Philip put on his jeans and shirt. Then he looked at his cell phone and thought about Katarina Vinston. He had called her earlier in the day, but she hadn’t called back. Where the hell was she?
He shoved the phone into his pocket, locked his locker and left the room. Just as he took the first step down the stairs, he heard a voice.
“Philip?”
He stopped, turned around and saw his boss, Eva Holmgren, holding her hand out toward him.
“Yes?” he said.
He saw a tense smile on her face. She walked toward him, laid her hand on his shoulder and wrapped her fingers around it.
“I need to talk to you,” she said.
* * *
The temperature had dropped below fifty degrees when Jana and Per stepped out of Durkslaget.
“Should we walk?” Per asked, pushing his hands into his pockets.
They began strolling side by side. Jana pulled up the collar of her coat as they turned onto Kvarngatan. They continued into the industrial district, where many of the windows were dark. She thought how it was right here, among the city’s characteristic textile factories, just three months ago in early December that she had caught sight of Danilo. She had at first followed him out of curiosity, and then had been attacked and threatened.
Stay away from me, he’d said.
Now he was the one who had gone looking for her.
“Thank you for tonight,” Per said, interrupting her thoughts. “When can I invite you again? For filet mignon, with no ice cream?”
She gave him an exasperated look.
“Okay, I get it,” he said. “But can I at least treat you to lunch at Fiskmagasinet tomorrow?”
“Maybe,” she said.
They continued walking awhile longer. She thought about Danilo again. Even if she’d been aware that the police were going to search for him in the city, it was unpleasant to have it confirmed by Per. Not least because it meant that officers were on the lookout on the streets and in the neighborhood centers.
“You’re quiet,” Per said, interrupting her thoughts yet again.
“Yes,” she said.
“And it feels like you’re in a hurry to get somewhere...?”
“No,” she said.
“Could we slow down a little, then?”
She slowed her steps, reluctantly. They walked toward Holmentorget and stood under a streetlight.
She met his gaze and saw that his eyes were smiling.
“Thank you for tonight...” he said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
“You’ve already said that,” she said.
“But I wanted to say it again.”
She saw that he had taken a step forward and suddenly she felt a strong desire to turn around and flee.
“Good night,” she said curtly. Then she turned around and fled.
* * *
Philip Engström stretched his back where he sat in the visitor’s chair and looked at his boss, Eva Holmgren. She sat behind her large desk, which was clean and tidy, with just a couple of binders and a few yellow Post-it notes.
“A lot has been happening lately,” she said, looking down at the papers she had in front of her.
“Yes...” Philip said expectantly, studying her. Her arms were slim and her hands were freckled. She was wearing a simple T-shirt, and around one wrist she had a silver bracelet.
She looked up and gave him a questioning look.
“Should I be worried?” she asked.
“About what?” he said. “Are you thinking about what happened in Eneby today?”
“That, too, but above all, I’m thinking about how I got a report that you and Sandra took unusually long with a patient having heart trouble yesterday morning. According to the log, you received the call at 05:44:38.”
“Yes?” he said. His breathing became heavier.
“And when did you arrive there?”
“It was the call to Lindö, right? It was probably about ten minutes before we were there.”
“Ten minutes?” she asked.
“Do you want me to give you how many seconds, too?”
He wondered what she was getting at, and he had an uneasy feeling that she was heading toward something he didn’t want to talk about.
“And what happened next?” she asked, picking up a pen.
“What do you mean, what happened next?” Philip said. “We loaded the patient in and left.”
“You did?”
“Yes, we did.”
He pulled his hand over his mouth.
“How is it that it took twice as long for you to get to the hospital?” she asked, beginning to tap the table with the pen. She tapped in an even tempo, which sounded like the second hand on a clock.
His body was becoming sticky with perspiration while he searched for a good explanation. He couldn’t rush it now.
“Ten minutes there, load up, but then twenty minutes to get back,” Eva stated. “I’m wondering why it took such a long time to drive back to the hospital.”
“Okay,” he said.
“I’ve also talked to Sandra, who also doesn’t have any explanation. But I can see that you’ve taken on multiple twenty-four-hour shifts over the past month.”
“But that doesn’t have anything to do with this,” he said.
“Not everyone can manage such long work shifts,” she said.
“Yet you’re willing to put them on the schedule and approve them,” he said.
Eva looked at him, her eyes narrowing.
“When I go through the protocol from the yearly workplace meetings, not a single person breathes a word about it being too difficult to work twenty-four-hour shifts. I know that you all really want these long shifts because it gives you more consecutive days off. But when the situation begins to look like this, you also have to take responsibility for the shifts you’re taking.”
Philip looked down at the desk. He felt her eyes on him.
