She was tired of him now, she thought, tired of him and his dissociation. Recently, he had become closed off in his own world. Distant. He’d give her orders, point and patronize, but he didn’t see her. She knew that it didn’t have to be like this; she knew there was another Gunnar, a softer Gunnar.
All she wanted was for them to start talking again. For them to start figuring out what had happened. For him to hold her and say that he forgave her stupid misstep, and that they would never, ever again let anyone or anything come between them. That from now on, it would just be her and him and Adam—forever.
She looked up and checked the clock on the wall, which indicated it had turned into evening.
No, it couldn’t be like this. They had to at least be able to talk to each other. They were grown adults.
She quickly got up from her desk, left her computer and went with determined strides toward Gunnar’s office. She counted to five and took three deep breaths before gripping the door handle and stepping in.
But she didn’t get any farther than just inside the door before the smile on her lips vanished. She saw Gunnar standing with both hands on Britt Dyberg’s shoulders. He leaned right over her and kissed her. It took a second, maybe two or even five, before Anneli understood what she had just witnessed.
She stepped backward and closed the door behind her, letting it shut silently and returning to her office, her desk, her computer.
Like a fog lifting, it all began to become clear to her. She hadn’t wanted to see it earlier; she hadn’t understood why Gunnar had been so negative. But he had already moved on from their relationship. He had never planned on their being together again. Now he stood there touching another woman, caressing her shoulders, her hair, her arm, kissing her.
He wanted Britt Dyberg, and the realization was painful.
So, so painful.
* * *
Jana walked past the Italian restaurant Matbaren and looked in at the people sitting at their tables. A couple sat in the corner, and the light from the lamp above them fell on their wineglasses and interlaced hands.
The sky was full of stars, and the moon shone brightly above the rooftops. Jana was on her way home. She rounded a corner, walked under a wide archway and began thinking about the meeting with her father. Halfway through the arch, she put her hand into her pocket, feeling its emptiness.
The fingernail was in his possession now, and the question was how long it would be there. She hoped he would try to pull his strings already tonight. Exactly how he would go about keeping it a secret she didn’t know, but she knew that if anyone was capable of keeping it quiet, it was her father.
She stepped into the lobby and heard steps in the stairwell, a door opening and closing, then silence. With her hand on the railing, she ascended the stairs.
The apartment was silent and dark. She took off her coat and shoes. She looked ahead of her and stopped breathing for a moment. Not because she needed to conserve oxygen but because he was standing there. If it hadn’t been for the moonlight, she wouldn’t have seen him. He stood against the wall, as if he were one with it. She didn’t like his cold gaze, tense body or clenched teeth.
“Long day?” he said.
“It was a good day,” she said, “because I’ve found out that the police have reprioritized their resources.”
“So they aren’t looking for me anymore?”
“They’re looking, and they will always be looking for you.”
He stared at her but didn’t say anything. They both stood still in the dark hallway.
“So we’ll soon be done with each other,” he said.
“I hope so,” she said.
“When you’ve dropped me off in Södertälje, you’ll never have to see me again.”
“I’ve understood that.”
“Don’t look so worried, then.”
“I have other things on my mind.”
“Don’t think so much. Focus now, Jana. What route are we taking to Södertälje?”
“You should have figured it out,” she said sourly.
“But you’re the one who has the inside info from the police.”
She looked at the ceiling, observing the darkness and moonlight that continued creating unpredictable patterns.
“There are a number of ways to get to Södertälje,” she said in a long exhale. “The first is to take the main highway.”
“That’s probably not a good idea,” he said.
“The second is to drive along the county road that runs parallel to the highway.”
“But there we’d also risk being stopped by the police for some fucking traffic check. Not a good idea, either.”
“The third is to try to make our way north through the maze of small, private roads.”
“Sounds better,” he said.
“The fourth way is to take the train.”
“Fuck,” he said. “I wouldn’t risk someone recognizing me in the crowd even if I looked completely different. We’ll take the private roads.”
They looked at each other.
“I have to be in Södertälje at eight o’clock on the dot,” he said. “Not one second later. Get it?”
“Believe me, I don’t want to be late, either,” she said.
My Journal, June 13
Dear Diary,
It started out as the best day ever. I was finally free. While the others were being met in the schoolyard by their families, I rushed home with my graduation cap in hand. I was happy it was finally over.
But the house was completely silent. I searched the whole house. Finally I found Mom on the floor in the bathroom. Her eyes were staring at me—white, but not yet dead.
I was scared, of course. I wanted to scream. But instead I started to stroke her hair. It was soft and smooth between my fingers. I leaned forward and took her hand. She wanted to say something...she tried, but she couldn’t get the words out.
