Unspoken

MONDAY, NOVEMBER 26

The temperature in the sauna was 176 degrees Fahrenheit. Knutas filled a wooden ladle and tossed more water on the glowing hot stones. The temperature rose even higher.

They had swum a mile and were more than satisfied. Once a week Anders Knutas and Leif Almlov would go swimming together, at least in the wintertime. Knutas swam regularly at Solberga Baths during all seasons of the year. He actually preferred to swim alone. He always thought more clearly when he was in the water, swimming one lap after another. But this was a way for the two of them to meet. They had to put up with a good deal of joshing from their friends because they went to the swimming pool-something that was more typical for women. Men played tennis or golf together, or they went bowling.

In the sauna they would discuss all sorts of daily trivialities, or just sit in utter silence. That was the sign of a good friend, Knutas thought. He didn’t care for loud people who insisted on jabbering incessantly, even when they had nothing sensible to say.

Knutas described Lina’s birthday fiasco, which gave Almlov a good laugh. They would never completely understand women-they could certainly agree on that.

They had sons the same age, and they talked about the problems of puberty that had started showing up. Their sons were classmates and friends. A week or so ago Almlov had discovered them smoking in secret. It turned out that they had lit a couple of old cigarette butts. Almlov’s son, who wore his hair long-to the dismay of his parents-had managed to burn several locks on one side.

They talked about their surprise at getting older, about the anxiety of bulging stomachs and slack muscles, about getting gray hair on their chests. Knutas didn’t think about old age and death very often, but sometimes he noticed how life seemed to be running away from him, and then he would wonder how much time he had left. He pictured himself getting older and older, with all the accompanying infirmities and immobility. How long would he be able to remain active? When he was thinking along those lines, he would start worrying about the fact that he smoked, although not much. Mostly he sucked on an unlit pipe, filling it and tending to it, but lighting it only a few times each day.

Almlov was struggling with the same anxieties, even though he didn’t smoke. He told Knutas that he had bought a home gym, and he was working out for an hour every morning. The results were quite evident, as Knutas noted with envy. He appreciated his friend’s candor and the fact that he could confide in him. But when it came to Knutas’s job, other rules applied. And Almlov never asked him about his work. Even so, Knutas sometimes wished he could tell his friend about one thing or another. It was often good to talk to someone outside police headquarters, someone who had a different perspective. Lina was usually the one who served as his sounding board. She had helped him many times to think along new lines.

It was eleven o’clock by the time Knutas arrived at his office. On his desk was a handwritten note from Norrby along with the transcription of an interview from the Uppsala police. The young woman who was with the witness at the harbor had been tracked down to an address there. Only one passenger of the right age and from that city had taken the boat on the day in question. Her name was Elin Andersson. The Uppsala police had apparently agreed to assist the investigative team by interviewing her over the weekend. She had conceded that she knew Niklas Appelqvist and that they had been together at the harbor on the morning of July 20 before she left. But she had not noticed anyone in particular down at the harbor. So it was as they had guessed-Dahlstrom’s young neighbor was the one who had provided Johan Berg with the information. Knutas was extremely annoyed that such an important witness refused to talk to the police. And it wasn’t because he’d been in trouble with the police. A search of police records had come up negative.

When he entered the conference room half an hour later, Knutas noticed at once a sense of excitement in the air. Jacobsson and Kihlgard had gone through Dahlstrom’s papers over the weekend, and from the look on their faces, it was clear that they had found something that they were dying to share with their colleagues. Kihlgard had two big cinnamon rolls on a plate in front of him next to a big mug of coffee. He ate as he fiddled with the papers. Crumbs fell on the table.

Knutas sighed. “Do the two of you have something to report?”

“You better believe it,” said Kihlgard. “It turns out that Dahlstrom kept detailed records on his clients. We have a long list of names and dates, what he built, and how much he was paid.”

“The work he did was much more extensive than we thought,” added Jacobsson. “He had been doing carpentry jobs for over ten years. His first job was in 1990. Some of the people who made use of Dahlstrom’s services are very well-known in Visby.”

Everyone gave Jacobsson their full attention as she held up a list of names.

“Would you believe-wait till you hear this-city council chairman and Social Democrat Arne Magnusson?”

A gasp of surprise rippled through the room.

“Magnusson?” said Wittberg, laughing. “That can’t be true! The guy who’s always defending high taxes and talking about how great it is to pay them? That’s too funny! He’s the worst moralizer in all of Visby.”

“Yes, he’s always lobbying for the restaurants to close at one a.m. in the summertime and for smoking to be banned,” snickered Sohlman.

“If this gets out… the journalists are going to have a field day.” Norrby threw out his hands.

“A garden shed in 1997,” read Jacobsson from the list. “Five thousand kronor, paid under the table, along with several bottles of liquor. Can you believe it?”

Knutas grew serious. “This is totally insane.”

“Just wait. There are more surprises on the list,” said Jacobsson. “Bernt Hakansson, chief surgeon at the hospital, and Leif Almlov, restaurant owner and your good friend, Anders!”

