Midwinter Sacrifice

41

Friday, 10 February

Tove in Malin’s arms.

How much do you weigh now?

Forty-five kilos?

A good job Mum sometimes goes to the gym, isn’t it?

Her legs ache, but at least the warmth has started to return to her feet.

They followed the tracks for two kilometres. In the meantime a storm blew up over the forests around Hultsjön and by the time they reached the end of the trail it was as good as hidden by white powder. The tracks ended at a forest road, and it was impossible to tell if there had been a vehicle parked there waiting. There was no oil on the ground. And any tyre tracks had been obliterated by the snow.

‘Swallowed up by the forest,’ Zeke said, then he made a note of their position from his mobile.

‘It’s only five kilometres. It’ll be quicker to walk back to our car than wait for the station to send one.’

Tove was asleep on the sofa when Malin got home. The television was flickering and Malin’s first thought was to wake Tove, get her to put herself to bed.

But then, as she saw the figure stretched out on the sofa, tall and slim for her age, her fine blonde hair over the cushion and her closed eyes, peaceful mouth, she wanted to feel her daughter’s weight, the burden of living love.

She had to summon all her strength to move her, and was sure Tove would wake up, but eventually she was standing there in the silent, dark living room with Tove in her arms, and now she is staggering through the hall, pushing the door to Tove’s room open with her foot.

And then down on to the bed. But Malin loses her balance because of the uneven weight, she feels its warmth glide away from her and the body tumbles on to the mattress with a soft thud.

Tove opens her eyes. ‘Mum?’

‘Yes.’

‘What are you doing?’

‘I just carried you in here to bed.’

‘Oh.’ Then Tove closes her eyes and falls asleep again.

Malin goes out into the kitchen. She stops by the sink and looks at the fridge. It is rumbling in the dark, the cooler-unit dripping tiredly.

What was it you weighed, Tove?

Three thousand, two hundred and fifty-four grams.

Four kilos, five, and so on, and for every kilo of body, less dependent, less a child, more adult.

Maybe the last time I carry her like that, Malin thinks, closing her eyes and listening to the sounds of the night.

Is the phone ringing in a dream? Or in the room outside the dream?

Either way, it’s ringing, and Malin reaches out a hand to the bedside table, to where the receiver ought to be, on the other side of the vacuum where she is now, the border between sleep and waking, where everything can happen, where for a few moments nothing can be taken for granted.

‘Malin Fors.’

She manages to sound firm, but her voice is hoarse, so hoarse.

Their nocturnal walk must have found its way into her lungs, but she feels fine otherwise, her body is where it should be, her head as well.

‘Did I wake you, Malin?’

She recognises the voice, but can’t quite place it at first. Who? I hear this voice a lot, but not over the phone.

‘Malin, are you there? I’m calling between two tracks and I haven’t got long.’

The radio. Helen.

‘I’m here. Still a bit sleepy, that’s all.’

‘Then I’ll get straight to the point. Do you remember you called me about the Murvall brothers? There’s something I forgot to tell you, something you might want to know. I read in this morning’s paper that you’re holding the three brothers, but it’s not clear whether it’s in connection with the murder or not, but then I remembered: there’s a fourth brother, their half-brother. He was a bit older, a real loner; his dad was some sailor who drowned, I think. Whatever. I remember the others used to stick together, but not him.’

A fourth brother, a half-brother.

Silence like a wall.

‘Do you know what his name was?’

‘No idea. He was a little older. That’s probably why I never really think of him as belonging with the others. You never used to see him much. It was a long time ago. Maybe none of this is right. I might be mixing things up.’

‘That’s a great help,’ Malin says. ‘What would I do without you? Time to meet up over a beer soon?’

‘That would be great, but when? We both seem to work too much.’

They hang up. Malin can hear Tove out in the kitchen, and gets out of bed, feeling a sudden longing for her daughter.

Tove at the kitchen table, eating breakfast, reading the Correspondent.

‘Those brothers, Mum, they seem really weird,’ she says with a frown. ‘Did they do it?’

Black or white, Malin thinks.

Done or not done.

In a way Tove’s right, it’s simple, yet still so incredibly more complicated, unclear and ambiguous.

‘We don’t know.’

‘Oh well. I suppose they’ll be locked up for the guns and poaching? And the blood, was it just animal blood, as that woman doctor says here?’

‘We don’t know yet. They’re working on it in the lab.’

‘And it says you’ve questioned two teenage boys. Who are they?’

‘I can’t say, Tove. Did you have a good time at Dad’s the other night, by the way?’

‘Yes, I said I did over the phone, don’t you remember?’

‘What did you do?’

‘Markus and Dad and I had something to eat, then we watched television until we went to bed.’

Malin feels her stomach clench.

‘Markus was there?’

‘Yes, he stayed the night.’

‘STAYED THE NIGHT?’

‘Yes, but it wasn’t like we slept in the same bed or anything. You didn’t think that, did you?’

Both Tove and Janne spoke to her that afternoon. Neither of them mentioned Markus. Not that he would be staying over, not that he would be eating with them, not even that Janne was aware of his existence.

‘I didn’t even know your dad knew about Markus.’

‘Why wouldn’t he?’

‘You said he didn’t know anything.’

‘But he does now.’

‘Why hasn’t anyone told me any of this? Why didn’t you say?’

Malin can hear how ridiculous her words sound.

‘You only had to ask,’ Tove says.

Malin shakes her head.

‘Mum,’ Tove says. ‘Sometimes you’re incredibly childish.’