The Double Silence (Andas Knutas 7)

by Mari Jungstedt

  Andrea’s eyes paused on a photograph of Sam and herself on the yacht in Stockholm’s archipelago last summer. How handsome he was, looking so tanned in his white tennis sweater and sunglasses. He had his arm around her and was smiling at the camera. He was still the most attractive man she could imagine. She was proud to walk at his side whenever they were out socializing. Sometimes she would sit for a long time and just stare at him across the breakfast table. There they sat, on an ordinary morning, and suddenly it would seem to her so unreal that she was allowed to be there with him. Day in and day out. Of course they’d had some bad patches, just like everybody, but for the most part things had been good. They led an orderly life with few surprises – exactly the way she wanted it to be. She was looking forward to growing old with Sam.

  Their home was just as flawless as her appearance. She loved decorating and furnishing the rooms, and she insisted that everything should be perfectly arranged. Sam laughed at her for pressing their bed sheets and ironing his underwear. Every six months she would remove all the books from the shelves so she could dust behind them. Once a month she would take the rugs and cushions out to beat the dust out of them with an impressive frenzy. She changed the bed linens every week, and during the summer months even more often, since she thought that everyone sweated more during the night at that time of year. She arranged the tinned goods and pasta packages according to a specific pattern in the pantry, which was always well stocked.

  Every Sunday morning she would sit down at the kitchen table and fill out the family calendar with the activities and meetings scheduled for the coming week. She wrote down a menu for each day, checked to see what they had in the cupboards, and then went out to shop for the rest of the groceries they would need. Preferably with one of the neighbouring wives. She loved her predictable life. It made her feel secure; she always knew what to expect.

  Right now she needed to finish packing for the trip they were taking with friends. She hummed to herself as she placed Sam’s shirts in a neat pile inside his bag. She cast a glance out of the window. Sandra was walking past with the pram, as usual. That poor woman. Andrea didn’t envy her. At the age of forty-two, dealing with young children was now part of the distant past, and she wouldn’t for the life of her want to start again. Her neighbour already had two teenagers when she got pregnant again. Even though she and her husband claimed it was wonderful to add a latecomer to their family, Andrea didn’t really believe them. She couldn’t imagine anything worse than being tied down again. That was probably why Sandra seemed so stressed lately.

  The sight of her made Andrea think about the strange experience she’d just had. That inexplicable feeling of being watched, and the fact that she’d not only forgotten to lock the front door but left it slightly ajar. It was so unlike her. Maybe she was starting the menopause, which could make a woman a bit absent-minded. Hormones and so on. But wasn’t she too young for that? Didn’t the change happen to women in their fifties? The ‘change’ – what an unpleasant word. She had no desire to change and enter another stage in life. She would be happy if time stood still for twenty years. She had never felt so good.

  She went into the kitchen and put on the coffee. It would be several hours before Sam came home so they could leave on the trip.

  This holiday was coming just at the right time. Sam had been busy with a lengthy film shoot that was finally done, and now he could take some time off before starting on the editing. He’d been away from home a lot lately, but that was always the case when he was shooting. During those periods he was ‘married to the film’, as he put it. That didn’t really bother her because she was busy too. She ran a trendy clothing shop on Adelsgatan, and there was always plenty to do. It was with relief that she had turned over responsibility to her colleague, the other part-owner, several days earlier than she had planned. She’d wanted to take it easy and get in the mood for the trip. And take care of Sam after he’d worked so hard. They would enjoy relaxing together, watch movies that they’d seen before but that were worth another viewing. And enjoy the company of good friends and other people interested in film on Fårö.

  She was also looking forward to spending more time with Stina. Maybe they could take morning walks together on Fårö. Have a proper talk. It had been a while, for they were both so busy with their own lives. She realized how much she had missed her friend. They knew everything about each other, had shared so much over the years, and there was a strong bond between them. In fact, Stina was the one she felt closest to, aside from Sam and the children. Now they would finally have the opportunity to be together for a few days. After that the nature trip to Stora Karlsö awaited them. She smiled to herself. They were so good about tending to their marriage, she and Sam. They had always been that way. When the kids were little, they had regularly hired a babysitter so that several times a year they could take a long weekend together, just the two of them. It was undoubtedly the sort of thing that had helped to keep their love alive. Over the years they had evolved into a single unit that was rock-solid. As she filled her coffee cup, she thought: We belong together. That’s how it had been ever since they first met, and that’s how it would always be.

  JOHAN BERG REACHED for the package of nappies on the shelf in the bathroom. Anton lay on the changing table, gurgling happily. His round, sunny face was turned towards Johan, and his brown eyes sparkled with contentment. He chattered nonstop, constantly producing new sounds. Right now he lay there, waving his chubby little arms about. All of a sudden a stream shot up into the air. Johan felt it drenching his shoulder.

  ‘Bloody hell!’

