shoulder, and they headed together toward the tiny side street.
Step by step they wobbled toward the car. Irene felt that they had walked for miles, even though it was hardly a hundred yards. She was no longer dizzy, but she felt weak and shaky. Her clothes clung to her body with sweat.
Before she opened the car door, she thoroughly wiped the cell phone on her sweater and then, with all her remaining strength, threw it into a clump of rhododendrons nearby. It would lie there undiscovered for a long time, if she were lucky.
She fumbled with the lock on her car door and sank down into the driver’s seat. She unlocked the passenger door for Jenny, whose teeth were chattering from cold. Irene took off her leather jacket and gave it to Jenny. Her daughter began to cry softly again but pulled herself together enough to put the jacket on. Her voice trembled as she said, “Mama … I thought … we were just going to put up … some posters.… Not set … a car on fire. And he … hit you! I saw it.… I screamed.…”
Now Jenny dissolved into violent sobs. Irene started the car and carefully backed onto the main road. She began to drive away, well under the speed limit but putting as much distance as possible between themselves and the burning truck.
Jenny blew her nose and dried her face with the cloth Irene kept in the glove compartment. Irene used the cloth to wipe the insides of the windows when they fogged up, so it was not the cleanest. Jenny’s face now looked as if she’d put on camouflage makeup. Irene decided not to mention it and asked instead, “What happened to you?”
Jenny blew her nose again into the cloth and tried to control her voice. “When Tobi—one of the guys— realized that you were … you were my mom … he called me a traitor and slapped me on the cheek and demanded the hoodie back.”
Irene glanced at Jenny and realized that the red in her face was not just from crying. There was a sharp mark just at the line of Jenny’s cheekbone that would certainly blossom into a black bruise.
Irene drove back toward Frolunda Square. As she entered the square, she was happy to see that a police car and a police bus, blue lights flashing, were parked next to the ancient Volvo 240.
IT WAS EXACTLY 10:00 P.M. when Irene and Jenny opened the door to their house. Irene was relieved that Katarina was not yet home. Irene’s rattled brain was beginning to clear and she’d started to make a plan. She turned to her daughter, who looked forlorn and frozen, and said, “Hurry up and take a shower. Use steaming-hot water. Then go right to bed and pretend you’re asleep. Do not talk to Katarina. I’ll bring you a sandwich in a minute.”
Jenny nodded and hurried upstairs. Irene hopped into the downstairs shower. She threw her dirty clothes directly into the laundry. Then she called her colleagues in Frolunda to report her telephone stolen. She said she believed it had been stolen while she was shopping, around six that evening. Her voice didn’t tremble and the other officer promised to cut service to her number.
Fifteen minutes later she went up to Jenny’s room with a lettuce-and-tomato sandwich on a plate and a mug of hot tea. At the last moment, she’d remembered not to add honey. Jenny was just coming out of the bathroom in her thickest flannel pajamas, the ones she’d gotten for the ski trip to Varmland. She snuggled down into her sheets as Irene sat on the edge of the bed.
Irene said, “We won’t mention this to anyone, not even Papa or Katarina. No one at all.”
Jenny’s eyes were red from crying, and the mark on her cheek was beginning to take on a purplish hue. She nodded without saying anything.
“We’re going to say that you hit your face on the railing of a stairway and that gave you the bruise.” Irene considered. “You left your jacket in the trunk of that Volvo. Is there anything in the pockets that could lead to you?”
Jenny thought for a moment and shook her head. “I had my wallet in my jeans, and my keys, too. It was an old jacket, and I’d just washed it, so I’d taken everything out of the pockets. They … they said to wear dark clothing. So we wouldn’t be seen. I thought we were going to hang … those posters.”
“I know, sweetheart. But it’s worked out okay. Everything’s fine now. Just promise me you’ll never get in touch with them again. Do you think they might turn you in?”
Jenny shook her head violently. “We never talk to the pigs. Never!”
