The Drowning

11

She smiled at him. A big smile, no teeth, just gums. But he wasn’t fooled. He knew what she wanted. She wanted to take and take until he no longer had anything left.

Suddenly he noticed the smell in his nostrils. That sweet, repulsive smell. It had been there back then, and it was here now. It must be coming from her. He looked down at the soft, shiny little body. Everything about her disgusted him. The plump belly, the notch between her legs, the hair that was dark and unevenly sprinkled over her head.

He put his hand on her head. He felt a pulsing under the skin. Close and fragile. His hand pressed harder, and she slid farther down. Still she laughed at him. The water closed around her legs, splashing as her heels struck the bottom of the tub.

He could hear Father’s voice, far far away, at the front door. It rose and fell and didn’t sound as if it would return for a few minutes yet. He could still feel the pulsing under his palm, and she had started to whimper. Her smile came and went, as if she wasn’t sure whether she was happy or sad. Maybe she could feel through his hand how much he hated her, how much he detested every second he had to spend in her presence.

It would be so much better without her, and without all that crying. He wouldn’t have to see the joy on Mother’s face when she looked at the baby, or the absence of joy when Mother turned to look at him. It was so obvious. Whenever Mother shifted her gaze from Alice to him, it was as if a light went out. The light died.

Again he listened for Father. Alice seemed to have decided not to burst into tears yet, and he smiled back at her. Then he carefully placed his arm under her head, for support, just as he’d seen Mother do. With his other hand he pulled away the seat that was holding her in a reclining position. It wasn’t easy. She was slippery and kept squirming about.

At last he got the bath seat out and cautiously pushed it aside. Now all of her weight was resting on his left arm. The sweet, suffocating smell was getting stronger. Feeling sick, he turned his head away. He felt her eyes burning his cheek and her skin was wet and slippery against his arm. He loathed her because she brought that smell back to him, because she forced him to remember.

Slowly he pulled his arm away and looked at her. Her head fell back towards the tub, and just before it struck the water, she took a breath to scream. But by then it was too late, and her little face disappeared under the surface. Her eyes stared up at him through the rippling water. She flailed her arms and legs, but she couldn’t pull herself up. She was too little, too weak. He didn’t even have to hold her head down. It came to rest on the bottom, and the only thing she could do was move it from side to side.

He squatted down, leaned his chin on the edge of the bathtub, and watched her struggle. She shouldn’t have tried to take his beautiful mother away from him. She deserved to die. It wasn’t his fault.

After a while her arms and legs stopped moving and slowly sank. He felt a great calm spread through him. The smell was gone and he could breathe again. Everything would be the way it used to be. With his head tilted, resting against the cold enamel, he looked at Alice, who now lay very still.

‘Come in, come in,’ said Ulf Rosander, looking groggy with sleep, although he was fully dressed. He motioned for Patrik and Paula to enter.

‘Thanks for agreeing to see us on such short notice,’ said Paula.

‘No problem. I just had to phone my workplace to say that I’d be a little late. Considering the circumstances, they understood completely. We’ve all lost a colleague.’ He headed for the living room, and they followed.

It looked as if a bomb had gone off in the room. Toys and all sorts of other items were scattered everywhere. Ulf shoved aside a pile of children’s clothing so that they could sit down on the sofa.

‘It’s always chaotic in the morning before the kids have to go off to the day-care centre,’ he apologized.

‘How old are they?’ asked Paula as Patrik leaned back, letting her take the lead. As a police officer, he never underestimated the value of small talk.

‘Three and five,’ said Rosander, his face lighting up. ‘Two girls. They’re my second brood. I also have two sons from a previous marriage who are fourteen and sixteen. But they’re living with their mother at the moment, or the house would look even worse.’

‘How are the kids getting along, since there’s such a big age difference?’ wondered Patrik.

‘Much better than expected, actually. The boys are real teenagers, so things don’t always go smoothly. But the girls worship them, and the boys like their little sisters too. In fact, the girls call them the Elk Brothers.’

Patrik laughed, but Paula looked mystified. ‘It’s from a children’s book,’ he told her. ‘Just wait a few years, and you’ll understand.’

Then he turned serious as he said to Rosander, ‘Well, as you probably heard, we’ve found Magnus.’