Instead, it was the voice in my head that I heard. And what it said seemed both smart and crazy at the same time.
It was there, on the floor, that she slipped away from me; she simply let go of my hand.
And I don’t want anyone to know, so I’ve hidden her. I don’t know if anyone cares, really. No one cared about her all these years since her botched surgery. No one helped us. It’s always just been me.
And I’m not scared anymore.
Because I have you still, Mom. I feel it. You are with me. And you will always be with me. It’s you and me, Mom. You and me.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SIX
Tuesday
LINA LAY IN her bed with her cell phone in her hand and a blanket around her body.
He hadn’t come home last night. What had happened? Why hadn’t he called? Can’t he, won’t he? What was stopping him?
Lina Engström’s lips trembled, and she tried to hold back the tears.
There were moments when she had truly doubted their relationship. Many moments. His lack of communication. A sense of being walled off. Yet she had stayed, given him more love, more tenderness, more concern. But what had she gotten in return?
Lies, lies and more lies.
Why should they build a family if he was just going to lie all the time? If he never told her anything voluntarily?
She felt too warm and kicked off the blanket. She laid her hand on her stomach and looked at the ceiling. Was it all going to end now that she was finally pregnant?
She thought about Philip’s words. This was something he would fix. Then she thought about his coworker Katarina Vinston—who was dead. What had Philip to do with her death? She shuddered at the thought. Could they have had a romantic relationship? But why would he have killed her?
No, he hadn’t killed her. And he had no secret relationship with her.
Philip and I are married, she thou
ght. And he loves me. He has said it countless times. And furthermore, he had said it first.
He had asked her out, first to a movie and then for dinner. She had forgotten the name of the movie now, but it was an action flick with Arnold Schwarzenegger. He’d already seen it once and said that he really wanted to see it again. With her. He had reserved seats in his name in the last row of the theater.
In hindsight, his intentions were obvious. She didn’t even like action films. But she liked Philip. They’d made out through the whole film, and when they woke up in the morning in his bed, he had summarized the plot for her. That was when she had felt the anxious happiness. She buried her nose in his short hair as he said I love you.
She said, “I love you, too.”
She couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. How could everything have turned out like this?
* * *
Henrik Levin sat in the chair in his office. With a furrow in his brow, he opened the folder and began glancing through the reports from the preliminary investigations of the three murders. He looked at the photos and skimmed the autopsies.
Suddenly, Ola appeared in the doorway.
“We’re finding ourselves in the same place as last night,” he said.
“What you’re saying is that you haven’t found anything from Social Services?” Henrik said, slapping the folder closed.
“Right. They haven’t found anything yet, but the bureaucratic machinery is at least in motion.”
“Good,” Henrik said. “It’s obvious that Philip was a part of something, but I wonder if what he told us was really true.”
“Should we use a lie detector on him?” Ola said.
Henrik grinned.
“I don’t think so,” he said.
“Torture, then?” Ola said. “We can pull his fingernails out.”
“Tempting,” Henrik said, getting up from his chair.
“What should we do, then?”
“I think it’s best that we do what we usually do. Let’s talk to him again.”
* * *
Jana stood in the kitchen with a coffee mug in her hand, looking at the water move down the river. She looked at the black, straggly crowns of the trees against the blue sky and felt heavy inside.
Her cell phone lay in her pocket. She pulled it out and tried calling her father. When she heard the voice mail answer, she hung up.
She heard steps behind her and could feel his presence, but she didn’t turn around. She just stood still with her gaze out the window and her thoughts on Father.
She saw a movement out of the corner of her eye and looked up.
Danilo had come closer. He stood in the middle of the floor just a short distance from the window with his gaze fixed on a faraway point.
“Do you have something against me being in peace?” she said.
“Yes,” he said. “Who were you calling?”
“Someone I would really like to talk to,” she said.
“Who?”
“The less you know, the better,” she said, replacing her cell phone in her pocket. She was about to leave the kitchen when he took hold of her arm.
“Don’t mess with me, Jana. If I find out you’ve snitched, you’ll have dug your own grave.”
The hold on her arm became harder. She met his icy gaze.
“I got revenge on a snitch once,” he said. “I started by sticking a screwdriver in his brother’s neck. Then I poked in his wife’s eyes. She screamed, my god, how she screamed. Finally, I killed the snitch. He crawled after me on the floor with the blood running from his mouth before he finally gave up.”
“What you do bores me to death,” she said.
“Bores you?” he said. “I’m threatening to kill you and you think it’s boring?”
“Yes.”
His jaw muscles flexed.
“I never trust anyone I’m not absolutely forced to trust,” he said. “And even now, I don’t completely trust you.”
