“Markus.”
Right into the trap! Jenny was furious when she realized she had let the cat out of the bag. “Lay off, will you? Do you think I’m one of your crooks to be interrogated, or what?” she screeched in rage.
Irene was worried the neighbors would begin to wonder. Tactfully she said, “Not at all. Do want us to pick you up?”
“No!”
“Then don’t come home later than midnight. On the dot! Are a bunch of you going together?”
“Yeah. I’m supposed to pick up Pia.”
That was a relief. Pia lived a few buildings down, in their neighborhood. She was a good, responsible girl, Irene thought. The rec center was about a kilometer away, so it wouldn’t be far for them to walk. But Markus was waiting for her there. Irene realized there wasn’t anything she could do about it. It made her uneasy, through. A little too quickly she said, “Have a great time. If you need anything, give us a call.”
“Yeah. ’Bye!”
Impatiently, Jenny slipped out of her mother’s attempt to give her another hug. She vanished into the November darkness. The same forlorn feeling that Irene had experienced in her dream seized her without warning. It took all the self-control she could muster to resist the impulse to run after her little daughter.
THE HOUSE already smelled lovely inside. Her mood and spirits brightened instantly.
“Hello, dear. Child-free tonight!”
Krister stuck his head out the kitchen doorway. His kiss tasted of the sea and he smelled like garlic.
“Oh, don’t tell me!” Irene sighed, delighted. “You’re making crab au gratin!”
“I have to take the opportunity when we’re alone. Although I split a small crab. It’s only for an appetizer.”
“And the entree is something with garlic.”
“Mmmm. Roast lamb fillet marinated in oil and garlic, with sliced potatoes and puree of parsnips. A tomato salad with onions and olives will also be served. With the appetizer we’ll be drinking the usual Freixenet champagne, then a red wine with the lamb: Baron de Ley, Reserva nineteen eighty-seven. Rioja. What do you say?”
“Save your wife from death by hunger! When do we eat?”
“You’ve got time for a shower.”
NEWLY SHOWERED and feeling fresh, wearing a new sky-blue polo shirt that was exactly the same color as her eyes, Irene enjoyed the glorious repast. They observed one of the few absolute rules they had in their marriage: no talk about work until after dinner. Instead of dessert they drank coffee with a piece of chocolate, sitting on the sofa in the living room.
She dug her bare toes into the soft Gabbeh rug and sighed with contentment. Was it permitted to feel this good? Sammie came squirming under the coffee table and tried to lick her toes. He preferred them sweaty and warm, but right out of the shower would do. Irene laughed, “No, Sammie, stop it! I know you want a little attention. When was he out last?”
“It’s probably quite a while ago, I’m afraid. We could take a walk later, after we digest our food. It’s only ten o’clock.”
Krister put his arm around her and she snuggled up to him. He sniffed at her newly washed hair.
“Irene. The restaurant owner wants me to increase my hours and work full time. There’s a lot of pressure at Glady’s right now even with two of us working shifts. They need one of us to work full time. Sverker is sixty-three now, and he doesn’t want to give up his partial pension. It has to be me.”
“Well, if that’s something you want to do. .”
“It wouldn’t be such a bad idea. I’ve worked thirty-hour weeks since the girls were little. It’s about time we thought about putting something into the General Supplemental Pension. That is if there’s anything to think about. Although it’s been very nice working part time.”
“That’s the only reason it worked out at all. Plus a little help from Mamma. But the girls are big now. They don’t need us the same way anymore.”
The last remark sounded false and hollow even to her own ears, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“Precisely. They’re independent. Jenny has her music, Katarina her judo. And we have each other.”
He gave her a big hug. She felt warm inside and blessed by life.
Sammie started whimpering over by the door. One more minute and despite his training, he’d be forced to pee.
IT WAS icy out, cold and clear. Irene put her arm under Krister’s. It was great to get outside; she felt drowsy from the food and wine. They walked along the illuminated walkway and bike path. It led all the way down to the swimming beach, less than two kilometers ahead. They would pass the rec center, and Irene felt a stab of guilty conscience. Was she about to spy on Jenny? No, they were just passing by with the dog. But she had to be honest with herself and admit that the unknown Markus seemed like a troubling element.
Two young people came walking toward them. When they came closer, Irene saw that one was Pia. The other wasn’t Jenny, but another classmate.
Irene greeted them. “Hi, Pia. Is Jenny still at the rec center?”
“Hi. Jenny? No, she hasn’t been there.”
The girls walked on by. Irene didn’t move. She noticed that her grip on Krister’s arm was much too hard, but she couldn’t loosen it. She felt a desperate need for support. The dreamlike feeling of wanting to scream, but not being able to, constricted her throat. She could only whisper, “Where is she? Good God, where is she?”
“Now, now, don’t get upset. She must be around here somewhere. Probably with that boy,” said Krister. He meant to calm her, but his words pushed Irene’s worry to the verge of panic.
“We don’t even know his last name, just Markus!”
Silently they turned toward home. The gloriously cozy mood was gone, replaced by a terror as black as the November night all around them.
Their cluster of row houses came into view just as Irene saw two skinheads coming toward them. Involuntarily she thought of her memories that had been replayed early that morning. She was glad to have the dog with her.
A few meters before they would pass each other, one of the skinheads stopped abruptly. Sammie began to pull on his leash and bark. Astonished, Irene heard that he didn’t sound angry, but glad and eager. The skinhead, who stopped abruptly, then spoke, saying in a quavering voice, “Hi, Mamma and Pappa.”
Chapter Twelve
SOME MONDAY MORNINGS WERE more “Monday” than others. Feeling tired and heavy-headed, Irene Huss entered her office at police headquarters just before seven-thirty. The night had been largely sleepless.
Tommy Persson came through the doors at the same moment and started pulling off his old leather jacket. He greeted her hastily, “’Morning!”
“Hi, Tommy,” said Irene, grumpily.
Tommy gave her a searching look. It wasn’t necessary to have known Irene for seventeen years to see that something was wrong. He waved his hands dismissively.
“Don’t tell me! Krister took off with that delicious little blond waitress!”
Irene reluctantly managed a smile before she sighed, “No, but Jenny shaved off her hair. She’s a skinhead, but ‘only because she likes the music.’ We had a fight, spent all day yesterday arguing and pleading. But it just made her more stubborn. She’s a skinhead because her boyfriend is. And because they play in the same skinhead band. Oh Tommy, she doesn’t understand!”
Irene sank down on her desk chair and hid her face in her hands. Neither of them said a word. When she finally removed her hands she glanced up at him. She had never seen him look so serious. In a sharp voice he said, “She has to understand. If she’s shaved off her hair and claims that she’s a skinhead, she’ll also have to take the
