spinning wheel.
It was getting cold. She had heated up some soup for dinner and eaten it with a couple of open sandwiches on rye bread. Outside the window, it looked as if a big lamp had been switched off over Gotland. It was pitch dark. At night, not a single light was ever visible over the countryside, except for the moon if the sky was clear. Then it would spread its bluish glow over the treetops, glinting on the wings of bats as they fluttered overhead whenever she made her way to the outside privy. Tonight she stayed sitting at the table after she finished eating. She was staring at the flame of the candle that she’d set in the wrought-iron candlestick.
All day long she’d had a strange feeling that someone was watching her, but she had no idea why she felt that way. At first she’d thought it was the cat. He’d been gone since morning, and he hadn’t appeared when she called his name. Maybe he was staring at her from some hiding place, enjoying the fact that he’d managed to elude her. Letting her stand there and call his name in a vain attempt to entice him back inside.
She’d come out here to this isolated cabin even though she hated being alone. In the summer it was a paradise, when the other homeowners brought life to the area and the Swedish nights were bright. In the wintertime it was hell, with the darkness, solitude and strong winds. But she’d had no other choice. She had to get away, escape everything that had to do with Viktor and the police investigation. Not to mention everybody’s prying stares.
Feeling on edge, she listened tensely for any sound, but she heard only the roar of the sea and the wind rushing through the trees. What could it be that was making her so uneasy? Maybe it was just her imagination.
She glanced at the doorway leading to the hall. Then she got up to make sure that she had locked the front door properly. Yes, it was locked. Even so, she stared nervously at the key sitting in the lock. How much would that really help? Any guy with sufficient muscle could easily kick in the flimsy door. She had to admit that she was completely unprotected, vulnerable to anyone who might decide to start breaking into the cottages in this remote area.
She made the coffee and switched on the TV. The programme
When the room went dark, she had a better view of the outdoors. She crept over to the small window to scan her surroundings, looking from one side of the property to the other. She saw the lawn, which was covered with withered leaves, pine needles and branches that had come down during the winter storms. She saw the toolshed, the playhouse and the privy. Nothing. She went back to the living room, turned off all the lamps and blew out the candle. If someone was out there, she didn’t want that person to be able to see every move she made. She also turned off the light in the hall. The house had no curtains or blinds. She had decided that window blinds were unnecessary since she usually came here only in the summertime. She loved it when sunlight flooded the small cabin, both day and night. Curtains merely gathered mildew, and besides, they blocked the view. But right now she would have given anything for some sort of window covering.
Her heart was pounding hard. Who in the world could be after her? She’d never done anyone any harm. But she was starting to wonder if she might be wrong about that. She turned off the TV and listened intently, straining all of her senses. All she heard was the wind. She sat down on the sofa in the dark living room and waited. Half an hour passed. Then another. Nothing happened. She was growing more and more annoyed. Should she keep sitting here like a rat in a cage? To make matters worse, she badly needed to pee, but unfortunately she had no chamber pot. She refused to consider peeing into a bowl that was used for food. After yet another half-hour passed, she gave up. She couldn’t hold it any longer. And by now anger had taken over. She wasn’t about to let fear keep her trapped inside her own house. Well, it wasn’t really hers, but the cabin had always been available to her because her friends who owned it lived abroad. They wanted to keep the summer place in the family, so they had let her use it ever since her children were small. She’d made it her own, and she loved the cabin more than anything.
She put on her jacket and pulled on her boots, hesitating a moment with her hand resting on the door handle.
Then she turned the key and opened the door.
THE REST OF the world faded away and then vanished entirely as Knutas watched the Regional News programme on TV in the police break room that evening. The top story wasn’t about Viktor Algard but about the death that had resulted from the assault outside the Solo Club. He was deeply moved by the interview with the father of one of the witnesses, and the statements made by Alexander’s sister, the school principal and a few students. When he suddenly saw his own son appear on the screen, his breathing faltered.
In a voice-over Johan Berg proclaimed: ‘Several young people were witnesses to the drama. One of them was Nils Knutas. Out of fear of reprisals, he previously hasn’t wanted to say anything about what he saw. But today he has decided to come forward.’
Nils was shown standing at the scene of the assault, pointing to show where he and his friends had been, only a few metres away. They had watched as Alexander was severely beaten. None of them had dared intervene. He talked about his sense of guilt and about how scared he’d been, how powerless he’d felt. When the assault was over and the perpetrators had fled, he’d gone over to Alexander. He’d felt how faint the boy’s pulse was, and he’d seen all the blood. While his friends had phoned the police and the medics, he had simply walked away, leaving the scene without doing anything to help.
‘Why have you decided to talk about this today?’ asked Johan.
His expression sombre, Nils looked straight at the camera as he replied: ‘Because of what Alexander’s sister, Olivia, said in the auditorium. If she has the guts to stand up there in front of hundreds of people and say what she knows, then how could I remain silent?’
With that, the story was over. It was followed by a studio discussion with several participants. Knutas saw them through a fog, not taking in who they were or what they were saying. He sat on the sofa as if frozen, incapable of moving. Jacobsson, who was sitting next to him, patted him on the shoulder and got up without saying a word.
After she left the room and closed the door, something happened that hadn’t occurred in years.
Knutas wept.
KNUTAS OPENED THE door to his house on Bokstromsgatan, filled with a sense of doom. He was overwhelmed by despair. For weeks Nils had kept quiet about having been a witness to the assault. Knutas didn’t know whether it was his role as a father or as a police officer that had prevented Nils from confiding in him. Or which was worse.
He had tried to phone Lina, but he got only a busy signal on the landline, and she hadn’t answered her mobile.
He hung his jacket in the front hall without calling out his customary ‘hello’. The TV was on in the living room. It was some kind of quiz show. Lina was sitting in a corner of the sofa with the reading lamp on, the newspaper spread open on her lap. She glanced up when he stepped into the room.
‘Hi, sweetheart,’ she said gently. ‘Come over here and sit down.’
He realized at once that she’d seen the Regional News report.
‘Where’s Nils?’
‘Upstairs in his room.’
‘Have you talked to him?’
‘No. I wanted to wait for you.’
Knutas shouted at the top of his lungs: ‘Nils!’
‘Calm down,’ Lina urged her husband. ‘This isn’t easy for him either.’
Knutas chose to ignore her. He was glaring at the stairs. He heard a door slowly open, and then a voice said: ‘What is it?’
‘Come down here.’
‘But I’m doing my homework.’
‘Get down here this minute!’
Nils appeared at the top of the stairs. His face was pale, his expression serious, his curly red hair more tousled