“The feeling is mutual. How do I know you won’t shoot me in the head the very second I’ve dropped you off?”
He smiled at her as if they’d just become friends.
“We have a few hours,” she said. “But I still don’t know how you’re going to get down to the garage without being seen, and I won’t have the chance to figure it out as long as you’re standing here holding my arm. So if you’ll excuse me, I also have work to do.”
He raised his head, then let go of her arm.
* * *
“You’ve talked about a woman named Erika Silver,” Henrik Levin said, observing Philip Engström. “But the problem is that there doesn’t seem to be anyone named Erika Silver.”
“Yes, but...”
“There’s no Erika Silver that matches what you’ve described, in any case. You didn’t make all of this up, did you?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Well, I suggest that you tell the truth instead,” Henrik said. “We have people in this department who would really like to throw you in jail forever.”
“But her name was Erika,” Philip said, looking immediately a little confused.
“Erika Silver?” Henrik repeated, placing his elbows on the table. “I really want to believe you, but I’m having a hard time doing that when what you’re saying doesn’t fit any records.”
Philip’s eyes darted around.
“But I don’t remember her name being anything other than Erika Silver...”
“You might as well let it go now,” Henrik said, irritated. “There’s no one by that name.”
“But what was her name, then? Simonsson, Sandell, Sander... I don’t know...?”
“You can’t come up with it?”
Philip shook his head.
“I don’t fucking remember...in that case.”
“You know that you have the right to have a lawyer?” Henrik said.
“Yes, I know that, but I haven’t done anything. I’m sure it’s Erika who wants to hurt us.”
“You still claim that’s the case?”
“Yes, it’s obvious.”
“And she is supposed to have murdered three people because they, along with you, had accidentally caused her harm during a surgery ten years ago?”
“Yes!”
“Do you know what I think?” Henrik said. “If you are going to get away with this, you’re going to have to come up with a much better lie. You mean in all seriousness that I should believe that a legless woman named Erika Silver tied three people up individually and savagely severed parts of each of their bodies?”
“It has to be that,” he said, unsure now. “I can’t come up with any other explanation.”
“But how is it, then, that we can’t find a single trace that proves this woman exists?”
Philip looked up at Henrik, furrowing his brow as if this were a new thought for him.
“The only ‘proof’ we’ve gotten came from you,” Henrik said. “Therefore, right now I can’t come to any other explanation than that it’s you who went to the homes of Shirin Norberg, Katarina Vinston and Johan Rehn. How did you get in, though? Through a window?”
“What? No...”
“Or did they let you in? Did Katarina open the door and let you in?”
“I wasn’t at Katarina’s!”
“But you’re lying, Philip...”
“No, I’m not. Why do you always think I’m lying?”
“You say you weren’t at Katarina’s on that day, but we have proof that you were.”
“What kind of proof? I’ve never been inside her house.”
“How is it that we found your wedding ring there?”
“What? You found it there?”
“Yes.”
“But that’s impossible, it...” Philip fell silent again.
“If I
were you,” Henrik said, “I’d ask for a lawyer.”
* * *
Lina picked up a shoe that lay in front of the front door and placed it on the shoe rack before opening the door.
“I saw through the peephole that it was you,” Lina Engström said, reaching her arms out toward Sandra, who was wearing jeans and a black polo shirt.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t come yesterday,” Sandra said, hugging her, “but we’re short-staffed now that Philip is also gone. But you don’t know how glad I am that you called.”
Sandra had a backpack over one shoulder and white gym shoes on her feet. She tilted her head to the side and smiled.
Lina couldn’t hold back the tears anymore.
“Is it that bad?” Sandra said.
Lina nodded.
“The police are looking for Philip, and I don’t know why,” she said. “Do you?”
“No,” Sandra said. “I thought you did.”
Lina wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Come in,” she said.
Sandra stepped in.
“Did you close the door all the way?” Lina asked.
“Yes.”
“Lock it, too.”
“I locked it.”
“Are you sure?”
Lina stepped forward and tried the door handle.
“I think you should try to calm down a little now,” Sandra said.
“Yes,” Lina said, breathing heavily. “I will. But Philip has been so strange. He thinks a murderer is hunting him. And he’s been gone all night.”
Sandra looked at her with a worried expression.
“I don’t want to sound mean, but you look a little tired.”
“I am tired,” she said and smiled. “But do you really not know where he could be? I’m so nervous.”
“Yes,” Sandra said slowly. “Maybe I have a feeling.”
“Tell me!”
“Only if you get me a cup of tea first,” she said, dropping her backpack to the floor.
* * *
Mia placed a mug in the coffee machine and received a message that it was conducting an automatic cleaning cycle. She tried to remain calm and stood at the kitchen counter to wait.
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