jumped from the jetty and did the front crawl. But no matter how hard she tried, her father and Nour somehow seemed to end up beside each other all the time.
After swimming, they drove to Sofiero’s and bought icecream, which they ate on the bench outside the kiosk. Sanna held out her cone so Nour could have a taste.
‘Mm, that’s good,’ Nour said.
‘What have you got?’ Sanna asked.
‘Rum and raisin. Do you want to try?’
Nour held out her cone and Sanna licked it.
‘Ugh. That’s horrible. Tastes like alcohol.’
‘It is alcohol. Rum.’
‘I’m not allowed that.’
‘I think it’s okay,’ Mike said.
‘Children shouldn’t have alcohol,’ Sanna said.
‘No, that’s right,’ Nour replied.
‘Why did you give me some then?’
‘I thought you wanted a taste.’
‘Not alcohol.’
‘It’s not real alcohol,’ Nour explained. ‘The raisins are soaked in rum for the flavour.’
‘It tastes horrible.’
It was no more than that, but it was so pointed that Nour and Mike exchanged glances over her head.
‘Will you drive me home?’ Nour asked.
‘Of course,’ Mike said.
They dropped her off at Bomgranden. Nour stretched over from the back seat and put a hand on Mike’s shoulder.
‘Thank you for a lovely day.’
‘Wait, I’ll get out. We have to say goodbye properly.’
He got out of the car and gave Nour a hug.
‘Thank you,’ he whispered.
Nour patted him on the chest, bent down and spoke to Sanna.
‘Have fun riding tomorrow. Hope to see you again soon.’
‘Mm.’
In the car on the way home, Sanna asked her father if he was in love with Nour.
‘Why do you ask that?’
Sanna shrugged.
‘It seems like it.’
‘Does it?’
Sanna didn’t answer.
Mike drove home along Drottninggatan and Strandvagen. It was a meditative route that most people from Helsingborg preferred to the motorway by Berga. The sky was immense and open down by the water, whereas the motorway offered only traffic and movement.
Mike remembered the time when Tinkarpsbacken was still cobbled and how the sound changed when the car left the tarmac. Back then the trees in the avenue at the top of the hill were big and solid, the old king’s sheep grazed in the meadow down by the water and there was a model of a sailing boat with several masts in the window of the red-and-white farmhouse closest to the road. Now the cobbles had been replaced by smooth tarmac, new trees, still pathetically small, had been planted on the avenue, and there was no longer a sailing boat in the farmhouse window.
‘I miss Mummy,’ Sanna said.
Mike glanced over at his daughter. She was staring straight ahead.
‘I do too,’ he said. ‘I do too.’
42
‘Karlsson speaking.’
‘Hello. I’d like to remain anonymous.’
The voice belonged to a woman who was determined and yet unsure, given the situation.
‘What’s it concerning?’ Karlsson asked.
‘Ylva Zetterberg.’
‘Who?’
‘The woman from Hittarp who disappeared just over a year ago.’
‘I’m with you,’ Karlsson said. ‘Why do you want to remain anonymous?’
‘Because what I’m about to say is sensitive.’
‘Well, come on then.’
‘Ylva’s husband is seeing another woman.’
Karlsson sat quietly and waited for her to go on, but she said nothing.
‘And …?’ he said in the end.
‘He’s spending a lot of time with one of Ylva’s colleagues.’
‘Right.’
‘A
‘They’re an item?’ Karlsson prompted.
‘They’re quite open about it, not ashamed. She’s a foreigner.’
‘Well, there you go.’
‘My immediate thought was that they did it together.’
‘Did what?’
‘Got Ylva out of the way.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Like I said, just a thought. But perhaps it’s not that interesting to you that the husband of a missing woman is having a relationship with one of her former colleagues?’
‘All observations are of interest,’ Karlsson said, and rolled his eyes at Gerda, who had appeared in the doorway, eyebrows raised in question. ‘I just don’t quite understand why you think that they have anything to do with Ylva’s disappearance.’
‘Motive,’ the woman said.
‘Motive?’ Karlsson repeated, and at the same time ceased to pay attention to the woman’s ramblings.
‘She stood in the way of their love.’
‘Sounds fascinating,’ Karlsson said. ‘Is there a number I can get you on?’
‘Yes, zero seven three – no, I want to remain anonymous, I said so.’
‘Well, thank you for calling. I promise we’ll follow that up.’
Karlsson put down the phone and looked at his colleague.
‘The wife murderer in Hittarp,’ he said. ‘The man whose wife disappeared.’
‘What did he want?’ Gerda asked.
‘No, no, it was some old cow, probably a neighbour. Apparently he’s porking his wife’s colleague.’
‘Something we should check out?’
‘How, exactly?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Precisely. Is there any fresh coffee?’