“What the hell?” Knutas turned bright red in the face. “Is his name on there, too?”

“A sauna in the country for ten thousand-that was a tidy sum.”

There was a glint of mischief in Jacobsson’s eye. She was enjoying teasing him. Kihlgard looked equally pleased. They had certainly found something to entertain themselves. How nice for them.

“At least he’s not alone. There are at least a dozen names.”

“No one from here, I hope?” said Wittberg uneasily. “Don’t tell me that, for God’s sake.”

“No, luckily there aren’t any police officers on the list. On the other hand, there is someone with your last name. Roland Wittberg. Are you related to him?”

Wittberg shook his head.

“Let me see,” said Knutas.

He recognized a number of the names.

“What are we going to do with this?”

“To start with, we’ll check up on them and see if there are any other links to Dahlstrom,” said Jacobsson, snatching the list back.

Knutas called Leif as soon as he was back in his office. He felt tremendously out of sorts.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you had hired Dahlstrom?”

Silence.

“Are you there?”

“Yes.”

Knutas heard a deep sigh on the phone.

“Why didn’t you say anything about the sauna?” Knutas persisted.

“You know how it is with all the crooked dealings in the restaurant business. I thought that if it came out that I had hired an illegal worker for a private matter, then people would think I did the same thing at the restaurant. I would come under suspicion and the authorities would make life hell for me.”

“Why didn’t you think of that before you let him build that sauna?”

“I know it was really stupid. At the time things weren’t going well with the restaurant, and Ingrid kept nagging me about the damn sauna. That’s no excuse, but maybe it’s an explanation of sorts. I hope that I haven’t put you in an embarrassing situation.”

“I’ll manage. Besides, there are others who have reason to be uneasy. We have a list of plenty of people who did the same thing. You wouldn’t believe your ears.”

After hanging up the phone, Knutas leaned back in his chair and started filling his pipe. He was grateful that no police officers were on the list, and he accepted his friend’s explanation. Good Lord, who hadn’t done something stupid? Once, many years ago, he had actually swiped a package of underwear from a shop on Adelsgatan. He was standing in the store, holding the package, when he was suddenly seized with a wild impulse to find out what it felt like to steal something. He walked right out the door with the package under his arm. He was so nervous that he was shaking, but when he exited the store, a giddy feeling of joy came over him. A kind of invulnerability. It was as if the act made him untouchable. After he had gone far enough from the store to know that he had escaped undetected, he glanced at the package, only to find that he had taken the wrong size.

Knutas still felt ashamed every time he thought about what he had done. He turned his chair halfway around and looked out the window. Somewhere out there a murderer was walking around.

Nothing indicated that they would find him among Dahlstrom’s circle of acquaintances. On the contrary. Dahlstrom was apparently mixed up in something, but they had no clue what it might be. Whatever it was, he had done a good job of hiding it. The question was how long it had been going on. Probably not much longer than the date of the first deposit in his bank account, Knutas guessed. July 20. The same day that Niklas Appelqvist saw Dahlstrom with an un-identified man down at the harbor. It seemed likely that on that occasion the man had handed the money over to Dahlstrom, who later in the day went to his bank to deposit it. Twenty-five thousand kronor. The next deposit was made in October, and for the same amount. Was it possible that the two deposits didn’t actually have anything to do with each other? From the beginning Knutas had assumed that they were connected somehow, but now he was no longer certain. The explanation might be as simple as payments for various carpentry work. But why would someone who had hired Dahlstrom for something so trivial decide to meet him down at the harbor at five in the morning? It was obvious that the man didn’t want to be recognized.

Fanny’s muscles were pleasantly tired. Calypso had been wonderful. She had gone out riding, taking her favorite route through the woods even though it was a bit too long for the sensitive racehorse. But never mind. It was so seldom that she went out, and she just couldn’t resist.

He was a gentle horse and responded to her prods without the least effort. He made her feel quite proficient. They galloped for long stretches along the soft forest path. Not a living creature as far as the eye could see. For the first time in a long while she had felt something that resembled joy. She felt a surge inside her chest as they raced forward. She stood up halfway in the saddle, urging the horse on. Tears rose in her eyes from the speed. Knowing that they were going faster than she could actually handle made the whole experience even more exhilarating. This was truly living: to see the horse’s ears pointing forward, to hear his hooves pounding dully on the ground, to feel the animal’s power and energy.

As they went back to the stable at a walk with the reins drooping, she felt so relaxed. She sensed a budding hope that everything was going to be all right. First and foremost, she had to break things off with him for good. He had called her cell about twenty times that day, but she had refused to answer it. He wanted to apologize. She had listened to his messages, and he sounded upset and remorseful. He tried to convince her that he didn’t mean what he had said. This morning he had sent a picture message with hearts and flowers. None of that had any effect on her anymore.

