The Lost Boy

15

Mellberg was whistling as he walked to work. He could tell that it was going to be a good day. He’d made a few phone calls the previous night, and he now had half an hour to get everything ready.

‘Annika!’ he called as soon as he stepped into the reception area.

‘I’m sitting right here. No need to shout.’

‘Would you mind getting the conference room ready?’

‘The conference room? I didn’t know we had a fancy place like that here at the station.’ She took off her computer glasses, letting them dangle from the cord around her neck.

‘Okay, okay. You know what I’m talking about. The only room that has space for lots of chairs.’

‘Lots of chairs?’ Annika was starting to feel uneasy. It didn’t bode well that Mellberg had turned up so early in the morning, and in such high spirits.

‘Yes. Rows of chairs. For the press.’

‘The press?’ said Annika, feeling her uneasiness settle into a hard lump in her stomach. What was he up to now?

‘Yes, the press. I’m holding a press conference here, and the reporters need some place to sit.’ He was prattling like a child.

‘Does Patrik know about this?’ Annika glanced at her phone.

‘Hedström will find out about it soon enough if he ever decides to come in to work. It’s already two minutes past eight,’ said Mellberg, ignoring the fact that he himself rarely turned up at the station before ten. ‘The press conference is scheduled for eight thirty. In less than half an hour. And as I was saying, we need a room.’

Annika again glanced at her phone, but then she realized that Mellberg wasn’t going to leave her alone until she got up off her arse and began arranging chairs in the only room that was suitable. She was hoping that then he’d go into his office and she’d have a chance to ring Patrik, to warn him what was about to happen.

‘What’s going on?’ Gösta asked from the doorway as Annika began setting up chairs.

‘Mellberg is apparently going to hold a press conference here.’

Gösta scratched the back of his head and looked around the room.

‘Does Hedström know?’

‘That’s exactly what I asked Bertil. And no, evidently he doesn’t. This is one of Mellberg’s bright ideas, and I haven’t been able to get hold of Patrik to warn him.’

‘Warn me about what?’ Patrik appeared in the doorway behind Gösta. ‘What’s going on?’

‘We’re to have a press conference in …’ Annika looked at her watch. ‘Ten minutes.’

‘You’re kidding, right?’ said Patrik, but he could see from Annika’s expression that this was no joke.

‘That bloody …’ Patrik turned on his heel and headed straight for Mellberg’s office. Then they heard a door open, followed by the sound of agitated voices before the door closed.

‘Ay ay ay,’ said Gösta, again scratching the back of his head. ‘I think I’ll go to my office.’ He disappeared so fast that Annika wondered whether he’d actually been standing there at all, or if he was just a mirage.

Muttering to herself, she continued setting up chairs, though she’d have given anything to be a fly on the wall in Mellberg’s office. She could hear voices rising and falling behind his door, but she couldn’t make out any of the words. Then the bell rang, and she hurried to open the front door.

Fifteen minutes later, the journalists had all gathered. There was a muted hum of voices in the room. Some of them knew each other, but some didn’t. Reporters had arrived from Bohusläningen, Strömstads Tidning, and the other local newspapers. Even the local radio station was represented, as well as the evening papers – the ‘big guns’, who were not frequent visitors to the area. Annika bit her lip nervously. Mellberg and Patrik still hadn’t appeared, and she wondered whether she should say something or just wait to see what happened. She chose to do the latter, although she kept casting glances at Mellberg’s office door. Finally it was flung open, and Mellberg came rushing out, bright red in the face and with his hair in disarray. Patrik stood in the doorway with his hands on his hips, and in spite of the distance, Annika could see his angry expression. As Mellberg came towards her at top speed, Patrik went into his own office and slammed the door, rattling the pictures hanging on the wall of the corridor.

‘Young whippersnapper,’ muttered Mellberg as he pushed past Annika. ‘Who does he think he is, coming here and telling me how to run things?’ He stopped, took a deep breath, and fixed his comb-over. Then he went into the room.

‘Is everyone here?’ he asked, smiling broadly as the crowd murmured affirmatively.

‘Good. Then let’s get started. As I told you last night, the investigation into the murder of Mats Sverin has taken a new direction.’ He paused, but no one seemed to have any questions yet. ‘Those of you from the local press have probably already heard that we had a serious incident occur here yesterday. Three little boys were taken to Emergency at Uddevalla Hospital.’

A few of the reporters nodded.