The smile on Rosander’s face instantly disappeared. He ran his hand through his hair, which was dishevelled enough already.

‘Do you know how he died? Did he go down in the sea?’

That was an old-fashioned way of referring to a shipwreck, but a common expression for people who lived in a community so close to the water.

Patrik shook his head. ‘We don’t know yet. But right now it’s more important to find out what happened on the morning he disappeared.’

‘I understand. But I don’t really know how I can help.’ Rosander threw out his hands. ‘The only thing I know is that he phoned to tell me he was running late.’

‘Was that unusual?’ asked Paula.

‘For Magnus to be late?’ Rosander frowned. ‘Now that you mention it, I don’t think it had ever happened before.’

‘How long had you been driving to work together?’ Patrik discreetly removed a little plastic ladybird that he’d been sitting on.

‘Ever since I started working at Tanum Windows five years ago. Before that, Magnus always took the bus, but we got to talking at work, and I said that he could ride with me. In return he could pay his share of the petrol.’

‘And during these five years, had he ever phoned before to say that he’d be late?’ Paula repeated her question.

‘No, not once. I should have thought of that earlier.’

‘How did he sound when he rang?’ asked Patrik. ‘Calm? Upset? Did he say why he was delayed?’

‘No, he didn’t. I can’t be sure about this, because it’s been a while now, but I don’t think he sounded quite himself.’

‘What do you mean by that?’ Patrik leaned forward.

‘Upset is probably too strong a word, but I got the impression that something was wrong. I thought maybe he’d had a row with Cia or the kids.’

‘Was there something he said to give you that idea?’ asked Paula, exchanging a glance with Patrik.

‘No, not really. The conversation lasted about five seconds. Magnus phoned and said that he was running late and that I should just go on ahead if he took too long. He’d make it to work on his own. Then he hung up. I waited for a while, and then I left. That was all. I assume it was his tone of voice that made me think that there’d been some sort of trouble at home.’

‘Do you know whether they had any problems in their marriage?’

‘I never heard Magnus say a single bad thing about Cia. On the contrary. They seemed to get on really well. Of course it’s impossible to tell what goes on in other families, but I’ve always thought of Magnus as a happily married man. Mind you, we didn’t talk much about those sorts of things. It was more about the weather and football.’

‘Would you say that the two of you were friends?’ asked Patrik.

Rosander hesitated before answering. ‘No, I wouldn’t really say that. We drove to work together and we chatted now and then at lunch, but we never socialized or anything like that. I don’t really know why not, because we enjoyed each other’s company. But everyone has their own circle of friends, and it’s hard to change things like that.’

‘So if something was bothering him, or if someone had upset him, he wouldn’t have confided in you?’ Paula asked.

‘No, I don’t think he would have. But I did see him five days a week, so I should have been able to tell if he was worried about something. He was just the same as always. Cheerful, calm, and confident. A really great guy, to put it simply.’ Rosander looked down at his hands. ‘I’m sorry I can’t be of more help.’

‘You’ve been extremely cooperative.’ Patrik got up and Paula followed suit. They shook hands with Rosander and thanked him for his time.

Back in the car, they went over what they’d heard as they drove.

‘So what do you think?’ said Paula, glancing at Patrik’s profile as he sat next to her in the passenger seat.

‘Hey, keep your eyes on the road!’ Patrik grabbed the door handle as Paula barely managed to avoid colliding with a lorry in the narrow curve just before Mörhult.

‘Whoops,’ said Paula, all of her attention now fixed on the windscreen and the road ahead.

‘Women drivers,’ muttered Patrik.

Paula knew that he was just teasing her and chose to ignore his remark. Besides, she’d been a passenger in the car when Patrik was driving, and she thought it was a miracle he even had a licence.

‘I don’t think Ulf Rosander has anything at all to do with the murder,’ said Patrik, in answer to her question.

Paula nodded. ‘I agree. In this instance Mellberg is really barking up the wrong tree.’

‘So we’ll just have to convince him of that.’

‘But it was still good that we went out there. Gösta must have missed that bit of information. There has to be a reason why Magnus was late for the first time in five years. It was Rosander’s impression that he sounded upset, or at least not like himself when he phoned. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that he disappeared that very morning.’

