'No, I have a hard time believing that,' said Patrik. 'They all have plausible alibis for where they were that morning.'
'They do?' said Erica in an odd tone of voice. Patrik was about to ask what she meant when they heard the front door open and Kristina came in with Maja in her arms.
'I don't know what you've done to this child,' she said in annoyance. 'She was screaming the whole way back in the pram and refuses to settle down. This is what happens when you keep picking her up just because she frets a little. You're spoiling her. You and your sister never cried this much
Patrik interrupted her harangue by going over to take Maja. Erica could hear from Maja's cries that she was hungry, and she sat down with a sigh in the easy chair, undid her nursing bra, and plucked out a shapeless, milk-soaked pad. It was time again…
As soon as she entered the house Monica felt that something was wrong. Kaj's anger streamed towards her like sound waves through the air, and she promptly felt even more exhausted. What was it this time? She had tired of his hot temper long ago, but she couldn't recall that he'd ever been any different. They had been together since their early teens, and maybe back then his shifting moods had seemed exciting and attractive. She couldn't even remember any longer. Not that it mattered; life had run its own course. She got pregnant, they got married, Morgan was born, and then one day piled on top of another. Their sex life had been dead for years; she had long ago moved into her own bedroom. Maybe there was something more than this to life, but she had become accustomed to the way things were. Of course she had toyed with the thought of divorce from time to time. On one occasion, almost twenty years ago, she had even packed a bag in secret and was ready to take Morgan with her and leave. But then she'd decided to fix dinner for Kaj first, iron a few shirts, and run the washing machine so that she wouldn't leave a bunch of dirty clothes behind. Before she knew it she'd quietly unpacked her suitcase.
Monica went out to the kitchen. She knew she would find Kaj there because it was where he always sat when he was upset about something. Maybe because he could keep an eye on the usual cause of his agitation. Now he had pulled the curtain aside a crack and was staring at the house next door.
'Hi,' Monica said, but got no civilized greeting in reply. Instead he immediately launched into a long hate-filled tirade.
'Do you know what that bitch did today?' He didn't wait for an answer, nor did Monica intend to give him one. 'She called the police and claimed that I assaulted her! Showed them some fucking marks she'd inflicted on herself and said I was the one who hit her. She's off her bloody rocker!'
When Monica came into the kitchen she was determined not to get drawn into Kaj's latest dispute, but this was far worse than she'd expected. Against her will she felt anger rising up in her chest. But first she had to allay her fears. 'And you're quite sure that you didn't attack her, Kaj? You do have a tendency to fly off the handle
Kaj looked at her as if she'd lost her mind. 'What the hell are you saying? Do you really think I'd be so bloody stupid to play right into her hands like that? I wouldn't mind giving her a punch in the nose, but don't you think I know what she'd do then? Sure, I went over there and gave her a piece of my mind, but I didn't
Monica could see that he was telling the truth, and she couldn't help looking spitefully towards the house next door. If only Lilian would leave them in peace!
'So, what happened? Did the cops fall for her lies?'
'No, thank God. They could tell she was lying. They were going to talk to Stig, and I think that he quashed the whole idea. But it was a close call.'
She sat down facing her husband at the kitchen table. His face was beet-red and he was drumming his fingers angrily on the table.
'Shouldn't we just throw in the towel and move away? We can't go on like this.' It was an appeal she had made many times before, but she always saw the same determination in her husband's eyes.
'Out of the question, I told you that. She's never going to drive me out of my home. I refuse to give her the satisfaction.'
He slammed his fist on the table to punctuate his words, but it wasn't necessary. Monica had heard it all before. She knew it was useless. And to be honest, she didn't want to hand Lilian the victory either. Not after all that woman had said about Morgan.
The thought of her son prompted her to change the subject. 'Have you looked in on Morgan today?'
Kaj reluctantly shifted his gaze from the Florins' house and muttered, 'No, should I have? You know he never leaves his room.'
'Okay, but I thought you might go over and say hi. Check on how he's doing.' She knew that this was wishful thinking, but she still couldn't help hoping. Morgan was his son, after all.
'Why should I?' Kaj snorted. 'If he wants company he can come over here.' He stood up. 'Is there anything to eat, or what?'
Silently she got up and began fixing dinner. Years ago it might have occurred to her that Kaj could have made dinner since he was home anyway. That thought no longer crossed her mind. Everything was the way it had always been. And would always be.
FJALLBACKA 1924
Not a word had been spoken during the trip to Fjallbacka. After spending so many nights whispering in each other's ears, they now had not a single word left for each other. Instead they sat stiff as tin soldiers, staring straight ahead, both of them brooding over their own thoughts.
Agnes felt as if the world had come crashing down around her. Was it really this morning she woke up in her big bed in her own elegant room in the magnificent villa where she had lived her whole life? How was it possible that she now sat here on this train, with a suitcase beside her, on her way to a life of misery with a man she no longer even wanted to acknowledge? She could hardly stand to look at him. On one occasion during the journey Anders had made an attempt to put a consoling hand on hers. She had shaken it off with such a disgusted expression that she hoped he wouldn't do it again.
Some hours later, when they stopped in front of the company shack that would be their shared home, Agnes at first refused to get out of the cab. She sat there unable to move, paralysed by the filth surrounding her and the noise from the dirty, snot-nosed kids who swarmed around the cab. This couldn't possibly be her life! For a moment she was tempted to ask the cab driver to turn round and drive her back to the train station, but she realized how futile that would be. Where would she go? Her father had made it crystal clear that he didn't want anything more to do with her. Taking some sort of domestic situation was something she would never have considered, even if she hadn't had the child in her belly. All paths were now closed to her, except the one leading to this filthy, wretched hovel.
With a lump in her throat she decided at last to get out of the cab. She grimaced when her foot sank into the mud. Even worse, she was wearing her lovely red shoes with the open toes, and now she felt the damp soak into her stockings and between her toes. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw curtains draw back to allow curious eyes to look out at the spectacle. She tossed her head. They could stare until their eyes popped out of their heads. What did she care what they thought? Simple servants is what they were. They had probably never seen a real lady before. Well, this was only going to be a brief sojourn. She would eventually find a way to get out of this predicament; she had never been in a position that she couldn't either lie or charm her way out of.
Decisively she picked up her bag and walked off towards the shack.
At the morning coffee break Patrik and Gosta told Martin and Annika what had happened the day before. Ernst seldom showed up before nine, and Mellberg thought it would undermine his role as chief to have coffee with the staff, so he stayed in his office.
'Doesn't she understand that she's shooting herself in the foot?' said Annika. 'She ought to want you to focus on searching for the killer instead of wasting time on such rubbish.' It was an echo of