‘The boys had found a bag containing white powder. They thought it was sweets, so they tasted it. But the powder turned out to be cocaine, and it made them sick. They were taken to the hospital by ambulance.’ He paused again, straightening his back. He was in his element. He loved press conferences.

The reporter from Bohusläningen raised his hand, and Mellberg nodded brusquely.

‘Where did the boys find the bag?’

‘In Fjällbacka, in a litter bin outside the block of flats near Tetra Pak.’

‘Have they suffered any permanent injury?’ A journalist from one of the evening papers asked the question without waiting his turn.

‘The doctors say that they’ll make a full recovery. Luckily, they didn’t ingest very much of it.’

‘Do you think that a known addict tossed away the bag? Or is there a connection to the murder? You implied something of the sort in your opening remarks,’ interjected the reporter from Strömstads Tidning.

Mellberg was enjoying the way the tension was building in the audience. They could all see that he had a scoop for them, and he planned to make the most of it. After a moment of silence, he said:

‘The bag was in a litter bin right outside Mats Sverin’s front door.’ He slowly looked from one person to the next. Everyone’s eyes were fixed on him. ‘And we’ve identified his fingerprints on the bag.’

A murmur started up in the room.

‘Holy shit,’ said the guy from Bohusläningen. Several hands shot up.

‘So do you think it was a drug deal that went bad?’ The journalist from GT was swiftly taking notes as his photographer snapped one picture after another. Mellberg reminded himself to suck in his stomach.

‘We don’t want to say too much at this stage, but that’s one of the theories we’re working on, yes.’

He enjoyed hearing his own voice. If he’d made different choices in life, maybe he could have been the spokesman for the Stockholm police department. He could have been the one appearing on TV when the Swedish politician Anna Lindh was murdered, or sitting on a morning talk-show sofa to discuss the Palme assassination.

‘Is there any suggestion that drugs were involved in the murder?’ asked the reporter from GT.

‘I’m not at liberty to say,’ replied Mellberg. It was all a matter of throwing the press titbits. Not too many, not too few.

‘Have you looked into Sverin’s background? Did you find any evidence of drugs?’ Now it was the guy from Bohusläningen who managed to get in a question.

‘I can’t discuss that either.’

‘Have you received the report from the post-mortem?’ the GT reporter continued. The more tactful journalists were starting to give him angry looks.

‘No. We’re expecting the results sometime this week.’

‘Do you have any suspects?’ The Göteborgs-Posten journalist managed to get a word in edgeways.

‘Not at the present moment. Okay, I think that’s as much as we can say for the time being. You have all the information we’re able to give you, and we’ll keep you posted as the investigation progresses. But in my opinion, we’re on the verge of a major breakthrough in the case.’

His words prompted a flood of questions, but Mellberg merely shook his head. They’d have to be satisfied with the few scraps he’d given them. Practically floating on air as he returned to his office, he congratulated himself on a job well done. Patrik’s door was closed. What a sour-puss, Mellberg thought, his face clouding over. Hedström ought to realize who was in charge here at the station and who had the most experience with these matters. And if that didn’t suit him, he could just look for a job elsewhere.

Mellberg sat down in his chair, propped his feet up on the desk, and clasped his hands behind his head. He had definitely earned a little nap.

‘Who should we start with?’ asked Martin as he emerged from the vehicle. They were in the car park next to the block of flats.

‘How about Rolle?’

Martin nodded. ‘Sure. It’s been a while since we had a chat with him. It won’t hurt to pay him a little attention.’

‘I just hope he’s coherent.’

They walked up the stairs, and when they were standing outside Rolle’s flat, Paula rang the doorbell. No one answered, so she pressed the bell again, harder this time. A dog started barking.

‘Shit. That’s his German shepherd. I forgot about the dog.’ Martin shook his head uneasily. He didn’t like big dogs, especially dogs owned by drug addicts.

‘That dog’s not dangerous. I’ve met her several times.’ Paula rang the bell again, and now they heard footsteps approaching. The door opened a crack.

‘Yes?’ Rolle said suspiciously. Paula took a step back so he could see her properly. Standing at the man’s feet, the dog was barking loudly and looking as if she wanted to leap through the narrow door opening. Martin moved over to the staircase leading to the floor above and took two steps up, even though he couldn’t have explained why that should be any safer.

‘Paula. From the Tanum police. We’ve met a few times before.’

‘Right. I recognize you,’ the man said, but he made no move to remove the safety chain and let them in.

‘We’d like to come in for a moment. Just have a little talk with you.’

‘A little talk? Oh sure. I’ve heard that before.’ Rolle didn’t budge.