‘You’re right. I just don’t know how we should go about finding out what had upset him. I asked Cia the same question earlier, whether anything in particular happened that morning, and she said no. She did leave for work before Magnus did, but what could have happened in the short period of time when he was home alone?’

‘Has anyone checked the phone records?’ asked Paula, careful to keep her eyes focused on the road.

‘Several times. No one rang their house that morning. No one rang his mobile. The only phone call was when Magnus rang Rosander. After that, nothing.’

‘Do you think someone came over to see him in person?’

‘I don’t think so.’ Patrik shook his head. ‘The neighbours had a good view of the house. They were eating breakfast when Magnus left. Of course it’s possible that they might have missed seeing someone who rang the doorbell, but they were quite confident they hadn’t.’

‘What about his email?’

Again Patrik shook his head. ‘Cia gave us permission to look through his computer, but there were no emails that aroused any interest.’

They drove in silence for a while, both of them lost in thought. What could have happened to make Magnus Kjellner disappear one day without a trace, only to turn up three months later, his body frozen in the ice? What actually happened on that morning?

Foolishly, Erica had decided to walk. In her mind, the distance between her house in Sälvik and her destination had seemed no more than a stone’s throw away. But it seemed it would have to have been a world-record-breaking stone’s throw.

Erica pressed a hand to the small of her back as she paused to catch her breath. She looked in the direction of the Ocean View Development office, which was still a long way off. But she’d have just as far to go if she turned around and went back home, so she could either sit down here in the snowdrift or just push on.

Ten minutes later, feeling exhausted, she stepped inside the office. She hadn’t phoned in advance, thinking that she might win an advantage by making a surprise visit. She had made sure that Erik’s car wasn’t parked outside. Kenneth was the one she wanted to talk to. Preferably without being interrupted.

‘Hello?’ No one seemed to have heard the door close behind her, so she made her way further inside. It appeared to be an ordinary house that had been converted into office space. A large section of the ground floor now had an open-floor plan, and the walls were lined with shelves holding three-ring binders. There were also large posters of the structures the company had built, and a desk stood at either end of the room. Kenneth was sitting at one of them. He seemed unaware of Erica’s presence, because he carried on staring straight ahead, without moving.

‘Hello?’ she tried again.

Kenneth gave a start. ‘Oh, hello! I’m sorry, but I didn’t hear you come in.’ He got up and came towards her. ‘Erica Falck, if I’m not mistaken.’

‘That’s right.’ She shook hands with him and smiled. Kenneth noticed that she was eagerly eyeing one of the visitor’s chairs, and he motioned for her to have a seat.

‘Please sit down. It must be difficult carrying around the extra weight. Looks like your due date must be pretty soon.’

Erica gratefully leaned back in the chair, feeling the pressure ease in her back.

‘I’ve still got a little while to go. But I’m having twins,’ she said, looking a bit surprised by her own words.

‘In that case, you’re certainly going to be busy,’ said Kenneth kindly, sitting down next to her. ‘Are you in the market for a new house?’

Erica was startled by the way his face looked when she saw him up close, in the light from the nearby lamp. He looked tired and haggard. ‘Hunted’ was actually the word she was looking for. Suddenly she remembered hearing that his wife was seriously ill. She resisted the impulse to put her hand over his, suspecting that he might not appreciate such a gesture of sympathy. But she couldn’t help saying something. His sorrow and fatigue were so obvious, so deeply etched into the lines of his face.

‘How is your wife doing?’ Erica asked, hoping he wouldn’t be offended by the question.

‘Things are bad. She’s not doing well at all.’

Neither of them spoke for a moment. Then Kenneth sat up straight and attempted a smile, although it didn’t hide the pain he was feeling.

‘So, are you and Patrik thinking about a new house? The one you have is really very nice. But no matter what, Erik is really the one you and your husband need to talk to. I handle the finances and the account books, and I’m not much of a talker. But Erik will be here after lunch, I think, so if you’d like to come back then…’

‘No, I’m not here about buying a house.’

‘Oh? Then why exactly are you here?’

Erica hesitated. Why the hell did she have to be so curious that she couldn’t help sticking her nose in everybody else’s business? How was she going to explain this?

‘I suppose you’ve heard about Magnus Kjellner? That his body was found?’ she began.

