Knutas turned to his daughter.
“I agree that you can’t just come and take away the silverware basket if Nils has already started to empty it. At the same time, Nils, you need to take turns when you empty the dishwasher from now on. And keep in mind that your mother is tired, and it’s not much fun for her to listen to you fighting when she’s trying to cook. And don’t call your sister stupid, Nils.”
“Okay, I’m sorry,” he said sullenly.
Knutas put his arms around both children and gave them a hug. Petra relented, but Nils was still mad and pulled away.
“Come on, it wasn’t that bad.”
“Leave me alone,” snapped Nils, giving his father an angry glare.
Knutas took Nils aside, and after some persuasion, his son reluctantly agreed to come downstairs for dinner.
Lina looked tired and worn out.
“So what happened?” asked Knutas when peace had once again settled over the household.
“Oh, we had a problem at work. I’ll tell you later.”
“But we want to hear about it, too,” objected Petra.
“I don’t know… It’s such an awful story,” cautioned Lina.
“Please, Mamma. Tell us.”
“Well, okay. A woman who was supposed to give birth to her first child came in this morning with labor pains. Everything looked fine, but when she started to push, we couldn’t get the baby out. Anita thought we should give the mother an epidural to ease the contractions, but I wanted to wait.”
Tears welled up in her eyes as she talked. Knutas reached for her hand under the table.
“Then the baby’s heartbeat suddenly got fainter, so we had to do an emergency cesarean. But it was too late. The baby died. I feel like it was my fault.”
“Of course it wasn’t your fault. You did the best you could,” Knutas assured her.
“Oh, that’s so sad. Poor Mamma,” said Petra, trying to console her.
“I’m not the one you should feel sorry for. I’m going upstairs to lie down for a while.” Lina gave a big sigh and got up from the table.
“Shall I come with you?” asked Knutas.
“No, I’d rather be alone.”
Usually her work was a source of great joy for Lina, but when things went wrong, she was very hard on herself. She would go over and over everything that had happened, brooding about what they could have done differently, whether they could have done this instead of that.
It wasn’t really so strange, thought Knutas. She had to deal with life and death all day long. Just as he did.
WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 21
Pia Dahlstrom was a tall, dark, and very beautiful woman. Completely unlike her parents, both in appearance and demeanor. She was wearing a jacket, black pants, and high heels. Her hair was pinned up in a knot. She had arrived early because she had to leave that same morning. It was only 7:00 a.m., and police headquarters was still deserted.
Knutas had offered her coffee, which he had taken the trouble to make himself. It was rare that anyone bothered to make real coffee, even though the coffeemaker stood right next to the dreary office coffee machine. They chatted while they waited for the coffee to brew. She reminded him of Audrey Hepburn in the old movies from the fifties. Her big, dark eyes were rimmed with dark eyeliner, just like the movie star’s eyes.
When the coffee was done brewing, she sat down on his visitor’s sofa.
“Could you describe your relationship with your father?” Knutas asked, thinking that he sounded like a psychiatrist.
“We weren’t close at all. His alcoholism prevented that. He started drinking more and more the older I got, or maybe I just noticed it more as I grew up.”
She gave her beautiful head a slight shake. Not a strand of hair was out of place.
“He didn’t care about me,” she went on. “He never came to watch any of my riding lessons or gymnastics routines. Mamma was always the one who went to the PTA meetings and the quarterly teacher conferences. I can’t remember him ever making a single sacrifice or doing anything for my sake. No, I really couldn’t care less about him.”
“I can understand that,” said Knutas.
“You speak Gotland Swedish, but you sound like a Dane,” she said with a smile.
“I’m married to a Dane, so I guess some of it has rubbed off. How did you react when you heard about your father’s death?”
“I just felt empty inside. If he hadn’t been murdered, he probably would have ended up drinking himself to death. When I was younger I was angry at him, but that feeling is long gone. He chose the life he was living. He used to have everything: a stimulating job, a family, and a house. But he chose booze over me and my mother.”
“When did you last have contact with him?”
“The same day I passed my school exams,” she said without changing expression.
“But that must be more than fifteen years ago,” exclaimed Knutas in surprise.
“Seventeen, to be exact.”
“How could it be that the two of you haven’t had any contact since then?”
“It’s very simple. He never called, and I never did, either.”
“And you didn’t have any contact with him after the divorce?”
“Sometimes I would spend the weekends with him, but it wasn’t much fun. The fact that I was there didn’t stop him from drinking. He never had any ideas about what we should do except stay in his apartment, and then his buddies would come over. They’d drink without paying any attention to me. Watch the races and soccer games on TV, or sometimes they’d sit there and look at girlie magazines. It was disgusting. Usually I’d end up going back home after an hour. Then I stopped going there at all.”
“What about your relationship with your mother?”
“It’s fine. I suppose it could be better, but I think it’s at an acceptable level,” she said, sounding as if she were talking about stocks and bonds.
She scratched her collarbone and her bra strap was visible for a moment. It was a glossy gold with a nice embroidered edge.
She’s undoubtedly just as perfect underneath, thought Knutas, and then he was annoyed with himself for letting her femininity affect him.
“So how are you doing now?” he asked, to change the subject.
“Fine, thanks. I work at the municipal library in Malmo, and I like my job. I have lots of friends, both in Malmo and in Copenhagen.”
“Do you live alone?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know if your father had any enemies? You haven’t had contact with him in so many years, but something from the distant past might also be important.”
A frown appeared on her face. “Not that I can think of.”
Not much more came out of the conversation. When Pia Dahlstrom left, a faint trace of her perfume lingered.
Several Months Earlier
“Are we going to eat here?”
She couldn’t hide her disappointment. She had thought that they were going to a restaurant.
“That’s right. I borrowed an apartment from a friend. The food is ready upstairs. Come on.”