‘I mean what I say. We’re not here to arrest you.’ Paula spoke calmly.

‘Okay, okay, come in.’ He opened the door.

Martin stared at the German shepherd. Rolle was holding the dog by the collar.

‘Hi, doggie.’ Paula knelt down to scratch her behind the ears. The dog finally stopped barking and allowed herself to be petted. ‘What a good girl you are. All right now. You like that, don’t you?’ She kept on scratching the big ears, to the dog’s obvious delight.

‘She’s a good dog, my Nikki,’ said Rolle, letting go of her collar.

‘Come on, Martin.’ Paula motioned for him to come closer. Still not entirely convinced, Martin came down from the stairs to join Paula and Nikki. ‘Let her say hello to you. She’s really sweet.’

Martin reluctantly obeyed. He began petting the big dog and was rewarded with a lick on his hand.

‘See? She likes you,’ said Paula.

‘Hmm,’ said Martin, a bit embarrassed. The dog really didn’t seem so dangerous up close.

‘Now we need to have a chat with your master,’ said Paula, standing up. Nikki looked up at her for a moment before dashing inside.

‘I like your decor,’ said Paula, looking around as they entered the flat.

Rolle rented a one-room place, and it was clear that neatness was not a high priority. The furnishings consisted of a narrow wood-framed bed with mismatched linens, an old TV console that stood in the middle of the room, a scruffy-looking sofa, and a rickety coffee table. Everything looked as if it had been pulled out of a skip, which was very likely the case.

‘Let’s sit in the kitchen.’ Rolle led the way.

Martin knew that, according to police records, the man was thirty-one, but he looked at least ten years older. Tall, slightly stooped, greasy hair that reached to the collar of his faded, checked shirt. His jeans were covered with stains and torn in several places – the result of long-time wear and not a fashion statement.

‘I haven’t got any refreshments,’ said Rolle sarcastically, snapping his fingers at Nikki to make her lie down on the floor at his feet.

‘That’s not necessary,’ said Paula. Judging by all the plates and cups piled up in the sink and on the bench, there wouldn’t be any clean china even if they’d been offered coffee.

‘So what do you want?’ He sighed heavily and then began gnawing on his right thumbnail. He’d already chewed some of his nails down so far that the fingertips looked inflamed.

‘What do you know about the guy across the hall?’ asked Paula, looking at him steadily.

‘What guy?’

‘Who do you think?’ said Martin. He found himself motioning for Nikki to come over and lie down next to him instead.

‘The guy who was shot in the head? Is that who you mean?’ Rolle calmly met Paula’s gaze.

‘Good guess. Well?’

‘Well what? I don’t know anything about it. I told you that before.’

Paula cast an enquiring glance at Martin, who nodded. He was the one who had talked to Rolle when the police were knocking on doors after the murder.

‘Since then, a number of things have come to our attention.’ Paula’s voice had suddenly grown cold. Martin thought to himself that he wouldn’t want to get on her bad side. She might be small, but she was tougher than most guys he knew.

‘Really?’ Rolle’s tone was nonchalant, but Martin could see that he was listening.

‘Did you hear about the boys who found a bag of cocaine outside?’ asked Paula. Rolle stopped chewing on his thumbnail.

‘Cocaine? Where?’

‘In a paper bag, right there in that bin.’ She nodded towards the green litter bin that was visible through the kitchen window.

‘Cocaine in a paper bag?’ Rolle repeated, with a gleam in his eye.

That must be the ultimate fantasy for a drug addict, thought Martin. To find a bagful of drugs in a litter bin. It’d be like winning the lottery.

‘Yes. And the little boys tasted it. They ended up in the ER. It could have killed them,’ said Paula.

Rolle nervously ran his hand over his greasy hair.

‘What a fucking mess. Kids shouldn’t touch stuff like that.’

‘They’re seven years old. They thought it was a bag of sweets.’

‘But you said they’re going to be okay, right?’

‘Yes, they’ll be okay. And hopefully they’ll never go near that sort of shit again. The kind of shit you deal in.’

‘I’d never sell to kids. You know me, for Christ’s sake. I’d never give any to kids.’

‘We don’t think you would, either. As I said, they found it in the litter bin.’ Paula allowed her voice to soften a bit. ‘But there’s a connection between the guy who was murdered and that bag of cocaine.’

‘What connection?’

