girl.”
A picture of Olof Strandgard forms in Rebecka’s head. His deep, reassuring voice. Not used to being contradicted. His permanent smile above the starched shirt collar. His cardboard cutout wife.
I’ll kill him, she thinks. I’ll kill him with my bare hands.
“Come along,” she says to Sanna, in a voice that brooks no disagreement.
And Sanna gets ready and goes with her like an obedient child. She drives the car to where Rebecka wants to go.
K ristina Strandgard opens the door.
“We’ve come to collect Sara,” says Rebecka. “We’re going to a party and we’re already forty minutes late.”
Fear flashes through Kristina’s eyes. She glances over her shoulder into the house, but doesn’t move to let them in. Rebecka can hear that they have guests.
“But we agreed that Sara was coming to us this weekend,” says Kristina, trying to catch Sanna’s eye.
Sanna looks obstinately at the ground.
“As I understand it, you didn’t agree anything of the sort,” says Rebecka tersely.
“Just a minute,” says Kristina, biting her lip nervously.
She disappears into the lounge, and after a while Olof Strandgard appears in the doorway. He is not smiling. His eyes bore into Rebecka first. Then he turns to his daughter.
“What’s this nonsense?” he growls. “I thought we had an agreement, Sanna. It doesn’t do Sara any good being dragged from pillar to post. I find it very disappointing that you keep making her pay the price for your whims and fancies.”
Sanna hunches her shoulders, but still stares stubbornly at the ground. Snow is falling onto her hair, forming a helmet of ice around her head.
“Are you going to answer when you’re spoken to, or can’t you even manage to show me that much respect?” says Olof in a tightly controlled voice.
He’s afraid of causing a scene when they’ve got guests, thinks Rebecka.
Her heart is pounding, but still she takes a step forward. Her voice is shaking as she stands up to Olof.
“We’re not here for a discussion,” she says. “Now, either you fetch Sara, or I will go straight to the police with your daughter and report you for abduction. I swear on the Bible, I’ll do it. And before I do it, I’ll force my way into your living room and play hell. Sara is Sanna’s daughter, and she wants her. Your choice. You can fetch her, or the police will.”
Kristina Strandgard peers anxiously over her husband’s shoulder.
Olof Strandgard smiles scornfully at Rebecka.
“Sanna,” he says to his daughter in a commanding voice, without taking his eyes off Rebecka. “Sanna.”
Sanna looks down at the ground. Almost imperceptibly she shakes her head.
And then it happens. Olof’s mood changes abruptly. His expression becomes concerned and hurt.
“Come in,” he says, backing into the hall.
“I f it was so important to you, you only had to say,” says Olof to Sanna, who is dressing Sara in her snowsuit and boots. “I can’t read your mind. We thought it might be nice for you to have a weekend to yourself.”
Sanna puts on Sara’s hat and gloves in silence. Olof is talking quietly, afraid the guests will hear.
“You didn’t need to come here threatening and carrying on,” he insists.
“This really isn’t like you, Sanna,” whispers Kristina, but she is looking daggers at Rebecka, who is leaning against the front door.
“Tomorrow we’re getting the locks changed,” says Rebecka as they walk to the car.
Sanna is holding Sara in her arms and says nothing. Holding her as if she’ll never let her go.
God, I was so angry, thought Rebecka. And it wasn’t even my own anger. It was Sanna who should have been angry. But she just couldn’t do it. And we changed the locks, but two weeks later she’d given her parents a spare key.
Sanna grabbed hold of her arm to bring her back to the present.
“They’re going to want to have the girls while I’m in here,” she said.
“Don’t worry,” said Rebecka absently. “I’ll speak to the school.”
'How long do I have to stay here?'
Rebecka shrugged her shoulders.
“They can’t hold you for questioning for longer than three days. Then the prosecutor has to make an application for your arrest. And that has to be heard no more than four days after you were taken in for questioning. So that’s Saturday at the latest.”
“Will I be arrested then?”
“I don’t know,” said Rebecka uncomfortably. “It doesn’t look good, finding Viktor’s Bible and that knife in your kitchen.”
“But anybody could have put them there when I went to church,” exclaimed Sanna. “You know I never lock the door.”
She fell silent, fingering the red jumper.
“What if it was me?” she said suddenly.
Rebecka found it hard to breathe. It was as if they’d run out of air in the tiny room.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” whimpered Sanna, pressing her hands against her eyes. “I was asleep, I don’t know what happened. What if it was me? You’ve got to find out.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” said Rebecka. “If you were asleep…”
“But you know what I’m like! I forget things. Like when I fell pregnant with Sara. I didn’t even remember that Ronny and I had slept together. He had to tell me. And how good it was. I still can’t remember. But I got pregnant, so it must have happened.”
“Okay,” said Rebecka slowly. “But I don’t believe it was you. Blank spots in your memory don’t mean you can kill somebody. But you need to think.”
Sanna looked at her questioningly.
“If it wasn’t you,” said Rebecka deliberately, “then somebody planted the Bible and the knife there. Somebody wanted to put the blame on you. Somebody who knows you never lock the door. Do you understand what I’m saying? Not some oddball who’s wandered in off the street.”
“You’ve got to find out what happened,” said Sanna.
Rebecka shook her head. “That’s up to the police.”
Both of them stopped talking and looked up as the door opened and a guard poked his head in. It wasn’t the same one who had shown them to the visitors’ room. This one was tall and broad-shouldered, with a cropped, military haircut. Rebecka still thought he looked like a lost boy as he stood in the doorway. He gave Rebecka an embarrassed smile and handed Sanna a small paper bag.
“Sorry to disturb you,” he said. “But I’m off duty soon and I… I just thought you might like something to read. And I bought you some sweets.”
Sanna smiled at him. An open smile, eyes sparkling. Then she quickly lowered her eyes, as if she was embarrassed. Her eyelashes brushed her cheeks.
“Thank you so much,” she said. “You’re really kind.”
“It’s nothing,” said the guard, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “I just thought you might get a bit