It was over, no matter what he said. Nothing could make her change her mind. She had decided to ignore his threat about getting her thrown out of the stable. She had worked there for a year, and everyone knew her. They wouldn’t pay any attention to him. And if he tried, she was thinking about revealing everything. By law it was a criminal offense for him to have sex with her; she was fully aware of that. She was no fool. And he was an old man. He might even end up in prison. It would serve him right. It would be so great to be rid of him, to have her body to herself, and to get out of doing all the shit he wanted her to do. She longed to have herself back. Her mother wasn’t going to change, but Fanny would soon be fifteen, and she wouldn’t have to live at home much longer. Maybe she could even move out next year when she started tenth grade. There were plenty of kids out in the country who did that. They lived in town during the week and went home on the weekends. Why couldn’t she do that, too? All she had to do was tell the school counselor or nurse about her situation, and she was sure to get help.

When she gave Calypso a hug in his stall, she felt so grateful to the horse. It was as if he gave her strength and self-confidence. And the faith that everything was going to work out.

She had ridden her bike only three hundred yards when she saw the headlights. He came driving along the opposite side of the road, slowed down, and rolled down the window.

“Hi. Are you on your way home?”

“Yes,” she responded, stopping.

“Wait there,” he said. “I just have to drive a little farther and turn the car around. Wait right there.”

“Okay.”

Reluctantly she got off her bicycle and stood at the side of the road. She watched him drive off and had a strong urge to do the same. Just bike home as fast as she could to get away from him. The next second she changed her mind. She was going to tell him it was over. Once and for all.

When he returned, he wanted her to get in the car.

“But what should I do with my bike?” she asked, resigned.

“Leave it in the ditch. No one’s going to take it. We can come back and get it later.”

She didn’t dare do anything but comply. Her legs were shaking as she got into the car.

“I have to go home. Mamma is at work, and I have to take Spot out for a walk.”

“No problem. I just wanted to talk to you for a minute. Is that all right?”

He asked the question without looking at her.

“Okay,” she said, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.

His voice sounded strained, and he seemed tense. His jaw moved as if he were clenching his teeth.

She thought he was driving too fast but didn’t dare object. It was dark out, with little traffic on the road. He headed south toward Klintehamn.

“Where are we going?”

“It’s not far. You’ll be home soon.”

Fear began to creep into her veins. They were getting farther and farther away from town, and she now realized where they were going. She debated with herself and decided it wouldn’t be a good idea to protest. The tense atmosphere in the car told her that it would be best not to.

When they reached the house he told her to take a shower.

“Why should I?” she asked.

“You reek of the stable.”

She turned on the shower and the hot water struck her bare skin but she couldn’t feel it. Mechanically she soaped up while thoughts zigzagged through her mind. Why was he acting so strange? She dried herself off with a bath towel, trying to rid herself of the uneasiness that crept over her. She told herself that he was just tense because of what had happened last time. For safety’s sake she put all her clothes back on. In case she had to run away.

He was sitting in the kitchen reading a newspaper when she came downstairs. That made her feel calmer.

“You put your clothes back on?” he said, his voice stony. He gave her a distracted look-his glassy eyes were fixed on her, but it was as if he didn’t really see her.

Her sense of relief vanished instantly. What was wrong with him? Was he on drugs? His question hung in the air.

“Yes,” she said uncertainly. “I thought-”

“What exactly did you think, my dear?”

“I don’t know. I have to go back…”

“Back? So you thought that we drove all the way out here just so you could take a shower?”

“No. I don’t know.”

“You don’t know. Well, there’s plenty that you don’t know, sweetheart. But maybe it’s just as well that you put your clothes back on. That might make it more interesting. We’re going to play a little game, you see. Doesn’t that sound like fun? You’re so young that you like to play games, don’t you?”

What had gotten into him? She tried to hold back the fear that shot up inside her, and she made an effort to act normal. It didn’t help much. He grabbed her by the hair and forced her down on her knees.

“We’re going to play dog and master. You’re so fond of dogs, aren’t you? You can be Spot. Is Spot hungry? Does Spot want a treat?”

As he talked he used his free hand to unbutton his pants, keeping a good grip on her hair with the other. She turned ice cold when she realized what he wanted. He pressed her hard against him. She felt nauseated but couldn’t get away.

After a while he seemed to lose his concentration for a moment. He loosened his grip and then she saw her opportunity. She tore herself away and managed to pull free. Quickly she got to her feet and staggered out to the hall. She yanked open the door and dashed out. A fierce wind struck her. It was pitch dark and icy cold. The sea was roaring in the dark. She ran toward the road but he came after her. He knocked her down and slapped her in the face. He hit her so hard that she almost passed out.

“You damn little whore,” he snarled. “Now I’m going to really let you have it.”

Again he took her by the hair and then dragged her across the yard. The ground was soaking wet, and the water seeped through her clothes as she was pulled after him on all fours. Holes were torn in her pants, her hands were scraped badly, and blood ran from her nose. The sound of her sobs was drowned out by the howling wind.

Fumbling, he pulled out the key to the little building. The door opened with a screech. Abruptly he shoved her into the dark.