The mother pig smiled and stroked her militant daughter’s face above the bruise now turning blue.
IRENE WAS IN bed when she heard Katarina sneak in through the front door. She heard Katarina try to muffle Sammie’s joyful barks, hissing, “Shh, Sammie. You’ll wake them all up. Stop.”
The sounds of careful tiptoeing up the stairs. Irene closed her eyes and pretended to sleep as her daughter peeked through Irene’s half-open bedroom door. She must have put on a good act, because Katarina slowly closed the door and slipped into the bathroom. Irene glanced at the clock on her nightstand: 23:08.
Katarina ran water from the faucet, flushed the toilet, and then crossed through the television room to go to her bedroom.
Irene lay for a long time and stared into the darkness. It did not feel right to have secrets from the family. But right now Krister was under tremendous pressure at work. He didn’t need to know about this latest adventure. Perhaps this would be the end of Jenny’s foray into the animal-rights movement. She could be a vegan as much as she wanted, which would be enough of an irritant for her father. This just wasn’t necessary for him to know.
A new worry began to rattle around in her brain. Why was Katarina out so late? Of course, the girls were in the last year of their basic schooling and would be fifteen next month, but coming home after 11:00 P.M. on a normal weeknight was much too late. Perhaps she hadn’t even been at Anna’s house at all. What was she up to? Did she have a boyfriend? Irene was wide awake now and imagining one scenario after the other. Had she warned the girls enough about HIV and using condoms under any circumstance? Had she talked to them about other sexually transmitted diseases? What kind of birth control would be best for fifteen-year-old girls? Finally she calmed herself down. She would have to trust her daughters a bit. They probably knew more about all this than she did. But she would make sure to have another chat with them anyway.
Perhaps it was a good thing that Katarina had come home late. Nothing need be brought up about what had gone on this evening. They all seemed to have their own little secrets.
• • •
THE EVENING MOVIE on Channel 5 was over. Siv Persson felt content and even somewhat tired. The movie had been a romantic comedy, not one of those unpleasantly graphic mysteries with all those deaths and murders. Nothing to remind her of the previous week. She’d come out of that fairly well, she thought. Her anxiety was no longer so bad, and there were even stretches of time when she hardly thought about the hospital at all. Now she’d do her best to relax in the days before her cataract surgery.
The memories of that terrible night were still vivid, especially when she tried to fall asleep. Then the images became as sharp as those on her big-screen TV. Cold moonlight. The tall blond woman in the nurse’s uniform, her face turned away. Then the woman began to turn her face back.… Siv shut down the memory as quickly as she could.
She got up to go into the kitchen. It was almost eleven in the evening and time to get her medicine ready. She usually put the tablet into an egg cup and brought the cup and a glass of water to her nightstand. Now that she could no longer read before sleeping, she had taken up the habit of listening to the music on the radio’s Channel 2. At midnight she’d take her medicine. Then she’d be able to sleep until eight.
Siv Persson had just put her little white pill in the porcelain cup when she heard a soft knocking at the door. At first she doubted her ears and stood still in the kitchen with the open bottle in her hand. A moment later the knock repeated, just as quietly as before. Her heart began to thud, and she felt her fear grow. She heard the male policeman’s voice inside her head: You are now the only surviving witness. This is a dangerous killer.
Whoever would knock on the door at this time of night? She certainly wasn’t expecting visitors.
Her mouth was dry, and her tongue stuck to her teeth. She could hardly breathe. Screaming would not help, and she wouldn’t have been able to make a sound anyway. Who could she call for help? She hardly knew the neighbors. They’d exchange greetings when they ran into each other on the stairs, but that was it. The police? They already thought she was crazy. She walked to her door quietly and looked through the peephole.
Empty. No one was on the other side. She almost laughed out loud from relief, but her laugh lodged in her throat. Even if she didn’t see well, there was nothing wrong with her hearing. The sound out there was barely audible, detectable only by someone whose senses were on high alert. Clothes rustling. Someone was pressed next