Kenneth’s face turned a shade greyer as he nodded.

‘And as I understand it, the two of you saw quite a lot of each other. Is that right?’

‘Why are you asking me about this?’ said Kenneth, his expression suddenly wary.

‘I just…’ Erica searched for a good explanation but didn’t find one. She’d have to settle for telling a lie. ‘Did you read what it said in the newspapers about the threatening letters that Christian Thydell has received?’

Kenneth nodded, still looking circumspect. Something flashed in his eyes, but it was gone so fast that Erica wasn’t even sure she’d seen anything.

‘Christian is my friend, and I want to help him,’ she went on. ‘I think there’s a connection between the threats he’s been receiving and what happened to Magnus.’

‘What sort of connection?’ asked Kenneth, leaning forward.

‘I can’t go into that right now,’ she said evasively. ‘But it would really help if you could tell me a little about Magnus. Did he have any enemies? Is there anyone who might have wanted to harm him?’

‘No, that doesn’t seem at all likely.’ Kenneth leaned back in his chair again. His whole posture signalled his unwillingness to continue with this topic.

‘How long have you known each other?’ Erica was trying to steer the conversation towards less charged territory. Sometimes it was best to take a roundabout approach.

And it worked. Kenneth seemed to relax. ‘In principle, our whole lives. We’re the same age, so we were in the same class in grade school and also in secondary school. The three of us have always been friends.’

‘The three of you? You mean you, Magnus, and Erik Lind?’

‘Yes, that’s right. If we’d first met as adults, I don’t think we would have become friends, but Fjällbacka is so small, and we more or less grew up together, so we’ve always stayed in touch. When Erik lived in Göteborg, we didn’t see much of him, but since he moved back here we’ve seen rather a good deal of each other, getting together with our families. Out of habit, I suppose.’

‘Would you say that the three of you are close?’

Kenneth paused to think, glancing out of the window and staring across the ice before he answered. ‘No, I wouldn’t say that. Erik and I work together, of course, so we have a lot of contact with each other. But we’re not close friends. I don’t think anyone is close to Erik. And Magnus and I were so different. I don’t have a bad word to say about Magnus; I don’t think anyone does. We always got on well together, but we’ve never been what you’d call confidants. In that sense, it was Magnus and the newcomer in the group, Christian, who spent the most time together.’

‘How did Christian come into the picture?’

‘I don’t really know. Magnus was the one who decided to include him and Sanna, right after Christian moved here. After that, he became a regular.’

‘Do you know anything about his background?’

‘No,’ he said and then fell silent for a moment. ‘Now that you mention it… I really know nothing about what he did before he moved to Fjällbacka. We never talked about it.’ Kenneth seemed surprised by what he’d said.

‘How do you and Erik get along with Christian?’

‘He’s a bit difficult to get to know, and he can be really gloomy. But he’s a nice guy, and if he just has a couple of glasses of wine, he loosens up and we usually have a great time.’

‘Do you think he’s seemed stressed lately? Worried about anything?’

‘Christian, you mean?’ Again a flash of something in Kenneth’s eyes, but it disappeared so quickly.

‘Yes. He’s been getting these threatening letters for almost a year and a half.’

‘That long? I didn’t know that.’

‘So you and Erik haven’t noticed anything?’

He shook his head. ‘As I said, Christian is rather… complicated, you might say. It’s hard to know what’s going on inside his head. For instance, I had no idea that he was writing a book until it was just about to be published.’

‘Have you read it? It’s really creepy,’ said Erica.

Kenneth shook his head. ‘I’m not much of a reader. But I heard that the reviews have been great.’

‘Yes, really incredible,’ Erica replied. ‘But Christian didn’t tell you or Erik about the letters?’

‘No, he never mentioned them. But as I said, we’ve mostly seen each other at social events. Dinner parties, celebrations, and at New Year’s and Midsummer. Things like that. Magnus was probably the one person that Christian might have talked to.’

‘And Magnus didn’t say anything to you either?’

‘No, he didn’t.’ Kenneth got up. ‘I’m sorry, but I really need to get back to work now. Are you sure that you and Patrik wouldn’t like to consider a new house?’ He smiled and gestured towards the advertising posters on the wall.

