Again it occurred to Knutas how little he knew about his children these days.
Nils came into the kitchen to join them.
‘Do you know what’s happened?’ Knutas asked. ‘Do you know that Alexander is dead?’
Nils and his sister exchanged glances.
‘Yes,’ said Nils without looking at his father.
They ate dinner in silence. Knutas didn’t know what to say, other than to reiterate how awful it was, and that he felt terrible for Alexander’s mother and sister.
The case had largely been solved, with three sixteen-year-old boys under arrest, charged with aggravated assault. Now the charge would have to be changed. All three of the boys denied involvement, but the evidence was against them. Alexander’s blood was found on their clothes and shoes, and a couple of witnesses among the crowd of kids that had been present at the time had dared to single them out.
It’s not just the fact that assault cases are becoming more frequent and severe, and increasingly involve younger kids, thought Knutas. But people are also less willing to testify.
It was an alarming development.
After dinner both children left the table and went out to the hall to put on their shoes.
‘Are you both going out?’ Knutas asked as he filled the dishwasher.
‘Yes,’ they answered in unison.
‘Where are you going?’ he asked Nils.
‘He’s coming with me to see Olivia,’ Petra said before her brother had time to answer.
‘Why?’
‘Oh, Pappa,’ said Petra, giving him a look of pity as she shook her head.
The door closed after them.
Knutas took a deep breath, sat down at the kitchen table, and picked up his mobile to call Ingrid Almlov.
THE SWIMMING HALL was deserted when Knutas arrived the following morning. He was there at six thirty when the doors opened, and for the first fifteen minutes he enjoyed the luxury of having the whole pool to himself.
Nothing helped him to unwind as much as swimming. He powered his way through one length after another, his body moving mechanically as if steered by a robot. Clarity was restored to his brain in the calm water, in the silence whenever his head dipped below the surface. The news of Alexander’s death had temporarily pushed aside the perplexities of the homicide investigation. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what it must be like to lose a child. What if the same thing had happened to Nils or Petra? He hardly dared complete the thought. We need to take care of each other, he thought. While we’re still here. Everything can change in an instant.
Knutas had talked with Ingrid, Alexander’s mother, on the phone for a long time last night. Both of his own children had chosen to sleep over at the Almlov home, mostly for Olivia’s sake. He was touched that they cared so much and that they were capable of such empathy. At the same time, he was feeling guilty for having neglected Ingrid over the past few years. He hadn’t been in touch with her except right after the events that had led to her husband’s death. Then life had continued on. And now Alexander was also gone.
He came to the end of the pool and turned, realizing that he’d lost count of how many lengths he’d already swum. He glanced up at the clock and decided it didn’t matter. Half an hour was enough. Two elderly women in bathing suits appeared at the edge of the pool and then climbed down the ladder, their legs dimpled and unsteady. They grumbled a bit and then with a titter sank down into the water, choosing the lane furthest away from Knutas, much to his relief.
His thoughts returned to Veronika Hammar. Was she still on the island? He cursed himself for not detaining her immediately after that first interview. From the very beginning her explanation for not coming forward had seemed like a feeble excuse.
They now had evidence that she had actually been at the crime scene, although she hadn’t mentioned it during the interview. Veronika Hammar might well be guilty of murder. The important thing now was to find her.
JOHAN WAS SITTING in the editorial office with a dull weight in the pit of his stomach. Over the past few days he’d been so focused on the murder at the conference centre that he’d put the assault case aside. Now that he’d received word of the boy’s death, he felt ice cold inside, and his heart ached. The sixteen-year-old had lost his life because of a completely meaningless dispute. What a shitty deal. Something that had lasted only a few seconds had put a halt to his future and destroyed his family’s life. The whole thing was the result of several kicks to the head. It was incomprehensible.
At that moment Johan decided to concentrate all his efforts on the series of reports that he and Pia had planned about the current state of youth violence in Sweden – its causes and consequences, as well as what was being done to stop it from getting even worse. Later in the day they were expected to deliver a news story about Alexander’s death, along with a follow-up report on the Algard murder. At the moment talking about the boy’s death seemed more urgent.
Johan was roused from his melancholy thoughts by Pia’s arrival. She didn’t say anything, just gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder as she walked past and noticed what was on his computer screen.
They had coffee together and discussed the assault case.
Alexander had been in his first year at the Rickard Steffen secondary school in Visby. They decided to start there.
When Johan and Pia drove up to the school, they saw the flags fluttering at half-mast in the springtime sun. On the phone the principal had told Johan that the teachers would not be following the normal curriculum for the day. Instead, they would be talking about Alexander with their students. A memorial was planned for eleven o’clock in the school auditorium. They got there just in time. Every seat was already taken. It was clear that the students, teachers and other school staff members were not the only ones who had gathered. Parents and siblings were also present. Pia and Johan found room to stand at the very back of the hall. Traditionally the principal would have been the first to speak but, surprisingly enough, that was not what happened. When the lights went out in the auditorium, and a single spotlight shone on the stage, the audience saw a thin teenage girl standing there. She wore jeans and a black camisole under a pink hoodie. Her long dark hair fell loosely to her shoulders. Goosebumps appeared on Johan’s arms at her first words.
‘My brother is dead.’
In a low, carefully controlled voice, Olivia Almlov then spoke about her brother Alexander and what he had meant to her. How they had grown up together and what sort of things they had done – ordinary, everyday events. About Alexander’s interests and dreams for the future. How they had got ready for the party on that Friday evening, what they had talked of and what they had done when they arrived at the club. He sometimes liked to sneak a cigarette, she said, and the last she saw of him was when he went outside to have a smoke with a couple of his friends.
He never came back.
Half an hour later she saw her brother beaten beyond recognition and lying in a pool of blood on the ground.
That was how Alexander ended his days, and her own life would never be the same again.
Everyone in the auditorium was deeply touched by what she had said, and here and there people could be heard weeping.
Afterwards, the principal spoke about the importance of not allowing Alexander’s life to have been taken in vain. About the necessity of regarding this as a wake-up call – for the young people, their parents and society as a whole.
Both Johan and Pia were deeply moved by what they’d heard.
‘We need to talk to some of the parents,’ said Johan. ‘We haven’t heard anything from them in a while.’
‘Sure. How about that couple over there?’
Pia nodded towards a middle-aged man and woman leaving the auditorium hand in hand.
Johan cautiously tapped the man on the shoulder and then introduced himself.
‘Why are you and your wife here?’ was his first question.
It was the man who answered.
‘Because our son was a witness to the assault, and we wanted to offer our support. To Alexander’s family, but also to the boys who were responsible and to their families. They are victims too.’
‘Why do you say that?’
