food and then rushes out of the house. Their relationship is sterile; they have nothing to say to each other. He can’t stand the sight of her. She tried to talk when it first happened. Wept and woke him in the night. But she’s stopped now. He’d simply take his pillow and go to sleep on the sofa in the living room. When she begged him to say something, he merely said he had to get up and go to work the next day. She has run out of accusations and pleas. She needs to be able to bury her son.
She tells the other women that her husband doesn’t seem to be bothered. But I can see him when he’s driving, overtaking in the most dangerous circumstances imaginable. Last winter long- distance lorry drivers kept sounding their horns at him as he overtook them when it was impossible to see anything through the swirling snow. He’ll soon kill himself, driving like that.
I pass over the village. It’s night, but as light as day. Fresh snow has covered the thick blanket of old snow that had become dirty, as it does at this time of year, stained brown by soil and grit.
Hjalmar Krekula is awake. He’s standing outside his house like a bear, fat after a summer spent feeding. Wearing only a T-shirt and long johns. Two ravens have landed on his roof, making their grating calls. Hjalmar tries to chase them away. He fetches some firewood from the shed and throws it at them. He doesn’t dare to shout and bawl at them; the village is asleep after all. He can’t sleep, but in his mind he blames the black birds and the light night, and perhaps something he’s eaten.
The ravens fly off and perch in a tall pine tree instead.
He’s not going to get rid of them. And my body was discovered last night. Maybe people will start talking in the village. At last.
FRIDAY, 17 APRIL
“Hell’s accursed shit!”
Inspector Krister Eriksson, dog handler, slammed the car door and cursed into the cold, dry winter air.
His black Alsatian bitch Tintin was sniffing around in the fresh snow in the police-station car park.
“Are you alright?” someone said behind him.
It was Martinsson, the prosecutor. Her long brown hair hung down beneath her woolly hat. She wore jeans, no make-up. Not in court today, then.
“It’s the car,” Eriksson said with a smile, embarrassed by his swearing. “It won’t start. They’ve found Wilma Persson, the girl who disappeared last autumn.”
Martinsson shook her head, not recognizing the name.
“She and her boyfriend disappeared at the beginning of October,” Eriksson said. “They were both only young. People thought they had gone off to do a winter dive, but nobody knew where.”
“Ah yes, I remember now,” Martinsson said. “So they’ve found them, have they?”
“Not them, just the girl. In the River Torne, upstream from Vittangi. It was a diving accident, just as people thought. Anna-Maria’s phoned and asked me to go up there with Tintin and see if there’s any trace of the boy.”
Inspector Anna-Maria Mella was Eriksson’s boss.
“How is Anna-Maria?” Martinsson said. “It’s ages since I spoke to her, even though we work in the same building.”
“She’s O.K., I think, but you know what it’s like with a house full of kids. She’s always on the go, like most people, I suppose.”
Martinsson was sure he was not telling the truth. All was not well with Mella, in fact.
“The atmosphere between her and her colleagues isn’t as good as it used to be,” he said. “Anyway, I told her that Tintin isn’t really working at the moment. Her puppies are due soon, but I can let her have a quick look round. I was thinking of taking the new dog as well. Let him have a sniff. It won’t do any harm. If we don’t find anything, they can send for another dog, but the nearest one is in Sundsvall, so that would take ages…”
He nodded towards the back of his car. There were two dog cages in the luggage space. In one of them was a chocolate-brown Alsatian.
“He’s lovely,” Martinsson said. “What’s his name?”
“Roy. Yes, he’s certainly handsome. It remains to be seen if he’s going to be any good as a police dog. I can’t let him out at the same time as Tintin. He chases after her and winds her up. And Tintin needs to take things easy until she whelps.”
Martinsson looked over at Tintin.
“She’s good, from what I’ve heard,” she said. “She found the vicar in Vuolusjarvi, and tracked down Inna Wattrang. Amazing.”
“Oh yes, she certainly is good,” Eriksson said, turning away to hide his proud smile. “I always compare them with my previous dog, Zack. It was a privilege to work with him. He taught me all I know. I just followed him. I was so young in those days, didn’t have a clue. But I’ve trained Tintin.”
The bitch looked up when she heard her name and came trotting over to them. Sat down next to the boot of Eriksson’s car as if to say, “Shall we get moving?”
“She knows we’re going out on a job,” Eriksson said. “She thinks it’s great fun.”
He turned to Tintin.
“It’s no good,” he said. “The car won’t start.”
The dog tilted her head to one side and seemed to think this over. Then she lay down in the snow with a resigned sigh.
“Why don’t you take my car?” Martinsson said.
It dawned on her that she was talking to Tintin, so she turned to face Eriksson.
“Sorry,” she said. “I expect you’ll be the one doing the driving. I don’t need my car today.”
“Oh no, I couldn’t possibly…”
As she pressed the keys of her Audi A4 Avant into his hand, he kept asking whether she was sure she would not need the car that day. In any case, there was bound to be another solution. They could come and fetch him, for instance.
“Why can’t you just say thank you?” she said. “I’m going inside. Unless you need some help moving the dog cages. Just go! They’ll be waiting for you.”
He said he could manage the cages himself. So she left him to it, pausing in the doorway to give him a wave.
She had not even taken her jacket off when he knocked on the door of her office.
“It’s no good,” he said. “It’s an automatic. I can’t cope with them.”
She smiled.
That doesn’t happen very often, he thought.
Other women went around smiling all day long. Whether they were happy or not. But not this one. And she didn’t just smile with her mouth, oh no, you had to look deep into her eyes. A merry tune was playing at the very back of her eyes when she looked at him.
“What about Tintin?” she said.
“No, she’s used to a stick shift as well.”
“It’s dead easy, you just…”
“I know!” he said, interrupting her. “That’s what everyone says, but… It’s no