‘That’s not important.’ Paula waved her hand dismissively. ‘What we want to know is whether you had any contact with him, whether you know anything. And no, we’re not going to arrest you for it if you did,’ she went on before Rolle had time to speak. ‘We’re investigating a murder, and that’s much more important. But it could be to your benefit in the future if you decide to help us now.’

Rolle seemed to ponder what she’d said. Then he shrugged and sighed.

‘Unfortunately, I’ve got nothing for you. I saw the guy in passing now and then, but I never talked to him. It didn’t look like we’d have much to talk about. Although, if what you say is true, maybe we had more in common than I thought.’ He laughed.

‘And his name never cropped up amongst your other contacts?’ Martin interjected. Nikki had moved over near him, and he was scratching her neck.

‘No,’ said Rolle reluctantly. He probably would have liked to earn some extra points with them, but evidently he knew nothing.

‘If you should hear anything, give us a call, okay?’ Paula took out a business card and handed it to Rolle, who shrugged again and then stuffed the card in the back pocket of his stained jeans.

‘Sure. You can find your own way out, can’t you?’ He grinned as he reached for a container of snuff lying on the table. When his shirt sleeve hitched up, they could see the needle tracks in the crook of his arm. Rolle was addicted to heroin, not cocaine.

Nikki saw them to the door, and Martin patted her before they closed the door behind them.

‘One down. Three more to go.’ Paula started down the stairs.

‘It’s so much fun spending the day with a bunch of druggies,’ said Martin, as he followed.

‘If you’re lucky, you might meet some more dogs. I’ve never seen anybody switch so fast from sheer terror to total infatuation.’

‘She was nice,’ muttered Martin. ‘But I really don’t care for big dogs.’

Erica felt as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. In her heart she knew that there was a long road ahead, and that Anna might suddenly slip back into the darkness. Nothing was certain. At the same time, Anna was a fighter. She had proved that in the past, pulling herself up through sheer will power, and Erica was convinced that she’d be able to do it this time too.

Patrik was also pleased to hear about Anna’s progress when she’d told him. This morning he’d been whistling as he left for work and she hoped that his good mood would last. Ever since he’d collapsed and been taken to the hospital, she had kept a close watch on his moods – maybe too close. She was terrified that something might happen to Patrik. He was her best friend, her beloved husband, and the father of her wonderful children. She didn’t want him to put all that at risk by working himself to death. She refused to allow him to do that.

‘Hi. We’re back,’ she said as she pushed the pram into the library.

‘Hi,’ said May cheerfully. ‘You didn’t finish what you were working on yesterday, did you?’

‘No. There are a few more reference books that I’d like to look at. I thought I’d do it now, while the boys are asleep.’

‘Okay. I’m here if you need anything.’

‘Thanks,’ said Erica, sitting down at a table.

It was a complicated business, trying to find what she was looking for. She pulled out a notepad so she could write down references to other sources that turned up along the way. Usually they turned out to be no help, leading her to information about other islands and areas in Sweden. Occasionally, however, she found a few helpful nuggets, just as with any other research project.

She leaned forward to peer into the pram. The twins were sleeping peacefully. Stretching out her legs, she returned to her reading. It had been a long time since she read any ghost stories. When she was a kid, she’d devoured all the scariest tales she could find. Everything from Edgar Allan Poe to Nordic folktales. Maybe that was why, as an adult, she’d started writing books about real murder cases. They were almost like an extension of the creepy tales from her childhood.

‘You can make copies of anything you want to take with you,’ said May, helpfully.

Erica nodded and got up. She’d found a number of pages that she wanted to read more closely at home. There was a familiar tingling sensation in her stomach. She loved delving for information and assembling the puzzle, piece by piece. After spending several months thinking about nothing but babies, she was thoroughly enjoying having a more grown-up project to occupy her mind. She’d told her publisher that she wouldn’t begin work on her next book for at least six months, and that was a decision that she intended to stick to. Nevertheless, she needed to keep her brain busy until then, and this felt like a good start.

Having stuffed a stack of photocopies in the babies’ nappy bag, she headed for home at a leisurely pace. The twins were still asleep. Life was good.

‘That fucking bastard, that damn shitty …’ Patrik’s language wasn’t usually so coarse, but Gösta could certainly understand his mood. This time Mellberg had really outdone himself.

Patrik pounded his hand on the dashboard so hard that Gösta jumped.

‘Remember your heart. You’re not supposed to get stressed.’

‘Okay, okay,’ said Patrik, forcing himself to take a couple of deep breaths to calm down.

‘Over there.’ Gösta pointed to a parking place. ‘So how are we going to approach this?’ he asked as they sat in the car for a moment.

