The Darkest Room

40

Dousing the fire with snow had worked, but when Joakim finally managed to put the flames out, almost the entire staircase up to the loft was charred, and thick curtains of smoke hung from the roof beams.

Joakim coughed in the dry air and sat down at the bottom of the smoking staircase with aching legs. He was still holding the snow shovel he had fetched from the house.

He couldn’t even think anymore, didn’t have the strength to wonder where all these uninvited guests had come from tonight, or to ponder what had happened up there in the room with the church benches. He realized that Gerlof Davidsson was right: a veil of forgetfulness was already beginning to obscure his memories of this night.

Had he really met Katrine up there? Had she confessed that she had drowned his sister?

No. Katrine hadn’t said that.

Joakim looked at the tall man lying over by the wall. He

had no idea who he was or why he was wearing handcuffs, but if police officer Tilda Davidsson had caught him, then certain conclusions could be drawn.

Almost at that same moment, he thought he heard fresh shots from somewhere outside the barn.

Joakim listened, but when he heard nothing more he looked over in the direction of the wall.

“Was it you who started all this?” he asked.

After a few seconds a quiet reply came from the floor.

“Sorry.”

Joakim sighed. “I’ll have to build a new staircase to the loft… sometime.”

He leaned back, then remembered that Livia and Gabriel were still in the house, alone.

How could he have left them?

There was a sudden scraping noise over by the barn door, and when he turned his head he saw Tilda come stumbling in from the storm, covered in snow. She had her pistol in one hand, and an old hunting rifle in the other.

She sank down over by the wooden wall and breathed out.

“He’s gone,” she said.

Freddy looked up from the floor.

“Gone?” said Joakim.

“He ran into the forest,” said Tilda. “He disappeared… but at least he hasn’t got a rifle now.”

Joakim got up. “I have to see to my children,” he said, walking toward the door. “Will you be okay on your own for a while?”

Tilda nodded, but remained on the floor, her head drooping.

“If you go through the veranda… there are people there. Two men.”

“Injured?” said Joakim.

Tilda lowered her eyes. “One’s injured… and one’s dead.”

Joakim didn’t ask any more questions. When he glanced

at her for one last time, she had taken out her cell phone and started to key in a number.

He walked out into the billowing snow dunes in the inner courtyard, bending low against the wind. Eel Point didn’t seem so big tonight-the buildings seemed to be cowering like a pack of frightened dogs beneath the blizzard. The onslaughts of the wind ripped off slates and whirled them up above the top of the roof, where they disappeared into the darkness.

Joakim went inside the veranda and closed the door. A man was lying stretched out on the rug. Dead? No, he was just deeply asleep.

The storm was making the windows on the front of the house rattle, and the putty and frames holding the panes were creaking, but they were still holding.

Joakim walked into the house, but stopped in the hallway.

He could hear creaking noises in the corridor.

Hoarse breathing.

Ethel was there.

She was standing in front of the door to the children’s rooms; she had come to collect her daughter. Ethel was going to take Livia away with her.

Joakim didn’t dare go up to her. He simply bent his head and closed his eyes.

Trust me, he thought.

He opened his eyes and went on into the house.

The corridor by the bedrooms was empty.