nostrils. It was stuffy inside the wardrobe, and the heat was almost unbearable. He took short, shallow breaths in order to save on oxygen.
Only a few seconds later he heard quick footsteps approaching. Someone was inside the room now; a man’s voice muttered something, and then there was the sound of the door to the balcony being opened. Footsteps tramped on the wooden deck, shouts to someone who was apparently outside the house, further away.
Thoughts of Lina and the kids flew through Knutas’s mind. A flash of fear raced through his body. Was he a hair’s breadth from death?
That was all Knutas had time to think before the door to the wardrobe slid abruptly open.
THE STREET WAS silent and deserted. It was so hot that the air shimmered. An elderly woman was slowly heading along the road, taking her dog for a walk. Otherwise nothing moved in the idyllic residential area. Johan parked his car outside the house. The garden was resplendent, but the grass was much too high. Last summer he had been the one who mowed the lawn. That was when Elin was a newborn, and he was the happiest man in the world. It felt like so long ago. Like a whole different life.
He quickly walked up the front path. The patio furniture was out, and the hammock was in place, but it didn’t look as if anyone had used it in a while. The house looked empty even though the pram stood on the porch. Perhaps she wasn’t home after all? Maybe she hadn’t taken the pram when they went to the beach.
He rang the bell and listened to it echoing inside. Waited nervously and tried to peer through the kitchen window, but he didn’t see anyone.
He rang the bell again. Now he heard the sound of shuffling footsteps. Slowly, someone turned the deadbolt inside. A fly was making its way up the door jamb. He stared at the painted sign: ‘Home of Emma, Filip, Sara and Elin.’
Finally Emma opened the door.
‘Hi,’ he said.
How small she looked, as if she’d shrunk in the wash. She made no motion to let him come in.
‘Where’s Elin?’
He glanced uneasily at the hall behind her.
‘She’s asleep.’
‘Can I come in?’
‘No.’
She folded her arms.
‘Please let me come in. I’ve driven all the way here from town just to see you.’
‘Why? What possible reason could you have for coming to see me?’
‘What’s the matter?’ he asked hesitantly.
‘“What’s the matter?”’ she repeated. ‘There’s nothing in particular going on with me – the question is, what’s going on with you? You’ve got a new girlfriend, right? So what do you and I have to do with each other any more? Nothing.’
‘Take it easy.’
He tried to step inside, but Emma blocked his way. She stared at him with a cold expression, and her voice changed into a snarl.
‘You’re not welcome to set foot in this house ever again! Do you hear me? And from now on, you can pick Elin up at the day-care centre or at some other neutral location, because you’re not welcome here. I don’t want to have anything more to do with you!’
Anger flashed through Johan’s mind. Everything that he’d had to endure descended on him all at once.
‘Damn it all,’ he snapped as he stepped forward, forcing her to retreat into the hall. ‘Calm down. Is it really so strange that I’d sleep with somebody else? You’ve pushed me away, treated me like I have the plague. And why did you do that, Emma? Why? Because a mentally ill man kidnapped our daughter? Was I the one who took her away? Did I have anything to do with what happened? No, but apparently you think I was to blame for the whole thing! And why do you think that? Oh right, it’s because I was just doing my fucking job! Do you really think, in your wildest imagination, that I would do anything that might harm Elin? Or you, for that matter?’
Looking frightened, Emma backed her way into the kitchen, unprepared for the strength of his reaction. She’d never seen Johan so angry.
‘Well, let me tell you one thing, Emma. I’m sick and tired of longing for you, tired of hoping that everything will turn out all right. I’ve had enough. For three years I’ve done everything in my power to bring us together, but what good has it done? I can’t do it any more. So just go ahead and sit here in this house feeling sorry for yourself.’
Emma couldn’t look at him any more. She sank down on to a chair and turned away. She held her hands over her ears and closed her eyes tight in order to shut him out. She intended to sit there like that until he finished what he was saying and left. The only thing she wanted was for him to disappear. For some strange reason, she felt perfectly calm inside. It was as if all her thoughts had now been confirmed. That it was over between them, it was definitely over. Once and for all. When Johan finally left, slamming the door behind him, she was still sitting in the same position.
And she stayed like that for a very long time.
THE YOUNG MAN stared at him in astonishment.
‘Who are you?’ he asked in English.
‘Wait, wait. I’m a police officer,’ said Knutas, stumbling over his words.
The man standing in front of him suddenly looked nervous.
‘Police?’
He grabbed Knutas by the arm and hauled him out of the wardrobe, calling to his companions.
The next moment, Knutas was surrounded by all three. With trembling hands he pulled out his police ID.
The man with the most tattoos, who seemed to be the leader, studied the ID, then turned it over and looked at the back. He cast a glance at the other two and muttered something incomprehensible.
‘Can I sit down?’ asked Knutas. His legs were shaking.
‘Yes. Come with us.’
They escorted him down the stairs and out to the back of the house to some patio furniture.
‘What are you doing here?’ asked the leader.
‘Just checking on things,’ said Knutas. ‘Purely routine.’
‘On a Sunday?’
All three men regarded him dubiously. Close up, they didn’t seem particularly hostile. Two of them were standing on either side of Knutas, holding on to his arms. They immediately started up a lively discussion in their own language.
‘Where are you from?’ Knutas ventured.
The leader glared at him without replying, and the discussion grew more heated. Suddenly they were in a big hurry. They yanked Knutas to his feet and made him hold out his arms while the leader frisked his pockets. Wallet, car keys, pipe tobacco – he took everything. Then he yelled something to the others, who hustled Knutas back inside the house. He tried to pull himself out of their grasp and resisted as best he could, but he found it impossible to get away. He was terrified at the thought of what lay in store for him.
‘What are you doing?’ he yelled, in English. ‘Let me go! I’m a police officer.’
With resolute expressions, they dragged him towards the front door.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ Now Knutas had switched to Swedish. ‘I’m a police officer, damn it!’
Were they going to kidnap him? Kill him? Cut his throat, or shoot him and throw his body off the cliff? Or maybe lock him in the boot of his own car so he’d die of suffocation?
Knutas thought his last hour was near when the leader opened the door to a clothes cupboard in the hall and signalled to his companions to throw him inside.
‘We are very sorry!’ Knutas heard him say before the door slammed shut with a bang.
FORTY MINUTES LATER, Martin Kihlgard and Thomas Wittberg roared up the drive, closely followed by several more police vehicles. There was no one to be seen. The front door of the house stood open.
From inside they could hear a dull pounding. Wittberg was the first to run in. The sound was coming from a
