energy and put on a relatively controlled facade. And the illness seemed to be doing its part to help him stay out of the hospital. At intervals he would get better, perhaps feeling a little weaker and more tired than usual, but fully capable of functioning in everyday circumstances. But he always took sick again and ended up back in bed for a couple of weeks. Niclas had begun to look more and more concerned, but thank goodness Lilian had so far managed to convince him that it was best for Stig to be at home.
She was truly a gift from God. Of course they'd had their clashes during the more than six years they'd been married, and sometimes she could be a very hard woman, but the best and most lender side of her seemed to come out in caring for him. Since he'd taken ill they had lived in an exceedingly symbiotic relationship. She loved taking care of him, and he loved having her do it. Now he had a hard time imagining that they had been so close Id going their separate ways. There was nothing so bad that it didn't bring some good with it, he always told himself. But that was before the worst of all possible evils had befallen them. And he couldn't find anything good in that.
The girl had understood the state he was in. Her soft hand on his cheek had left a warmth that he could feel even now. She would sit on the edge of his bed and tell him about everything that had happened that day, and he would nod and listen intently. He didn't treat her like a child, but as an equal. She had appreciated that.
That she was gone was inconceivable.
He closed his eyes and let a strong new wave of pain carry him away.
STROMSTAD 1923
It was a strange autumn. Anders had never before felt so exhausted, and yet so full of energy. Agnes seemed to infuse him with new strength, and sometimes he wondered how he'd been able to make his body function before she came into his life.
After that first evening, when she plucked up her courage and came to his window, his whole life had changed. Nowadays the sun didn't shine until Agnes arrived, and it went out when they parted. The first month they had approached each other cautiously. She was very shy and quiet, and he was still astonished that she had dared take that first step. It was unlike her to be so forward, and he felt a warmth come over him at the thought that she had made such a departure from her principles for his sake.
He would willingly admit that at first he had hesitated. He had sensed problems on the horizon and could see only how impossible the situation was. Yet the feeling inside him was so strong that he somehow managed to convince himself that everything would work out in the end. And she was brimming with confidence. When she leaned her head on his shoulder and rested her slender hand in his, he felt as though he could move mountains for her.
There weren't many hours when they could meet. He didn't get home from the quarry until late in the evening, and then he had to get up early in the morning to go to work again. But she always found a way, and he loved her for it. They took many long walks round the edge of town under cover of darkness, and despite the raw autumn cold they always found some dry spot where they could sit and kiss. By the time their hands began venturing under each other's clothes it was already far into November, and he knew they had reached a crossroads.
He cautiously brought up the subject of the future. He didn't want her to get in trouble, he loved her too much for that, but at the same time his body was urging him to choose the path that would lead them to a union. Yet his attempts to talk about his torment were silenced by a kiss from her.
'Let's not talk about that,' she said, kissing him again. 'Tomorrow when I come to your place, don't come outside to me. Instead let me come inside.'
'But what about the widow -' he said before she interrupted him again with a kiss.
'Shh,' she said. 'We'll be as quiet as two mice.' She caressed his cheek and went on, 'Two quiet mice who love each other.'
'But what about -' he continued, nervous but at the same time excited.
'Don't think so much,' she said with a smile. 'Let's just live in the present. Who knows, tomorrow we could be dead.'
'Oh no, don't talk like that,' he said, pulling her close. She was right. He thought too much.
'It's probably just as well we get this over with right away.' Patrik sighed.
'I don't see the point,' Ernst muttered. 'Lilian and Kaj have been lighting for years, but I have a hard time believing that was reason enough for him to kill the girl.'
Patrik was taken aback. 'It sounds as if you know them. I got the same impression when Lilian opened the door.'
'I only know Kaj,' said Ernst sullenly. 'Some of us old guys get together to play cards occasionally.'
Patrik frowned. 'Is that something I need to worry about? To be quite honest, I'm not sure you should even be taking part in the investigation under the circumstances.'
'Bullshit,' said Ernst sourly. 'If we couldn't work on a case because of some minor objection, we wouldn't be able to investigate shit. Everybody knows everybody else in this town, you know that as well as I do. And I'm quite capable of keeping my work and my private life separate.'
Patrik wasn't really satisfied with that answer, but he also knew that Ernst was right to some extent. The town was so small that everyone had some connection to everyone else, so it wouldn't be possible to use that as an excuse for removing an office from an investigation. If that did happen, it would be because of a considerably closer relationship. But it was a shame. For a second he had smelled the morning air and seen a chance for getting rid of Lundgren.
Walking side by side they approached the house next door. A curtain fluttered in the window next to the door but fell back into place so fast that they couldn't see who was standing behind it.
Patrik studied the house, the 'showplace,' as Lilian had called it. He'd seen it every day as he drove back and forth from his home but had never given it a closer look. He agreed that it wasn't very attractive. It was a modern design with lots of glass and artificial angles. It seemed that an architect had been given a free hand, and Patrik had to admit that to some extent Lilian had a point. The house was perfect for
Patrik turned to his colleague. 'What sort of job does Kaj do? Since he's home on a weekday, I mean? Lilian said something about managing director.'
'He sold the company and took early retirement,' said Ernst, whose tone was still grouchy after having his professionalism questioned. 'But he also coaches the football team. He's very good at it, actually. He would have turned pro when he was young, but he had some kind of accident that made it impossible. And I say again, this is a waste of time. Kaj Wiberg is one of the really good guys, and anyone who says different is lying. All this is just ridiculous.'
Patrik ignored his comments and kept climbing the front steps.
They rang the doorbell and waited. Soon they heard footsteps and the door was opened by a man Patrik assumed was Kaj. He brightened up when he saw Ernst.
'Hi, Lundgren, how are things? There's no card game today, is there?'
His broad smile faded quickly when he saw that neither of them reacted. He rolled his eyes. 'So what's the old bitch come up with this time?' He showed them in to the big, open living room and sat down heavily in an easy chair, motioning them to have a seat on the sofa.
'Well, not that I don't feel sorry about what's happened to them; it's a real
