key.”
“It could well be.”
“Did the Bielke girl have a belt?” Birgersson asked.
“That’s one of the things I wanted to check before I came here,” said Winter. He lit another Corps, stood up, and went to keep Birgersson company by the window. “But she didn’t have one. She doesn’t wear one.”
“Maybe that’s what saved her,” said Birgersson. He looked Winter in the eye. “What do you think, Erik? Maybe she wasn’t as interesting as a victim when there was no belt for her to be strangled with. No belt to take home, as a trophy.”
7
SHE FELT A PRICK IN HER RIGHT FOOT, UNDER HER TOES. SHE’D been feeling her way forward, but the bottom was covered in seaweed here, a sort of long, thick grass that swayed with the current. It was brown and nasty. Like dead flowers.
Now she was standing on a little sandbank. She balanced on one leg and examined her right foot: she could see it was bleeding, but only a little. It wasn’t the first time this summer. Par for the course.
She heard shouts from the rocks. Leaped into the water, which was warmer than ever, like a second skin, soft, like a caress.
“Anne!”
They were shouting again. Somebody held up a bottle, but all she could see was a silhouette against the sun, which was on its way down. Could be Andy. As far as he was concerned the party had begun the minute they got here, or even in the car, still in town.
“Anne! Paaarty!”
She could see him now, wine bottle in hand, a grin on his face. Party. Why not yet another party? She deserved that. Three years of school at Burgården. Who wouldn’t deserve a few parties after that?
There was something else that made her deserving of it. She didn’t want to think about it now.
“Anne!”
She clambered over the rocks, hung onto a projecting stone, and felt the sting in her foot again.
She reached the top, and checked her foot. Half a meter of seaweed had wrapped itself around her shin. She pulled it off. The seaweed felt slippery.
“Here comes the little mermaid,” said Andy.
“Give me a drink.”
“Have you ever seen an evening as beautiful as this?”
“A drink. Now!”
Fredrik Halders was sitting on a sofa he didn’t recall seeing the last time he’d been inside. He looked around him like a stranger. The house was more foreign to him than ever.
He’d begun to feel unreal in the house immediately afterward. Immediately after the divorce. He’d seem to be wandering around in a dream. Everything was familiar, but he no longer recognized it. Couldn’t touch anything. He was an outsider. That’s how it had seemed. He’d been standing outside his own life. That’s how it had felt. The divorce had made him stand outside his own life, and things hadn’t improved much since.
Maybe that was why he’d been so angry these past few years. In a rage. He’d woken up in a rage and gone to bed in a rage and been in even more of a rage in between. Just living had been a pain, you might say.
But that had been nothing. Nothing at all compared to this.
Hannes and Magda were asleep. Magda had sobbed herself to sleep. Hannes had stared at the wall. He’d tried to talk to them about . . . about . . . What had he tried to talk to them about? He’d forgotten.
It was past midnight. The patio door was open, letting in scents from the garden he didn’t remember. He could see Aneta Djanali’s face in the doorway, which was lit up by the lamp on a shelf to the left.
“Don’t you want to come outside?”
He shook his head.
“It’s lovely out here.”
“I’ll go and get a beer,” he said, getting up and going to the kitchen.
“It’ll start getting light soon,” Djanali said when he’d come out and sat down on the bench next to the house.
He took a swig and looked up at the sky. It was already light enough for him. If he could stop the passage of time, now would be the moment. Let there be darkness. Forever darkness, and rest. No children to wake up in the morning and
“It could well be.”
“Did the Bielke girl have a belt?” Birgersson asked.
“That’s one of the things I wanted to check before I came here,” said Winter. He lit another Corps, stood up, and went to keep Birgersson company by the window. “But she didn’t have one. She doesn’t wear one.”
“Maybe that’s what saved her,” said Birgersson. He looked Winter in the eye. “What do you think, Erik? Maybe she wasn’t as interesting as a victim when there was no belt for her to be strangled with. No belt to take home, as a trophy.”
7
SHE FELT A PRICK IN HER RIGHT FOOT, UNDER HER TOES. SHE’D been feeling her way forward, but the bottom was covered in seaweed here, a sort of long, thick grass that swayed with the current. It was brown and nasty. Like dead flowers.
Now she was standing on a little sandbank. She balanced on one leg and examined her right foot: she could see it was bleeding, but only a little. It wasn’t the first time this summer. Par for the course.
She heard shouts from the rocks. Leaped into the water, which was warmer than ever, like a second skin, soft, like a caress.
“Anne!”
They were shouting again. Somebody held up a bottle, but all she could see was a silhouette against the sun, which was on its way down. Could be Andy. As far as he was concerned the party had begun the minute they got here, or even in the car, still in town.
“Anne! Paaarty!”
She could see him now, wine bottle in hand, a grin on his face. Party. Why not yet another party? She deserved that. Three years of school at Burgården. Who wouldn’t deserve a few parties after that?
There was something else that made her deserving of it. She didn’t want to think about it now.
“Anne!”
She clambered over the rocks, hung onto a projecting stone, and felt the sting in her foot again.
She reached the top, and checked her foot. Half a meter of seaweed had wrapped itself around her shin. She pulled it off. The seaweed felt slippery.
“Here comes the little mermaid,” said Andy.
“Give me a drink.”
“Have you ever seen an evening as beautiful as this?”
“A drink. Now!”
Fredrik Halders was sitting on a sofa he didn’t recall seeing the last time he’d been inside. He looked around him like a stranger. The house was more foreign to him than ever.
He’d begun to feel unreal in the house immediately afterward. Immediately after the divorce. He’d seem to be wandering around in a dream. Everything was familiar, but he no longer recognized it. Couldn’t touch anything. He was an outsider. That’s how it had seemed. He’d been standing outside his own life. That’s how it had felt. The divorce had made him stand outside his own life, and things hadn’t improved much since.
Maybe that was why he’d been so angry these past few years. In a rage. He’d woken up in a rage and gone to bed in a rage and been in even more of a rage in between. Just living had been a pain, you might say.
But that had been nothing. Nothing at all compared to this.
Hannes and Magda were asleep. Magda had sobbed herself to sleep. Hannes had stared at the wall. He’d tried to talk to them about . . . about . . . What had he tried to talk to them about? He’d forgotten.
It was past midnight. The patio door was open, letting in scents from the garden he didn’t remember. He could see Aneta Djanali’s face in the doorway, which was lit up by the lamp on a shelf to the left.
“Don’t you want to come outside?”
He shook his head.
“It’s lovely out here.”
“I’ll go and get a beer,” he said, getting up and going to the kitchen.
“It’ll start getting light soon,” Djanali said when he’d come out and sat down on the bench next to the house.
He took a swig and looked up at the sky. It was already light enough for him. If he could stop the passage of time, now would be the moment. Let there be darkness. Forever darkness, and rest. No children to wake up in the morning and
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