after all that had happened with Lucas. The mere fact that she and Anna were living under the same roof again made them slip into the same old patterns that they had both fought to escape. Erica automatically fell into her usual maternal role towards her sister, while Anna seemed to vacillate between a desire to be taken care of and a need to rebel. The past few months the house had been filled with an oppressive atmosphere, with a lot of unspoken issues hovering in the air, waiting for the right time to be vented. But Anna was still in a state of shock and she didn’t seem to be able to pull herself out of it. So Erica tiptoed around her, deathly afraid to do or say the wrong thing.
‘What about the kids? Did they get off to kindergarten okay?’
‘Yes, it went fine,’ said Erica, choosing not to mention Adrian’s minor tantrum. Anna had so little patience with the children these days. Most of the practical matters fell to Erica, and whenever the kids began to fight, Anna would disappear and let Erica handle it. She was like a wrung-out rag; she shuffled listlessly about, as if trying to work out what had once kept her on her feet. Erica was deeply worried.
‘Anna, don’t get upset, but shouldn’t you go and talk to somebody? We got the name of a psychologist who’s supposed to be excellent, and I think it would –’
Anna cut her off abruptly. ‘I said no. I’ve got to work this out on my own. It’s my fault; I killed a human being. I can’t sit and complain to some total stranger. I have to work through this myself.’ Her hand holding the coffee cup squeezed the handle so hard that her knuckles turned white.
‘Anna, I know we’ve talked about this a thousand times, but I’ll say it again. You didn’t murder Lucas, you killed him in self-defence. And you weren’t only defending yourself, but the children too. No one has any doubt about that, and you were completely exonerated. He would have killed you, Anna. It was you or Lucas.’
Anna’s face twitched slightly as Erica talked, and Maja, sensing the tension in the air, began to whimper in her high chair.
‘I – just – can’t – talk – about – it,’ said Anna between clenched teeth. ‘I’m going back to bed. Will you pick up the kids?’ She got up and left Erica alone in the kitchen.
‘Yes, I’ll collect them,’ said Erica, feeling tears filling her eyes. Soon she wouldn’t be able to stand it anymore. Somebody had to do something.
Then she had an idea. She picked up the phone and dialled a number from memory. It was worth a try.
Hanna went straight to her new office and started getting settled. Patrik continued on to Martin Molin’s cubby-hole and knocked cautiously on the door.
‘Come in.’
Patrik stepped into the room and sat down on the chair in front of Martin’s desk. They often worked together and spent many hours occupying each other’s guest chairs.
‘I heard you drove out to investigate a car crash. Fatalities?’
‘Yes, the driver. Single-car accident. And I recognized her. It was Marit, the woman with the shop on Affärsvägen.’
‘Oh shit,’ said Martin with a sigh. ‘So fucking unnecessary. Did she swerve to avoid a deer or something?’
Patrik hesitated. ‘The techs were there, so their report and the post-mortem will probably give us the definitive answer. But it stank of booze in the car.’
‘Oh shit,’ said Martin for the second time. ‘Drunk driving, in other words. Although I don’t think she’s ever been stopped for that before. Could be the first time she drove drunk, or at least she’s never been in jail for it.’
‘Ye-e-es,’ Patrik drawled. ‘That could be.’
‘But?’ Martin prodded him, clasping his hands behind his head. His red hair shone against his white palms. ‘I can hear there’s something bothering you. I know you well enough by now that I can tell when something’s wrong.’
‘Jeez, I don’t know,’ said Patrik. ‘It’s nothing specific. There was just something that felt … wrong, something I can’t quite put my finger on.’
‘Your gut feelings are usually spot on,’ said Martin with concern, rocking back and forth in the chair. ‘But let’s wait and hear what the experts have to say. As soon as the crime scene techs and the pathologist have looked at everything, we’ll know more. Maybe they’ll come up with an explanation for why something feels strange.’
‘Yeah, you’re right,’ said Patrik, scratching his head. ‘But … no, you’re right, there’s no sense in speculating before we know more. In the meantime we have to focus on what we can do. And unfortunately that means informing Marit’s next of kin. Do you know if she has any family here?’
Martin frowned. ‘She has a teenage daughter, I know, and she shares a flat with a female friend. There’s been some whispering about that arrangement, but I don’t know …’
Patrik sighed. ‘We’ll just have to drive over to her place and then work out what’s best.’
A few minutes later they were knocking on the door of Marit’s flat. They’d checked the telephone book and found that she lived in a high-rise a few hundred metres from the police station. Both Patrik and Martin were breathing hard. This was the most dreaded task in the police force. Only when they heard footsteps inside did they realize that they hadn’t been sure that someone would even be at home at this hour of the afternoon.
The woman who opened the door knew at once why they had come. Martin and Patrik could see it in the way her face blanched and her shoulders drooped in resignation.
‘It’s about Marit, isn’t it? Has something happened?’ Her voice quavered, but she stepped aside to let them into the hallway.
‘Yes, unfortunately we have bad news. Marit Kaspersen was involved in a single-car accident. She … died,’ said Patrik in a low voice. The woman before them stood completely still. As if she were frozen in position and couldn’t manage to send signals from her brain to her muscles. Instead, her brain was busy processing the information she had just heard.
‘Would you like some coffee?’ she said at last, heading robotically towards the kitchen without waiting for their reply.
‘Is there someone we should call?’ Martin asked. The woman looked to be in shock. Her brown hair was cut in a practical pageboy, and she kept tucking it behind her ears. She was very thin, dressed in jeans and a jumper knitted in typical Norwegian style with a lovely, intricate pattern and big elegant silver clasps.
Kerstin shook her head. ‘No, I don’t have anybody. Nobody except … Marit. And Sofie of course. But she’s with her pappa.’
‘Sofie – is that Marit’s daughter?’ asked Patrik, shaking his head when Kerstin held up a carton of milk after pouring coffee into three cups.
‘Yes, she’s fifteen. It’s Ola’s turn this week. Every other week she stays with Marit and me, and the other times with Ola in Fjällbacka.’
‘You were close friends, you and Marit?’ Patrik felt a bit uneasy at the way he asked the question, but he didn’t know how else to broach the subject. He took a sip of coffee as he waited for her answer. It was delicious. Strong, just the way he liked it.
A