  Quickly he wiped up the piss that had landed on the changing table and was trickling over the edge on to the bathroom floor. To think such quantities of fluid could come out of a baby only six months old. He dried off both himself and his son and then returned to Emma in the bedroom.

  ‘Good morning,’ she said sleepily, automatically pulling out one of her breasts as Johan carefully placed Anton in her arms. ‘Ouch,’ she complained as her son eagerly grabbed for her nipple. He was such a greedy little thing.

  ‘He peed straight up in the air,’ said Johan with a yawn as he sank back against the sleep-warm pillows and covers.

  ‘He did? What a rascal,’ said Emma tenderly, caressing the baby’s soft cheek. ‘Aren’t you going to work?’

  ‘Sure. Just give me five minutes,’ murmured Johan, turning his back and pulling up the covers.

  For the past month he’d actually been on paternity leave from his job as a reporter for Swedish TV’s regional news programme, but his editor, Max Grenfors, had phoned from Stockholm and asked him to come in over the weekend. They hadn’t yet found a replacement for him at the local editorial office on Gotland, and so far they’d solved the problem with temporary substitutes who flew over from the mainland. Johan had nothing against going into the office. Spending his days with a baby was wonderful in many ways, but it could also get a bit tiresome.

  But he had to be happy for every small step forward. For instance, now he shared the bed with only two others. A few months ago Elin had been relegated to her own room, and lately that had worked fine, without any fuss. When they brought Anton home from the maternity clinic, their three-year-old daughter had been extremely jealous and refused to sleep anywhere but with her parents. For two months they had all crowded into the same bed. Gradually Elin had calmed down and realized that things were going to continue as usual, even though the family had increased in number. Besides, she had her older half-siblings, Sara and Filip, to play with. It was so touching to see how they took care of Elin whenever Emma had to feed Anton or change his nappy.

  Emma stretched out in bed and smiled at her son. She was relieved that everything was going so well, even though she’d been shocked to discover that she was pregnant again, and even though both she and the baby had been through a life-threatening experience before he was born, when Emma had accidentally ended up in the middle of a police manhunt.

  Durin
g the spring she’d been on maternity leave from her job as a teacher at the small Kyrk School in Roma. Now the school was closed for the summer holidays, and Johan was also on leave. Elin had eventually agreed to go back to the day nursery, where she actually loved being with all of her friends, and Emma treasured her time alone with the baby. She could cuddle and feed her son as much as she wanted, without the risk of any jealous outbursts from his big sister. At the same time, she was longing for her adult life. She wanted to go back to teaching, spend time with her colleagues, and work out again. Even the teacher conferences now seemed attractive. But first she and Johan were going to enjoy a whole summer together. When Elin was born, everything had been in such turmoil. Back then she had lived alone in the house and taken sole responsibility for the newborn while Johan worked in Stockholm. It was true that she had chosen the arrangement herself, and Johan would have liked nothing better than to move in with her and share in caring for their daughter. But at the time Emma had felt so insecure, after the divorce and everything else. Now the situation was totally different. Her ex-husband, Olle, had met a new woman, the children had settled down, and her relationship with Olle functioned well. And besides, her kids loved Johan, who treated them as his own.

  She sighed and looked down at her baby. Anton abruptly let go of her breast and his head fell back. The hair on his forehead was sweaty from the effort, his cheeks flushed. He was sound asleep.

  His father was too.

  ANDREA DAHLBERG OPENED the front door and lugged her suitcase out to the car. Would she never learn? Afraid of being without something, she always packed too much. Sam laughed at her as he passed, carrying a simple sports bag, which he elegantly tossed into the SUV. He had quickly removed half of the things she had packed for him.

  ‘Is it heavy, sweetheart?’

  He turned around and stretched out his hand to take her suitcase. When she handed it over, he grimaced and dropped it on the ground with a thud, as if it were impossible to hold. She smiled. She was happy to see Sam in such good spirits. He’d been unusually tired lately. The new film had taken most of his waking hours. Leaving on a trip right after the film wrapped was clearly exactly what he needed. The fact that he was the one who’d come up with the idea for their destination contributed to his good mood. They had never gone as a group to the Bergman festival, which was held on Fårö every year in late June. Sam had gone ever since the first one five years earlier, since he was a devoted admirer of Ingmar Bergman. This year the festival was dedicated to Bergman’s memory, since the world-famous director had peacefully passed away at his remote residence on Fårö in July of the previous year.

  Andrea went back inside the house to get a few last items and make sure all the doors were closed and the lights turned off. Across the street she saw Håkan and Stina going through the same procedure. She waved happily to Stina, who was running from the house to the car, hunching her shoulders against the rain. Andrea paused to watch her friend. How lovely she was. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she was dressed almost like a child, in a pink raincoat, short skirt, and flower-patterned wellington boots. Even though she was thirty-seven and the mother of two, she looked like a young girl.

  Stina knew things about Andrea that no one except Sam knew. Her innermost and deepest thoughts.