‘There’s no reason to beat around the bush,’ said Patrik. ‘It’s all going to be in the newspapers, anyway.’

‘Yes, but we need to focus on this, regardless of what Mellberg has done.’

Patrik looked both surprised and chastened as he cast a glance at Gösta.

‘You’re right. What’s done is done, and we need to get on with the job at hand. I suggest that we start with Erling and then talk to Mats’s other co-workers. We need to find out whether any of them noticed any signs of narcotics or drug use.’

‘Like what?’ Gösta hoped that he didn’t sound too stupid, but he really didn’t know what Patrik was getting at.

‘Well, for instance, if Mats was behaving strangely or exhibiting any other unusual signs. He seems to have been such a proper sort, but maybe they can think of something that doesn’t fit the pattern.’

Patrik got out of the car and Gösta followed. They hadn’t phoned ahead to find out who might be at work in the council offices, but when they spoke to the receptionist, they found they were in luck. Everyone was present.

‘Could we see Erling first?’ Patrik asked, making it sound more like a command than a request.

The young receptionist nodded, looking slightly alarmed. ‘He doesn’t have any meetings scheduled,’ she told them as she pointed down the corridor. Gösta already knew where to find Erling’s office.

‘Hello there,’ said Patrik as they stood in the doorway.

‘Well, hello!’ Erling stood up and came forward to shake hands. ‘Come in, come in. How’s it going? Have you made any progress? I heard about those little boys yesterday. Good Lord, what’s the world coming to these days?’ He took his seat behind the desk.

Patrik and Gösta exchanged glances and then Patrik began.

‘The thing is, there seems to be a connection.’ He cleared his throat, uncertain how to proceed. ‘We have reason to believe that there’s a connection between Mats Sverin and the cocaine that the boys found.’

There was utter silence in the room as Erling stared at them and they waited calmly for his response. His surprise seemed genuine.

‘I … but … how …’ he stammered, and then merely shook his head.

‘You didn’t suspect anything of this kind?’ asked Gösta to help him along.

‘No, absolutely not. We’d never have thought … never in a million years.’ For once he seemed at a loss for words.

‘So there was no sign that things weren’t as they should be with Mats? Mood swings, turning up late for work, or difficulties keeping appointments? Maybe a change in his appearance?’ Patrik studied him closely, but Erling seemed truly stunned.

‘No. As I said before, Mats was the epitome of a stable person. Maybe a bit reserved when it came to certain topics, but that’s all.’ He gave a start. ‘Could that be the reason? Because of drugs? Maybe it wasn’t so strange after all that he never discussed his personal life.’

‘We don’t know for sure. But it’s possible that was the reason.’

‘This is terrible. If it comes out that we had somebody like that on the staff, somebody working here, it’ll be disastrous.’

‘I’m sorry to tell you this,’ said Patrik, again cursing to himself, ‘but the fact is that this morning Bertil Mellberg held a press conference regarding this matter, so it’s bound to be made public sometime today.’

As if on cue, the receptionist appeared in the doorway with flushed cheeks and a worried expression.

‘I don’t know what it’s about, Erling, but the phones have gone crazy. A lot of reporters are trying to reach you, and both Aftonbladet and GT want to speak to you urgently.’

‘Dear God,’ said Erling, wiping his brow where beads of sweat had gathered.

‘The only advice we can give you is to say as little as possible,’ said Patrik. ‘I’m very sorry that the press has become involved at such an early stage in the investigation. Unfortunately, there was nothing I could do to prevent it.’ His tone was bitter, but Erling seemed oblivious to anything but his own crisis situation.

‘Of course I’ll have to take the calls,’ he said, nervously rocking his chair back and forth. ‘I’ll deal with the situation, but a drug addict working for the town … How on earth am I going to explain that?’

Patrik and Gösta realized that they weren’t going to get another sensible word out of Erling, so they stood up.

‘We’d like to talk to the rest of the staff,’ said Patrik.

Erling glanced up, although he wasn’t really focusing on them.

‘Yes, of course. Go ahead and talk to them. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to take these calls.’ He wiped his forehead with a handkerchief.

They slipped out and knocked on the door of the next office.

‘Come in,’ chirped Gunilla, apparently blissfully unaware of what was going on.

‘Could we have a few words with you?’ said Patrik.

Gunilla nodded cheerfully. Then her expression changed.

‘Oh dear. Here I am, merrily laughing. But I assume you’re here about Mats, right? Have you found out anything?’