‘We’re very comfortable where we are, but thanks. And your houses certainly are attractive.’ Erica made an effort to stand up, but with the usual awkward result. Kenneth held out his hand and helped her get to her feet.

‘Thank you.’ Erica wrapped her scarf around her neck. ‘I’m really sorry,’ she said then. ‘About your wife, I mean. I hope that…’ She didn’t know what else to say, and Kenneth merely nodded.

Erica shivered as she stepped back out into the cold.

Christian was having a hard time concentrating. Normally he enjoyed his job at the library, but today he was finding it impossible to focus, impossible to keep his mind on anything.

Everybody who came in wanted to say something about The Mermaid. Some had already read the book, some were planning to read it, some had seen him on the TV talk show. And he always responded politely, thanking people for their favourable comments, and offering a brief summary of his novel for those who asked. But in reality, he just wanted to scream.

He couldn’t stop thinking about the terrible thing that had happened to Magnus. The prickling sensation had started up in his hands again, and it was spreading. To his arms, over his torso, down into his legs. At times it felt as if his whole body was itching and burning. He was having a hard time sitting still. That’s why he kept getting up to go over to the shelves, moving books that had ended up in the wrong place and straightening the spines so the books formed nice, even rows.

All of a sudden he stopped. He was standing there with one hand raised, resting on top of some books, and he was incapable of taking it down. That’s when the thoughts came, the ones that had been appearing more and more often. What was he doing here? Why was he here, in this particular place, at this particular moment? He shook his head to push the thoughts away, but they just burrowed deeper into his mind.

Someone walked by outside, going past the library entrance. He caught only a glimpse of the person, sensing a movement rather than actually seeing anything. But the feeling that instantly came over him was the same as when he had driven home the night before. The feeling of something hostile, yet at the same time familiar.

He dashed over to the entrance and peered out in the direction the person had gone. Nobody there. No footsteps or any other sound. No one in sight. Was he imagining things? Christian pressed his fingertips to his temples. He closed his eyes and in his mind he pictured Sanna, seeing again the expression on her face when he told her what was half true and half lies. Her mouth agape, sympathy mixed with horror.

She wouldn’t be asking him any more questions. At least not for a while. And the blue dress was back upstairs in the attic, where it belonged. By revealing a little bit of the truth, he had bought himself a temporary respite. But sooner or later she would start questioning what he’d told her, looking for answers and the part of the story that he hadn’t wanted to tell. That part had to stay buried. There was no other option.

He still had his eyes closed when he heard someone clearing their throat. Christian opened his eyes.

‘Excuse me, but my name is Lars Olsson. I’m a reporter. I was just wondering if we could have a little chat. I’ve tried to reach you by phone, but nobody answers.’

‘I’ve switched off my mobile.’ Christian took his hands away from his temples. ‘What do you want?’

‘Yesterday a man was found frozen in the ice. Magnus Kjellner. He’s been missing since November. As I understand it, the two of you were good friends.’

‘Why are you talking to me about this?’ Christian backed away, retreating behind the library counter.

‘It seems a strange coincidence, don’t you think? The fact that you’ve been receiving threats for a long period of time, and then one of your closest friends is found dead? We’ve also learned that he was most likely murdered.’

‘Murdered?’ said Christian, hiding his hands under the counter. They were shaking badly.

‘Yes, there were wounds on the body that indicate he was the victim of an attack. Do you know whether Magnus Kjellner had also been threatened? Or who might have sent those letters to you?’ The journalist was using an aggressive tone of voice, leaving no doubt that he expected Christian to answer.

‘I know nothing about that. Nothing at all.’

‘But it seems that somebody is fixated on you, and then it’s not a big leap to assume that people close to you might be targeted too. Has anyone in your family been threatened in any way?’

All Christian could do was mutely shake his head. Images began crowding into his mind, and he swiftly pushed them away. He couldn’t allow them to take over.

‘From what I understand, the threats began arriving before all the media attention started when your book came out. So that seems to indicate this is a personal matter. Do you have any comment about that?’

Again Christian shook his head, this time even more vigorously. He was clenching his jaw so tight that his face felt like a frozen mask. He wanted to run away from all these questions, stop thinking about her and the fact that, after so many years, she had finally caught up with him. He refused to let her in again. At the same time, he knew it was too late. She was already here; he couldn’t escape. Maybe he had never actually been able to flee.

