other than the old man did it. It was most likely one of those… mercy killings,’ he said, pleased with his own deductive logic, and then he rewarded himself with yet another marshmallow.
‘Er… well, maybe,’ said Martin reluctantly, as he turned the page in his notebook. ‘But according to Torbjorn, they did find a fingerprint on the pillowcase. It’s usually very difficult to lift fingerprints from cloth, but in this instance the pillowcase was fastened with a couple of shiny buttons, and there was a clear thumbprint on one of them. And it doesn’t belong to Herman,’ said Martin quite firmly.
Mellberg frowned and gave him a worried look for a moment. Then his face lit up. ‘Probably one of the daughters. Check it out, just to be sure, so you can confirm it. Then phone the doctor at the hospital and tell him to give Britta’s husband whatever bloody electroshock therapy or medicine he needs in order to revive him, because before the end of the week, we want to talk to the man. Understand?’
Martin gave a sigh and nodded. He didn’t like this. Not at all. But Mellberg was right. There was no proof pointing to any other perpetrator. Merely a lone thumbprint. And if he was very unlucky, it would turn out that Mellberg was right on that point too.
Martin was halfway out the door when he slapped his forehead and turned round. ‘Oh, I forgot one thing. Shit, how stupid of me! Pedersen found a considerable amount of DNA under her fingernails, both skin scrapings and blood. Presumably she scratched the person who was suffocating her. Quite deeply, according to Pedersen, since she had sharp nails and she’d managed to scrape off so much skin. In his opinion, it was most likely that she scratched the murderer on the arms or face.’ Martin leaned against the door jamb.
‘And does her husband have any scratches?’ asked Mellberg, leaning forward with his elbows propped on his desk.
‘I don’t know, but it certainly sounds as though we need to pay Herman a visit ASAP,’ said Martin.
‘It certainly does,’ replied Mellberg. ‘Take Paula with you,’ he shouted, but Martin was already gone.
Per had been tiptoeing around the house the past few days, not believing that it would last. His mother had never managed to stay sober for even one day. Not since his father had left. Per could hardly remember how things had been before then, but the few memories he did have were quite pleasant.
Even though he was putting up a show of resistance, he was actually starting to feel hope. More and more with each hour that passed. Even for each minute. Carina looked shaky and kept giving him ashamed looks every time they ran into each other. But she was sober. He’d checked everywhere and hadn’t found a single newly purchased bottle. Not one. And he knew all of her hiding places. In fact he had never understood why she bothered to hide the bottles. She could just as well have left them standing on the kitchen counter.
‘Shall I make us some dinner?’ Carina asked quietly, giving him a cautious look. It was as if they were padding around each other like they had just met each other for the first time and weren’t sure how things might turn out. And maybe that was an accurate description. It had been such a long time since he’d seen her sober. He didn’t really know who she was without any booze inside her. And she didn’t know him either. How could she have kept track of what was going on when she was constantly walking around in an alcoholic fog that filtered everything she saw, everything she did? Now they were strangers to each other. But strangers who were curious, interested, and quite hopeful.
‘Have you heard anything from Frans?’ she asked as she took items out of the refrigerator to make spaghetti and meatballs.
Per didn’t know what to say. All his life he’d been told that he was strictly forbidden to have any sort of contact with his paternal grandfather, yet it was Frans who had intervened and saved the day, or at least given them a glimpse of hope that it could be saved.
Carina noticed her son’s confusion and reluctance to answer. ‘It’s okay. Kjell can say whatever he likes, but as far as I’m concerned, you’re welcome to talk to Frans. As long as you…’ She hesitated, afraid to say the wrong thing, something that might upset the tenuous balance that they’d spent the past few days establishing. But then she mustered her courage and went on: ‘I have no problem with you contacting your grandfather. ‘He… well, Frans said things that needed to be said. Things that made me realize…’ She put down the knife she was using to chop onions, and Per saw that she was fighting to hold back tears as she turned to face him. ‘He made me see that things have got to change, and I’m eternally grateful to him for that. But I want you to promise me that you won’t hang around with… those people he’s associating with.’ She gave him a pleading look, and her lower lip began to quiver. ‘I can’t promise you anything in return… I hope you’ll understand. It’s so hard. Every day, every minute is hard. I can only promise you that I’ll try. Okay?’ Again that shameful, pleading look.
Per felt the tight knot in his chest start to loosen a little. All these years, the only thing he had wanted, especially right after his father had left them, was permission to be a child. Instead, he’d been forced to clean up her vomit, check to make sure she wouldn’t burn down the house when she smoked in bed, and go out to do all the shopping. He had to do things that no young boy should have to do. All those memories flickered past in his mind. But it didn’t matter. Because the only thing he heard was her voice, her soft, pleading mother’s voice. And he took a step forward and put his arms around her. Nestled against her even though he was almost a head taller than she was. And for the first time in ten years, he allowed himself to feel like a child.
Chapter 34
‘Doesn’t it feel wonderful to have a break from work?’ cooed Britta, stroking Hans’s arm. He merely laughed and shook off her hand. After getting to know all of them over the past six months, he was well aware when he was being used to make Frans jealous. The amused look that he received from Frans told him that he, too, knew exactly what Britta was up to. But Hans had to admire Britta’s tenacity. She would probably never stop pining for Frans.
Of course Frans himself was at least partially to blame, since he occasionally encouraged her feelings for him, only to treat her with his usual chilly manner afterwards. Hans thought the game that Frans was playing bordered on cruelty, but he didn’t want to get involved. What did upset him was discovering who Frans was really interested in. He glanced at her as she sat a short distance away and felt a pang in his chest because just at that moment she said something to Frans and then smiled. Elsy had such a beautiful smile. And it wasn’t only her smile that was lovely. Her eyes, her spirit, her pretty arms in the short-sleeved dress she was wearing, the little dimple that appeared to the left of her mouth whenever she smiled. Everything about her, every detail, was beautiful.
They had been kind to him, Elsy and her family. He paid a small, barely adequate amount in rent, and Elof had arranged work for him on one of the boats. He was often invited to join the family for meals – in fact, practically every evening – and there was something about their warmth, their companionship, that filled every nook and cranny of his soul. The emotions that the war had stripped away from him were slowly returning.
And then there was Elsy. Hans had tried to fight the thoughts and feelings that came over him whenever he lay in bed at night and pictured her in his mind. But finally he realized he was hopelessly in love with her. And jealousy stabbed him in the heart every time he saw Frans looking at Elsy with the same expression that he presumably had on his own face.
Britta might not be clever enough to grasp what was going on, but she instinctively understood that she was not the main focus for either Frans or Hans. He knew that this bothered her terribly. She was a shallow, selfish girl, and he really couldn’t think why someone like Elsy wanted to spend time with her at all. But as long as Elsy chose to have Britta around, he would have to put up with her too.
Erik was the person Hans liked the best among his four new friends, aside from Elsy. There was something precocious, something solemn about him that Hans found reassuring. He liked sitting slightly apart from the others and talking to Erik. They discussed the war, history, politics and economics, and Erik was delighted to discover that in Hans he’d found the equal that he’d been longing for. Of course he wasn’t as well-read as Erik when it came to facts and figures, but he knew a lot about the world and about history, and how various things were interconnected. They could talk for hours. Elsy used to tease them, saying that they were like two old men telling each other tall tales, but Hans could see that she was pleased they enjoyed each other’s company.
The only thing they didn’t speak about was Erik’s brother. Hans never broached the subject, and after that first time, Erik never did either.