Patrik and Gösta exchanged glances, uncertain how to tell her what they wanted to know. They sat down.

‘We have a few more questions,’ Gösta began. He was feeling nervous. They really didn’t know enough to ask sensible questions.

‘All right. Go ahead and ask,’ said Gunilla, smiling again.

Evidently she’s the kind of person who’s always upbeat and positive, thought Gösta. The sort that he wouldn’t want to have around at seven in the morning before he’d had his first cup of coffee. He was grateful that his late wife had shared his own sour mood in the morning, so they’d been able to grumble to themselves in peace and quiet.

‘Yesterday several schoolkids ended up in hospital after tasting some cocaine that they’d found,’ said Patrik. ‘Maybe you heard about it?’

‘Yes, it was awful. But I heard the incident is going to have a happy ending.’

‘That’s right. The boys are okay. But it turns out that there are certain connections between the incident and our investigation.’

‘Connections?’ said Gunilla, shifting her perky chipmunk eyes from Patrik to Gösta and back again.

‘Yes. We’ve found a link between Mats Sverin and the cocaine.’ He could hear that he sounded a tad formal, which always happened when he was feeling uncomfortable. And this was not a pleasant situation. But it was better for Mats’s co-workers to hear about it now instead of reading it in the newspapers.

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Well, we think that Mats may have used cocaine.’ Gösta looked down at the floor.

‘Mats?’ Gunilla’s voice sounded a bit shrill. ‘You can’t be serious. Not Mats.’

‘We know nothing of the circumstances,’ Patrik explained. ‘And that’s why we’re here. To find out if anyone noticed anything strange about him.’

‘Anything strange?’ repeated Gunilla. Patrik could see that she was starting to get upset. ‘Mats was the nicest man you could ever meet. I just can’t imagine that he … no, I just can’t.’

‘So there was nothing about his behaviour that struck you as odd? Nothing that you noticed?’ Patrik was clutching at straws now.

‘Mats was an exceptionally wonderful person. It’s unthinkable that he would ever have been involved with drugs.’ She tapped her pen on the desk to emphasize each syllable.

‘I’m sorry, but we have to ask these questions,’ Gösta apologized. Patrik nodded and stood up. Gunilla stared after them angrily as they left her office.

An hour later they were finally able to leave the council building. They had talked to the other staff members, and they had all reacted in the same way. Not one of them could imagine Mats Sverin being mixed up in drugs.

‘That confirms my own feeling. And I never even met the man,’ said Patrik when they were once again sitting in the car.

‘I agree, and we still have the worst ahead of us.’

‘I know,’ said Patrik as he drove out of the car park and headed for Fjällbacka.

He had found them. She knew it. Just as she knew that she had nowhere else to go. She had used up all possible avenues of escape. It had been so easy to shatter everything once again. All it took was a postcard – without any message or the name of the sender, postmarked in Sweden – to destroy her hopes for the future.

Madeleine’s hand shook as she turned over the postcard after studying the side that was blank except for her name and new address. No words were necessary; the picture on the card said everything. The message couldn’t be more clear.

Slowly she walked over to the window. Down in the courtyard Kevin and Vilda were playing, unaware that their lives were about to change again. She clutched the postcard in her hand until it was damp with sweat from her fingers. She was trying to gather her thoughts to make a decision. The children looked so happy as they played with the other kids. The desperate look in their eyes had gradually disappeared, though a hint of fear still remained. They had seen too much, and that was something she could never undo, no matter how much love she showered upon them. And now everything was wrecked. This had seemed like the only option, one last chance at a normal life. Leaving behind Sweden and him and everything else. How could she give them a sense of security when her last lifeline had been cut?

Madeleine leaned her forehead against the windowpane. It felt cold on her skin. She watched as Kevin helped his sister up the ladder of the slide. He placed his hands on Vilda’s rear end, both supporting her and giving her a little push. Maybe she’d done the wrong thing by making him the man in the family. He was only eight. But he had so naturally assumed the role and taken care of his girls, as he called them. He had grown with the responsibility, finding security in his role. Kevin raised his hand to push a lock of hair out of his eyes. He looked so much like his father, but he had her heart. Her weakness, as he used to call it as the blows fell.

Slowly she began beating her forehead against the window. Hopelessness filled her body. Now nothing was left of the future she had planned. Harder and harder she pounded her head on the glass, noticing how the familiar feeling of pain brought with it a strange sense of calm. She dropped the postcard and the picture of the eagle with outspread wings slid along the floor. Outside, Vilda came down the slide with a delighted smile.