“I am going to say this very carefully,” she said. “I know that twenty-four-hour shifts can cause an enormous stress. You know that already. But what I’m getting nervous about is that other factors are at play here. You can’t, for example, drink alcohol and work this way, but I assume you know that.”
“I don’t drink,” he said.
“Maybe not,” she said. “But I still have to keep an eye on you.”
“What do you mean, keep an eye on me? What do you want me to do?”
“I want you to do a good job,” she said. “There are factors that indicate that you aren’t dealing well with the stress of this type of work. I, as your employer, become responsible for these things if you neglect your work. Remember that.”
CHAPTER
EIGHT
FOR FOUR MINUTES and thirty-two seconds Mia sat and listened to classical music coming from a stereo as large as a microwave. She was probably going to have to listen for a full hour or so that evening. Shoot me, she thought, scratching her forehead. She and Henrik were about to question Göran Karlgren, a neighbor of Shirin Norberg who lived in the apartment next to the family.
“Well, then,” Göran said, setting a tray with coffee on the table. “There you go.”
“Thank you,” Henrik said, accepting a coffee mug. “You didn’t need to.”
“I know. Sugar?” Göran said.
“No, thank you,” Mia said, taking a sip of her coffee right away. “Aren’t you having any?”
“No,” Göran said. “I never drink coffee this late.”
Henrik cleared his throat.
“We’re glad you could see us,” he said.
“As a retiree, I should have all the time in the world, but actually I’ve never had so little free time. Now, let’s hear it. You had a lot of questions about the neighbor, I understand.”
> “Yes,” Mia said, setting her mug on the table. “The music, can’t we...”
“It gives me peace in my heart and provides a breeding ground for constructive thoughts,” Göran said ceremoniously, smiling.
Mia smiled back, irritated.
“You said you had heard sounds from Shirin’s apartment?”
“Yes, some screaming back and forth, but mostly verbal nonsense.”
“What do you mean by nonsense?”
“I can’t really explain,” Göran said, “but now and then I heard them raise their voices.”
“Were you home yesterday?” Mia asked.
“No, I can’t say that I was. We had cleaning day for the housing association...”
“Did you hear any screaming last night?”
“No. As I said, I wasn’t home until very late.”
“And when you came home, did you see or hear anything?”
“No, nothing in particular...or, well, what do you mean?”
“I mean did you see something you don’t usually see, like a car or a person or something.”
“No, everything seemed normal.”
Henrik took a sip of coffee.
“Have you met your neighbor Shirin?”
“Yes, a few times, in the stairwell.”
“How did she seem to you?”
“Same as most folks. Stressed.”
“Was she usually alone when you met her?”
“Yes.”
“And the children. Have you had any contact with them?”
“Not exactly. The older gal, she comes and goes fairly regularly. But the little girl, I see much less often.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, and she’s more shy, almost in a way that makes me feel a little worried about her, really.”
“Why worried?”
“She’s usually alone when I see her.
“And last Christmas, I saw her with a black eye.”
“A black eye?”
“Yes, it was fairly faded, so it was probably a few days old. She was holding her hand over it. But I saw it anyway.”
“And how did you react? Did you say anything to her?”
“I was appalled, of course. But I didn’t say anything. She ran past me so fast. I thought that maybe I should contact Social Services and make one of those reports.”
“And did you?”
“No, I never did. I wasn’t sure how to go about it. I saw the mother, Shirin, right afterward and stopped to talk to her. It seemed to me that she took my concerns about her daughter seriously.”
“It sounds as if you thought the family needed help. Was there anything else that pointed to things not being quite right?”
Göran scratched his cheek before continuing: “I don’t know... I really can’t tell. You know, I forget how it was. My children are grown up now.”
“The music...” Mia tried again, pointing toward the stereo.
“It’s wonderful, isn’t it?” Göran smiled again.
“Very,” Mia said, sinking even deeper into the armchair, making the leather creak under her.
“And so you’ve heard arguments from the apartment, or ‘verbal nonsense,’ as you called it?” Henrik asked.
“Yes,” Göran said, becoming still. “They’d been quiet for a while, but a few days ago, I heard it again. I heard Shirin shouting and screaming.”
“Do you know what time it was?”
“It was probably around now, around eight or nine o’clock in the evening. But that wasn’t too unusual. I’ve heard that before.”
“How often?” Henrik said.
“A few times a week.”
“A week?”
“Yes.”
“But did you only hear Shirin?”
“No. I know the children’s father is dead, that I knew, so I just thought that it was a boyfriend or some male with whom she has a relationship and she liked to argue with, but...”
“But you don’t know who he is?” Henrik asked, stroking his hand over his chin.
“No, I haven’t met him exactly, but I’ve seen him, you know, and...”
“So if we ask you to describe him, can you do that?”
“Somewhat, in any case.”
“And when did you last see him?”