‘So you have no idea who might be behind the threatening letters? Or whether there’s any connection to the murder of Magnus Kjellner?’

‘I thought you said you had information indicating he was murdered. Not that it was an established fact.’

‘Right. But that’s a reasonable assumption,’ replied the reporter. ‘And you have to agree that in a small town like Fjällbacka, it’s a strange coincidence that a man would receive threats and then one of his friends is found murdered. That stirs up a whole lot of questions.’

Christian felt his anger growing. What right did they have to come barging into his life, demanding answers and asking him to produce something that he didn’t have?

‘I have nothing more to say about any of this.’

‘You do realize that we’re going to write about it whether you cooperate or not? It would be in your own best interest to give us your view of the matter.’

‘I’ve said everything that I’m going to say,’ Christian replied, but the journalist didn’t look as if he was going to back off.

Then Christian stood up. He walked through the library and went into the toilet, locking the door behind him. He gave a start when he saw his face in the mirror. It looked like a complete stranger staring back at him. He didn’t recognize himself at all.

He closed his eyes, leaning forward with his hands on the sink. His breathing was fast and shallow. By sheer force of will, he tried to slow his pulse and regain control. But his life was about to be taken away from him. He knew that. Once upon a time she had taken everything, and now she was here to do it again.

Images danced on the inside of his eyelids. He heard the voices too. Hers and theirs. Without being able to stop himself, he tilted his head back. And then with great force he threw himself forward. He heard the sound of the mirror shattering, felt the blood on his forehead. But it didn’t hurt. Because in the seconds when the glass pierced his skin, the voices fell silent. A blessed silence.

It was just past noon, and Louise was marvellously drunk. To precisely the right extent. Relaxed, numbed, but without losing her grip on reality.

Louise filled her glass again. The house was empty. The girls were in school, and Erik was at the office. Or somewhere else, maybe with his whore.

He’d been acting strangely the past few days. Quieter and more subdued. And her sense of dread was mixed with hope. That was how she always felt when she thought Erik might actually leave her. It was as if she were two people. One of them felt relief at being able to escape the prison that their marriage had become, with nothing but betrayal and lies. The other person was panic-stricken at being abandoned. Of course she would get a large portion of Erik’s money, but what would she do with it when she was all on her own?

There wasn’t much companionship in her present life, but it was still better than nothing. She had a warm body next to her in bed at night, and someone sitting at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper at breakfast. She had somebody. If he left her, she would be utterly forsaken. The girls were growing up; they were like temporary guests in the house, always on their way to see friends or go to school. They had already begun to adopt the taciturn behaviour of teenagers, barely answering at all when she spoke to them. When they were home, she mostly saw the closed doors to their rooms, and the only sign of life was the constant thudding of the music they had playing.

One more glass of wine had disappeared, and she poured herself another. Where was Erik right now? Was he at the office or was he with her? Was he rolling over Cecilia’s naked body, entering her, caressing her breasts? Here at home he never did any of those things. He hadn’t touched her in two years. At first she had tried slipping her hand under the covers to touch him. But after being rejected a few times, when he demonstratively rolled over on his side so his back was turned, or simply pushed away her hand, she had given up.

She could see her own reflection in the shiny stainless steel of the refrigerator. As usual, she studied herself, raising her hand to touch her face. She didn’t look that bad, did she? Once, she had been quite attractive. And she’d kept off the pounds, been careful about what she ate, disdaining her contemporaries who allowed buns and sweet rolls to add extra padding to their figures, which they then tried to conceal under a floral tent dress bought at Lindex. She, on the other hand, could still put on a pair of tight jeans and look respectable. She raised her chin. It had actually started to sag a bit. She raised it again. All right, that’s how it should look.

She lowered her chin, noticing how the skin relaxed into a small fold. She had to resist an impulse to take one of the knives out of the holder in front of her and cut off the repulsive flap of skin. She was suddenly disgusted by her own reflection. No wonder Erik didn’t want to touch her any more. No wonder he’d rather have firm skin under his fingers, wanting to touch something that was not slowly decaying and rotting from the inside.

She lifted her wine glass and tossed the contents at the fridge, erasing her reflection and replacing it with the gleaming red liquid that ran down the smooth surface. The phone was on the counter in front of her, and she punched in the number to the office. She had to find out where he was.

