we were boys, though I’ll openly admit that we’d drifted apart, and there hadn’t been any real friendship between us for years. We … chose rather different paths in life.’ Frans smiled. ‘But I didn’t wish Erik any harm, so when I had the chance to warn him, I did. Some people have a hard time understanding that resorting to physical force isn’t always the best solution.’
‘You yourself haven’t been a stranger to … resorting to physical force,’ said Martin. ‘Three convictions for assault, several for bank robbery, and from what I understand you didn’t exactly serve out your time like some sort of Dalai Lama.’
Far from taking offence, Frans merely smiled at Martin’s comments in a manner reminiscent of the Dalai Lama. ‘To everything there is a season. Prison has its own rules, and only one language is understood. I’ve also heard that wisdom comes with age, and I’ve learned my lesson along the way.’
‘Has your grandson learned his lesson yet?’ Martin reached for a biscuit as he asked the question. In a flash Frans’s hand shot out and grabbed Martin’s wrist in an iron grip.
Fixing his eyes on the police officer, Frans snarled: ‘My grandson has nothing to do with this. Do you understand?’
Martin held his gaze for a long time before tearing his hand away. ‘Don’t do that again,’ he said in a low voice, resisting the urge to massage his sore wrist.
Frans laughed and leaned back. He was again his friendly, avuncular self. But for a few seconds the façade had cracked to show rage lurking behind the outward calm. The question was whether Erik had borne the brunt of that rage.
Ernst tugged eagerly at the lead, unable to understand why his master suddenly insisted on taking baby steps and pausing to look around him all the while. The more Mellberg fought to restrain the animal, the more Ernst strained against the lead, determined to pick up the pace.
They had walked almost the entire route before Mellberg was rewarded for his efforts. He was on the verge of giving up when he heard the sound of footsteps behind him and Ernst started prancing with joy at the approach of a playmate.
‘So you’re out for a walk too.’ Rita’s voice sounded as cheerful as Mellberg remembered, and he felt a smile appear on his lips.
‘Yes, we are. Out for a walk, I mean.’ Mellberg felt like kicking himself. What kind of stupid answer was that? And he was usually so suave with the ladies. But here he was, sounding like a complete idiot. Assuming his most authoritative voice, he said, ‘I understand that it’s important for dogs to get some exercise. So I try to walk Ernst for at least an hour every day.’
‘And it’s not just the dogs that benefit from a little exercise. You and I could use some too.’ Rita giggled and patted her round stomach. Mellberg found this highly liberating. Finally a woman who understood that a bit of meat on the bone wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.
‘Indeed,’ he said, patting his own capacious paunch. ‘It’s important to maintain a certain gravitas.’
‘Heavens, yes.’ Rita laughed. The slightly old-fashioned exclamation sounded enchanting in combination with her accent. ‘That’s why I always see about charging the batteries.’ She paused outside a block of flats, and Señorita began pulling towards one of the entrances. ‘May I offer you some coffee? And coffee cake?’
It was all Mellberg could do to stop himself from leaping with joy, but he paused as if considering the offer before responding, ‘Yes, thanks, that would be nice. I can’t be away from my work for very long, but …’
‘All right then.’ She punched in the door code and led the way inside. Ernst, lacking his master’s self-control, bounded forward with delight at the prospect of accompanying Señorita into her home.
The first word that occurred to Mellberg when he entered Rita’s flat was ‘comfortable’. It didn’t have that minimalist coldness that Swedes tended to favour; her place literally sparkled with colour and warmth. He unfastened the lead, and Ernst raced off after Señorita. Mellberg hung up his jacket, removed his shoes and set them neatly on the shoe rack before following Rita’s voice out to the kitchen.
‘They seem to like each other.’
‘Who?’ said Mellberg stupidly, his brain preoccupied with the sight of Rita’s marvellously ample behind, which was turned towards him as she stood at the counter measuring the coffee into the coffee-maker.
‘Señorita and Ernst, of course.’ She turned around and laughed.
Mellberg laughed with embarrassment. ‘Oh, yes, of course. They do seem to like each other, don’t they?’ A glance towards the living room confirmed this: Ernst was in the process of sniffing under Señorita’s tail.
‘Do you like buns?’ asked Rita.
‘Does Dolly Parton sleep on her back?’ asked Mellberg rhetorically, immediately regretting his choice of words. Rita turned towards him, a quizzical look on her face.
‘I don’t know. Does she? Well, with those breasts, I suppose she does.’
Mellberg laughed. ‘It’s just an expression. What I mean is, I love buns.’
He watched with surprise as she set three cups and three plates on the kitchen table. The mystery was solved when Rita turned to the room next to the kitchen and called: ‘Johanna, time for coffee!’
‘Coming!’ they heard from the other room, and a second later a ravishing blonde with an enormous stomach came into the kitchen.
‘This is my daughter-in-law, Johanna,’ said Rita, gesturing at the very pregnant young woman. ‘And this is Bertil. He’s the owner of Ernst. I met him walking in the woods,’ she said with a giggle. Mellberg held out his hand to introduce himself, and the next instant almost fell to his knees in pain. He’d shaken hands with a few tough customers over the years but never experienced a handshake as powerful as Johanna’s.
‘That’s quite a grip you have,’ he squeaked as she released his hand.
Johanna regarded him with amusement before sitting down at the kitchen table. It took her a moment to find a position that allowed her to reach both her cup and the plate holding the buns, but then she launched into the refreshments with gusto.
‘When are you due?’ asked Mellberg politely.
‘Three weeks,’ she replied curtly, intent on finishing every last crumb. Then she reached for another bun.
‘I see that you’re eating for two,’ said Mellberg and laughed, but a surly look from Johanna silenced him. Not an easy chick to flirt with, he realized.
‘It’s my first grandchild,’ said Rita proudly, patting Johanna’s stomach tenderly. Johanna’s face lit up when she looked at her mother-in-law, and she placed her own hand on top of Rita’s belly.
‘Do you have any grandchildren?’ asked Rita after filling the coffee cups and joining them at the table.
‘No, not yet. But I do have a son. His name is Simon, and he’s seventeen,’ Mellberg said proudly. The son had arrived late in his life, and the news of his existence was not something that he’d received with much enthusiasm. But they’d gradually grown accustomed to each other, and now he was constantly amazed by his feelings for Simon. He was a good lad.