  She would never forget the time when Stina’s own candour and sensitivity had made her reveal everything about herself. They were alone in Stina’s house. Both Håkan and Sam were out of town, and Stina had invited Andrea and her kids to dinner. The children had played noisily until they all fell into bed. Then Andrea and Stina had sat in front of the fireplace with a bottle of wine. They’d talked about life’s problems. About guilt and shame. And then, for the first time, Andrea had told someone other than Sam about her darkest secret. Stina’s face looked so soft in the glow from the fire; she had listened attentively and they had talked all night. Andrea had never felt so close to anyone before. Stina became the sister she might have had. She would always cherish their friendship. There were no barriers between them.

  Andrea shook off these thoughts. She was glad that in spite of everything she now had such a good life and such good friends. Their extended social circle included a dozen couples with children of more or less the same age. Within that circle was the core group, whose friendship was even stronger. It consisted of her and Sam, Håkan and Stina, John and Beata. Six adults who jointly had eight children, and it often felt as if the group was big enough. That was why they frequently held their own dinner parties and celebrations – something that the others in their social circle did not really like, just as they did not like being excluded from the trips that the three couples took together.

  She looked in the children’s rooms, and noted with pleasure that they had tidied things up before they left. Amazing that they’d become so neat and orderly. She affectionately pictured her children’s faces. In a not-so-distant future they would be moving away from home. Several of her acquaintances were already worrying about that prospect, when they would be alone in the house, at the dinner table, and in front of the TV in the evening. That wasn’t something that bothered her. She and Sam often talked about everything they were going to do, all the trips and excursions they would take when they finally had plenty of time for each other. She longed to have her husband all to herself. Sometimes she even felt jealous when he laughed and talked too much with the kids. It felt as if he had forgotten about her. Occasionally it worried her that she was so envious, but she couldn’t help it.

  Their bedroom looked fine. She touched the handle to the balcony door; it was locked. Through the window she could see across the street, and she watched as Sam stowed their wellingtons and raincoats in the car. Later in the summer they were going to celebrate their twentieth wedding anniversary. She had secretly booked them flights to Florence. That was where they had got engaged, and this time they would be staying at the same hotel and having dinner at the same romantic restaurant where they had celebrated their engagement. She had even phoned the owner to make sure the restaurant would be open, and he had promised to seat them at the exact same table. Sam had no clue. She was taking along a special card that she would give to him when they were on Stora Karlsö. She had spent time drawing, cutting and pasting to make the card that would tell him all the details. He was going to be so surprised. She could hardly wait to see his expression when he opened the envelope. Several times she’d been on the verge of giving him a hint about what she was planning, but she had managed to stop herself at the last minute. Now she quickly went through the rest of the rooms to make sure all was in order. Everything had to be perfect when they left the house.

  Only then could she relax.

  IT HAD RAINED steadily all day long. On his way home from work, Knutas turned his old Mercedes towards the Solberg swimming pool. He usually swam once a week during the winter months. Not as often during the summer, although there were few things he enjoyed as much as swimming. To cover lap after lap in the pool, metre after metre, was an undemanding type of therapy. The water infused him with calm, and he moved easily, at a leisurely pace, even though he was aware that he’d put on a few kilos. Whenever he encountered any problems, he gained weight. Eating was a consolation and a compensation; it gave him strength. Right now his mind was buzzing with contradictory thoughts and worries about both his job and his private life. First and foremost was his concern about Karin. Her personal trauma, the rape and the child that she’d had: her well-kept secret. And also the professional secret that she’d kept to herself for almost a year: the fact that she had allowed a murderer to walk free without saying a word to him about it. Month after month they had worked side by side, talking and joking as usual, solving problems, discussing cases, and not once had she mentioned it to him. They’d had coffee and lunch together – he didn’t know how many times – as if nothing was wrong. And he’d had absolutely no idea.

  On numerous occasions they had talked about the murder case and the hunt for the
killer. He had told her about his conversations with Interpol and Europol. How the search was ongoing in several countries. He had talked about the tips that had come in, some more interesting than others. He had shared all the information with her. And the whole time she had been hiding the truth from him. He felt like an idiot. He still didn’t know how to deal with the dilemma. He wished there was someone he could consult. A few times he’d thought of talking to the National Criminal Police inspector, Martin Kihlgård, who had come to Gotland on several occasions to help the Visby police with homicide cases. Martin also knew Karin well. He really should talk to him.

  At the same time Knutas was forced to admit that he was worried not just for Karin’s sake but about himself. He was concerned about the consequences for his own position. He would be accused of letting too much time pass before reporting the matter. And the police investigation would certainly question why he hadn’t discovered earlier that Karin had helped the killer on board the ferry from Gotland. That made him look even more pathetic. Scorn for himself churned in his stomach.

  He began swimming harder to escape from his discomfort. With long strokes he swam towards the end of the pool, keeping his eyes fixed on the tiles. Not looking to either side, where only a few other people occupied the lanes, ploughing through the water just as he was doing, lap after lap. There were seldom many swimmers in the pool at this time of year.