t a high turnover of occupants in the apartment block.
“I’m coming,” he muttered. “What’s the problem? Where’s the fire?”
His foot slid out of one slipper on the parquet flooring, and he had to stop to put it back in.
Someone rattled the handle, and the bell rang again.
A new neighbor had moved into the two-room apartment next to his a few months ago; it must be him. Herman couldn’t imagine anyone else behaving like this.
“I’m coming!” he called out. He turned the key and opened the door without bothering to check the peephole.
There was something familiar about the man in front of him, but Herman couldn’t quite place him. The ceiling lamp in the stairwell was too weak, and the dark-green marble walls consumed most of the light.
Herman looked inquiringly at his visitor. The man’s eyes were shadowed, and it took a few seconds for Herman to see what was lurking within them.
Madness.
“Yes?” he said uncertainly.
The man took a step forward and shoved him backward, then slammed the door behind him. His black hair was wet from the rain, and there were drops of water on the shoulders of his leather jacket.
“What are you doing?” Herman exclaimed.
“Where is she?”
“What?”
“Mina.”
Herman reached out to the wall for support when he realized whom he was talking to.
Mina Kovač’s husband, Andreis.
He was here, in Herman’s home.
His hand instinctively flew to his throat. “You’re not supposed to be here,” he whispered. “It’s inappropriate.” He tried to swallow but couldn’t. At close quarters, Andreis Kovač was terrifying.
He was tall and well-built, and there was no mistaking the cruel line of his mouth. That was what frightened Herman the most—the brutality streaming toward him.
“Tell me where she is!” Kovač said in a voice that came from far, far away, even though he was so close. Too close.
Herman didn’t know where he got the strength to answer as he did. There was a terrible pressure in his chest. “I can’t do that.”
“Tell me where she is!”
“I can’t.”
CHAPTER 99
It had gotten late by the time Thomas left work. They’d had a brief final meeting to allocate tasks and plan for the next couple of days. He’d been on the go for twelve hours, sustained by nothing more than a hot dog after his visit to the Economic Crimes Authority.
Elin had fallen asleep long ago by the time he wearily inserted his key in the lock. His mother, Lotta, was already waiting in the hallway; she must have heard the elev
ator.
“Thanks for helping out,” he said. “I’m sorry I’m so late—we’ve got a lot going on at the moment.”
“You look tired.”
“I’m fine.” The answer came automatically, just like the false smile underlining the message: Don’t worry about me.
He’d said those same words even when he was at rock bottom. It was just possible to hold it together if he could pretend to himself and those around him that everything was perfectly OK.
As long as no one tried to scratch beneath the surface.
“I think you’re doing too much,” his mother said. “You’re working way too hard. Don’t forget you’re not so young anymore.”
She was seventy-six, his father seventy-seven. Thomas couldn’t help smiling—a genuine smile this time.
“There’s a plate of beef stroganoff in the microwave for you, if you want it,” Lotta added.
“Thank you, that’s great.” Thomas gave her a grateful kiss on the cheek.
“By the way, Pernilla rang,” she said.
“What did she want?” The suspicion was there immediately. He couldn’t do anything about the sharpness of his tone as soon as he heard her name.
“Just to say good-night to Elin, I think.” The concern was clear in his mother’s face. “There’s no need to get mad.”
“Sorry.”
Lotta reached for her coat and scarf, then picked up her purse from the hall table. “You always sound so angry when you talk about Pernilla these days. Can’t the two of you try to be friends, for Elin’s sake, if nothing else?”
Thomas wasn’t in the mood for that particular conversation. “Not now, Mom. It’s been a long day.”
“Forgive me—I didn’t mean to interfere, but it makes me so sad that the two of you don’t seem able to talk anymore.”
“We do talk.” He knew he sounded like a truculent child.
His mother sighed. “Your dad and I have always been very fond of Pernilla.”
Thomas wanted to yell: Me too! Instead he took off his jacket and placed it carefully on a hanger; he usually threw it over the chair in the hallway. Then he removed his shoes and put them away.
“I’d better get going.” Lotta sounded hurt.
Thomas was saved by the phone; the display showed Nora’s number. She couldn’t have called at a better moment.
“I have to take this,” he said apologetically. “Maybe we can discuss my relationship with Pernilla some other time?” They both knew that Thomas would do his utmost to avoid any such discussion. “Love to Dad,” he said.
His mother nodded and waved good-bye. He heard the old metal elevator doors screech as she closed them.
“Hi, Nora.”
“Sorry to disturb you so late.” Nora also sounded tired, but cheerful—as if she’d had a good day at work.
“No problem, I just got home. How was your visit to Runmarö?”
Thomas was hoping to make it over to Harö for the weekend, if the new investigation didn’t get in the way.
Or Pernilla.
As Thomas headed for the kitchen with the phone to his ear, Nora told him about what Mina had said. There was indeed a plate of food ready to be reheated in the microwave, and the table had been laid. He shouldn’t have snapped at his mother like that; without her help his life would collapse.
He went to check on Elin. She was fast asleep, surrounded by a sea of cuddly toys. He kissed her gently on the cheek.
He sank down on the sofa in the living room, still listening to Nora’s account. He moved a small collection of Elin’s dolls onto the coffee table—half the apartment looked like a toy store.
“Mina mentioned Andreis’s brother, Emir,” Nora said. “Apparently he was a thorn in Dino’s side—did you know about him?”
