He looks at them. His instinct tells him to run. But there’s nowhere to run to.
Only one of them does the talking. The other one, who’s big and fat, stands leaning against the door frame.
“What have you told the police, Hjorleifur? What did they ask you about? Come on, let’s hear it!
Hjorleifur clears his throat
“They were asking about a couple of kids who disappeared. If they’d been to the lake. If I’d seen them.”
“Well, did you? What did you tell them?”
Hjorleifur doesn’t answer. Remains kneeling by the rucksacks.
It’s only now that Tore notices them. Two top-class rucksacks made from posh nylon material. Not the kind of thing Hjorleifur would normally have. He uses army surplus and home-made stuff he nails together or sews by hand from animal skins he’s tanned himself.
“So you found the rucksacks by the lake,” Tore says, feasting his eyes on them. “That’s right, isn’t it, you thieving bastard?”
“I didn’t think about it,” Hjorleifur says. “There was nobody who…”
That’s as far as he gets. Tore takes a lump of wood from the pile beside the stove, holds it with both hands like a baseball bat and uses all his strength to bash it against the back of Hjorleifur’s head.
I hear the sound of Hjorleifur’s skull cracking. I hear the thud as his body slumps to the floor. I hear the forest catch its breath in horror. The earth shudders, appalled by the blood being spilt.
Outside the house, the dog stiffens and bristles, then lies down in the snow. She doesn’t go indoors, despite the fact that the brothers have carelessly left the door open.
The whole area smells of death. The birch trees are writhing. Birds are calling. Only the field mice carry on scampering beneath the snow. This means nothing to them.
I also feel strangely cold and unaffected. But perhaps I was like that even when I was alive.
Hjalmar moves away from the door frame.
“That was unnecessary, for Christ’s sake,” he says.
Hjorleifur Arnarson’s legs twitch and kick as life drains out of him.
“Don’t be such an old woman,” Tore says. “Put your gloves on. We need to rearrange the furniture here.”
TUESDAY, 28 APRIL
“Why the devil don’t you pick up when I ring you?”
Mans Wenngren sounded annoyed.
Rebecka Martinsson rolled her desk chair over to the door and kicked it shut.
“But I do,” she said.
“You know what I mean. I’ve been trying to get you on your mobile, and I don’t like my calls being rejected.”
“I’m working, remember,” Martinsson said patiently. “So are you, Mans. Sometimes when I ring you…”
“But then I ring you back as soon as I can.”
Martinsson said nothing. She had intended to ring him back, but had forgotten. Or perhaps could not summon up the strength. She had worked late following the trip to Hjorleifur Arnarson’s with Anna-Maria Mella. Then Sivving Fjallborg had invited her to dinner, and she had fallen asleep the moment she had got home. She ought to have phoned Wenngren and told him about Hjorleifur. How he ran around naked in the forest and wanted to give her some ecological eggs that would boost her fertility. That would have made Wenngren laugh.
“I don’t get it,” he said. “Are you playing games with me? Now you see me, now you don’t? Just say the word. I’m shit-hot at game-playing.”
“I don’t do that sort of thing,” Martinsson said. “You know that.”
“I know nothing. I think you’re playing a little power game. Make no mistake, Rebecka, you’re wasting your time. It’ll just cool me off, that’s what it’ll do.”
“Sorry, that’s simply not the case. I really am no good at… You’re O.K.”
Silence.
“Move back here, then,” he said eventually. “If you think I’m O.K.”
“I can’t,” she said. “You know that.”
“Why not? You’re partnership material, Rebecka. And you’re wasted messing around as a prosecutor up there. I can’t possibly move north.”
“I know,” Martinsson said.
“I want to be with you,” he said.
“And I want to be with you,” Martinsson said. “Can’t we just carry on as we are? We get together fairly often, in fact.”
“It will never work in the long run.”
“Why not? It works for lots of people.”
“Not for me. I want to be with you all the time. I want to wake up with you every morning.”
“If I worked for Meijer & Ditzinger we’d never see each other.”
“Oh, come on…!”
“It’s true. Name me one woman working for the firm who’s in a successful relationship.”
“Work as a prosecutor here in Stockholm, then. No, you don’t want to do that either. It seems to suit you down to the ground to keep me at a distance, to answer the phone only when you feel like it. When you’ve nothing better to do. I have no idea what you were doing yesterday evening.”
“Oh stop it. I was having dinner with Sivving.”
“So you say.”
Wenngren continued talking. The door to Martinsson’s office opened, and Mella popped her head round it. Martinsson shook her head and pointed at the telephone, indicating that she was busy. But Mella took a piece of paper from her desk and scribbled on it in large letters
“I’ve got to go,” Martinsson said to Wenngren. “Something’s happened. I’ll call you.”
Wenngren broke off his musing.
“Don’t bother,” he said. “I’m not the type to hang around where I’m not wanted.”
He waited for Martinsson to respond.
She said nothing.
He hung up.
“Man trouble?” Mella said.
Martinsson pulled a face, but before she could reply Mella said, “I tell you what – let’s forget about men for the moment. I heard a couple of minutes ago from Sonja on the switchboard that Goran Sillfors found Hjorleifur dead. Sven-Erik and Tommy are already there. You might well ask why they didn’t ring me, but never mind that.”
Sven-Erik will be furious, she thought. Pissed off because I didn’t tell him I was