‘Hi, Kenneth. Is Erik there?’

Her heart was pounding hard as she put down the phone, even though by now she should be used to the situation. Poor Kenneth. How many times over the years had he been forced to cover for Erik? To quickly come up with some lie about where Erik was and what sort of task he was taking care of, assuring her that he was bound to be back in the office soon.

She filled her glass without bothering to wipe up what she’d thrown at the fridge and resolutely headed for Erik’s workroom. She wasn’t really supposed to go in there. He claimed that it disturbed the order of things if anyone else used the room, so she was strictly forbidden from even setting foot inside. And that was exactly why she was going there now.

Fumbling, she set down her wine glass on the desk and began pulling out the drawers. In all the doubt-filled years she’d spent with Erik, she had never gone through his things. She had preferred not to know. Suspicions were better than knowledge, even though in her case there was very little difference. Somehow she had always known who he happened to be seeing at the moment. Two of his secretaries, when they lived in Göteborg; one of the teachers at the day-care centre; the mother of one of the girls’ classmates. She could tell because of the evasive and slightly guilty expressions the women wore when they saw her. She had smelled their perfume, noticed a hasty touch that wasn’t appropriate.

Now, for the first time, she pulled out Erik’s desk drawers and rummaged through his papers, not caring whether he noticed what she’d done. Because she was becoming convinced that the oppressive silence of the past few days could mean only one thing. He was thinking of leaving her. Throwing her away like rubbish, used goods – and yet she had given birth to his children, kept his home clean, cooked all those fucking dinners for his fucking business contacts who were usually so boring that she felt as if her head would explode when she was forced to converse with them. If he thought that she would just step aside like some wounded animal and not put up a fight, he was sorely mistaken. And besides, she knew about business agreements that he’d made over the years that wouldn’t stand closer examination. It would cost him dearly if he made the mistake of underestimating her.

The last drawer was locked. She tugged on it, harder and harder, but it refused to yield. She knew that she had to get it open. There was some reason why Erik had locked it, there was something that he didn’t want her to see. She looked at the surface of the desk, which was a modern piece of furniture – in other words, not such a challenge to break into as an older, more solid desk would have been. Her eyes were drawn to a letter opener. That would do. She pulled at the drawer until the lock stopped it from moving. Then she inserted the letter opener into the crack and began prising at the lock. At first it looked like the drawer would refuse to give, but then she tried a little harder, and her hopes rose when the wood began to crack. When the lock finally let go, it happened so suddenly that she almost fell over backwards. At the last instant she grabbed the edge of the desk and managed to stay upright.

Curiosity mounting, she peered inside the drawer. Something white was lying on the bottom. She stretched out her hand, trying to focus because her vision had gone a bit hazy. White envelopes. The drawer contained nothing but letters in white envelopes. She actually recalled seeing them arrive in the post, but she had paid little attention at the time. They were all addressed to Erik, so she had simply added them to his stack of post, which he always opened when he came home from work. Why had he put them inside a locked drawer?

Louise took out the letters and sat down on the floor, spreading them out in front of her. Five of them, all with Erik’s name and address on the envelope, written with black ink in an elegant script.

For a moment she considered stuffing them back in the drawer and continuing on, ignoring everything. But she had broken the desk lock, and as soon as Erik came home, he would know that she had been in here. So she might as well have a look.

She reached for her wine glass, needing to feel the alcohol running down her throat and into her stomach, soothing the place where it hurt. Three sips. Then she set the glass on the floor beside her and opened the first letter.

After she had read them all, she stacked them up on top of each other. She didn’t understand a thing. Except it was clear that somebody wanted to harm Erik. Something evil was threatening their life, their family, and he had said nothing about it. That filled her with a rage greater than any anger she might have felt. He hadn’t considered her an equal, not enough to tell her about something important like this. But now he was going to have to answer to her. He could no longer treat her with such lack of respect.

She decided to drive into town, to Erik’s office. She placed the letters next to her on the passenger seat in the car. It took a moment for her to insert the key in the ignition, but after taking a couple of deep breaths, she managed it. She knew that she shouldn’t be driving right now, but like so many times before, she pushed aside any scruples and pulled out into the street.