Only fourteen hours had passed since Herco’s body was found. They’d brought in extra staff, who’d worked intensively all day, but there was still so much to do. It was like doing a jigsaw puzzle the size of the Atlantic; they’d made a start on one corner, nothing more. And most of the pieces were missing.
Thomas got up and fetched a pen. He grabbed the morning paper, which, as usual, he hadn’t had time to read, and made a note in the margin: Check out brother, Emir Kovač, thorn in side.
It was something at least.
“According to Mina, Emir’s worse than his brother—deliberately cruel. She liked Dino, but loathes her brother-in-law,” Nora went on.
“Charming family.”
“Did you manage to pick up Andreis Kovač?”
“I’m afraid not. A patrol car went to his house, but he didn’t seem to be home. His lawyer claims he’s sick.”
Nora snorted. “I told you she was tricky. Ulrika Grönstedt regards manipulating the legal process as a sport.”
“Maybe we ought to speak to Mina instead,” Thomas said slowly. “We are going to need to question her.”
“OK, but just take it easy. She’s very fragile at the moment.”
Thomas could hear the sound of Nora’s fingertips flying across a keyboard. He pictured her in the apartment in Saltsjöbaden; it was on the top floor of a three-story building, with a fantastic view of the sea. It almost felt like being in the archipelago, yet it was only a twenty-minute drive into town. The Baltic Sea right in front of your eyes, and acres of forest just around the corner. What more could anyone want?
Thomas was suddenly overwhelmed with a longing for Harö.
“Did Mina say anything else of interest?”
“She’s given me plenty,” Nora said. “I’m going to go through everything with a fine-tooth comb tomorrow, but it should be enough to have Kovač arrested, even if your investigation hasn’t quite reached that stage.”
“I don’t need a particular reason to bring him in.”
Nora laughed. “Well, there’s nothing wrong with your self-confidence. By the way, you asked me if Kovač is left-handed. The answer is yes.”
CHAPTER 100
Herman backed away. Kovač followed, making sure the distance between them stayed the same.
Herman had never been a brave person. He knew he was no match for a man like Andreis Kovač, but he couldn’t tell him where Mina was. If he did so, he would be condemning her to death—he knew that with absolute certainty.
Kovač had crossed a line. His eyes were wild, and he had only one goal: to force Herman to reveal Mina’s address so that he could track her down.
Herman’s brain had never worked so fast. His mind raced as he tried to weigh his options. His cell phone was in his briefcase. Kovač would be on him before he got anywhere near it. He’d gotten rid of the landline last year, because only the odd cold caller used it.
He could hear his heart pounding in his ears.
He was alone in the apartment with a hardened criminal, a man who had almost beaten his own wife to death. A man who seemed prepared to go to any lengths to punish her for leaving him.
Herman was finding it hard to breathe.
The dim light reinforced the sense of unreality. A large dust bunny lay in one corner; he hadn’t noticed it before. The cleaner must have missed it.
The shadows were closing in.
“Tell me where she is!” Kovač yelled yet again. He hadn’t shaved and the dark stubble made him look even more menacing.
This isn’t happening.
Herman looked for a weapon, anything at all that he could use to defend himself. There were knives in the kitchen; could he get that far?
Kovač seemed to realize what he was thinking. He raised a warning hand. “Otherwise I’m going to have to hurt you,” he said.
Herman backed into the library, where he’d been sitting only minutes ago, enjoying his book and his Cognac in peace and quiet.
Everything looked the same. Bach’s Fugue in D Minor was playing in the background.
Kovač didn’t take his eyes off Herman as he walked over to the CD player and turned the volume up high. The room was filled with loud, dramatic organ music, increasing in
intensity as it reached a crescendo. The sound bounced off the walls; Herman could feel the vibrations right through his shaking body. Sweat was dripping from his upper lip, but he didn’t dare wipe it away.
He didn’t dare do anything at all.
His eyes darted between the three windows and out toward the street. The apartment opposite was in darkness; there was no one home to see that he was in danger. Shouting for help would be pointless—none of the neighbors would hear him above the deafening music.
Kovač was waiting for an answer. He filled the doorway of the library, the light from the hallway forming a blurred halo around his head.
He took a step forward.
Herman stared at him, transfixed. He’d already backed so far into the room that he was right in front of the open fire. His shirt was drenched in sweat, the fabric so wet that it was sticking to the gray mantelpiece.
His glass was on the table where he’d put it down when the doorbell rang.
The room closed in, then receded.
Kovač came closer. “Tell me where she is!”
As if in a dream, Herman reached out, picked up the glass, and, after a second’s hesitation, threw it at Kovač with all his strength.
Kovač turned his head, and the glass went sailing past, some distance from its target, and shattered on the floor.
Herman stared at his failed attempt to fight back.
Kovač was smiling in a most peculiar way. He bent down and picked up the stem, which was still intact. It was crowned with sharp edges, the light sparkling on the broken crystal, and it was pointing straight at Herman.
“Please,” Herman whispered.
Bach’s rich melodies filled his head as Kovač moved toward him.
Thursday
CHAPTER 101
When Mina woke up at about five o’clock needing to go to the bathroom, she felt as if something was missing. It took her a few seconds to realize what it was. The weight in her chest, the sense of approaching disaster, was gone.
She’d done it. She’d told someone about what Andreis had done to her, shown her photographs to an outsider. She had taken a stand against her husband.