“That’s what I wanted to get to. I saw him come up the staircase the other day, go up to the little girl, who was just standing there at the door, and hit her in the back of the head. She didn’t look all that surprised, more just sad, or scared. Then Shirin came up the stairs, and she must have seen the blow. But she didn’t seem to react. The three of them just went into the apartment, and then it was quiet.”
“How did you see all of this?” Henrik asked.
“Through the peephole of my front door.”
* * *
She heard a clinking sound from the kitchen when she stepped into the hall. Jana Berzelius stepped out of her heels and checked that the front door was locked before going into the kitchen.
Danilo sat at the kitchen table with a glass of water in front of him. He looked up at her, and she saw that his otherwise dark gaze was gone. Instead, his eyes had a different expression, one that she couldn’t quite make out.
“Did you have a good time at dinner?” he asked.
She should have let it be, but maybe it was the wine she’d drunk.
“What do you mean?” she heard herself asking.
“You and that...Per Åström, did you have a good time?”
She glanced toward the kitchen counter and the knife block before stepping forward and sitting across from him.
“Why do you care?”
He shrugged his shoulders, picked up the water glass with his left hand and let the right one sink to his knees.
“Have you looked at my cell phone?” she said.
He sneered at her.
“I’ve always said that you should be more careful, Jana. Don’t leave your phone in the bedroom next time you shower. And it might be time to change your PIN code.”
She clenched her fists.
“Calm down now,” he said.
“I am calm,” she said.
“You don’t look calm.”
“What do you think I’m going to do, attack you?”
“I am worried that you’re going to hurt me,” he said in an affected tone and took a sip of water. “Over this thing with your phone.”
“Is that why you have a knife pointed at me under the table?”
Danilo looked at her with a curious expression.
“How did you know?” he said.
“In the first place, you’re right-handed,” she said. “If you were just sitting and drinking water, you’d be holding the glass in your right hand. In the second place, one of the knives is missing from the knife block. Since there’s no knife on the counter, I assume you have it in your hand.”
“It’s just a precautionary measure. Answer my question now. Did you have a nice dinner, you and Åström?”
“That’s not something you need to know,” she said, standing up.
“Maybe not,” he said. “But you shouldn’t see him anymore.”
“What did you say?”
“You shouldn’t see him anymore.”
“We’re colleagues, we...”
“That’s why,” he interrupted. “If I find out that you’re going behind my back, Jana, I’ll kill Per. I’ll slit his throat all the way through to his vertebrae. I hope you understand me well enough.”
January 18
Dear Diary,
Typical shitty day again. The teacher Mr. Thomas pointed to a table next to the window and asked me to sit there. Only Linus was at the table. When I started to pull the chair out, Linus moved away from me and said I “smelled like eggs.”<
br />
I looked down so no one would see me cry. I didn’t want to make them happy.
But at the break I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I cried even before I could get to the bathroom. I didn’t think anyone saw me, but my teacher came by and put his hand on my shoulder. When he asked why I was crying, I told him what Linus had said to me. But when he scolded Linus, Linus said I had lied. He hadn’t changed sides because I smelled badly. He only wanted to see the whiteboard better.
Now everything will only be worse. I can feel it. Linus is going to tell everyone. He probably already has.
The teacher says I should focus on my schoolwork. But I can only think about being as invisible as possible. It’s harder than you think. Especially during recess. I usually lock myself in the bathroom. I don’t want to be in the corner of the schoolyard anymore.
In art class, I finished my star. I painted it blue, wrote my name on it and tied a piece of string on it. Camilla said it was as ugly as I was. Then she stole it and hid it. I finally found it, in the garbage can in the hallway.
I took the star home. Mom thinks it is pretty. She wants me to hang it in the window. She says that it will always shine over us, that love is eternal. Our love.
I hope Mom means it, because it’s hard to know. It’s hard to know anything in this shit world. The only thing I know is that life hurts. Life means a wheelchair for my Mom. It means scratches on your face, calls for help, handfuls of pills.
I just want to close my eyes, put my hands over my ears and silence all the screaming, all the yelling, not have to hear all the stupid words.
I think about Dad sometimes. I almost miss him in spite of everything. And I’m actually more scared now, scared of being alone. I’m most scared at night. Last night I dreamed that Mom would see me, hug me, love me—forever.
That’s the only thing I want.
CHAPTER
NINE
Friday
THE MORNING LIGHT trickled in through gray steel blinds. Jana Berzelius lay in her bed and tried not to think about Danilo lurking in the other room. Over the past days, she had spent twice as many hours in her bedroom when she was home as she normally would.
During the night, she had even dreamed about him, about how it had been between them. She was sitting in a dark cellar with a damp earthen floor, and she’d felt the cold in her legs, her bottom. She could still feel the chill, because she had sat like that in reality, too—huddled up, her heart pounding.
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