“It was her birthday, she wanted to go to town, she was angry besides and maybe shocked at Freddy’s attempt, but she could not readily call her parents and ask them to come and get her.”
“She called the last Mohican,” Sammy interjected.
Lindell nodded again.
“Andreas Davidsson. He has such an unusual hairstyle that you remember him, and that was what I was hoping for. Like I said, the clerk was quite certain about it. My theory is that Andreas got on his moped right away and took off. In the morning he had sent her an SMS, Klara Lovisa knew he would show up, and that he would certainly not tattle, the boy was deathly in love with her. This would put her in his debt, so of course he showed up. Then it goes wrong. She gets her present and hangs it around her neck, but when Andreas wants to screw her, it goes wrong. Perhaps she lets something slip, tired of all the horny boys, and Andreas suddenly understands that he is never going to have a chance.”
“A lot of assumptions,” Sammy Nilsson objected. “Does he have a moped, for example?”
Lindell nodded and continued.
“She leaves home without jewelry, afterward murdered with jewelry. Anders bought just such a necklace a few days before. Signed, sealed, and delivered.”
Sammy sighed. He realized that Klara Lovisa and Andreas might just as well have met earlier in the day, and that she then received the chain as a present. On the other hand, why would the boy lie about such a thing?
“And one more thing,” Lindell resumed. “But this is just a feeling. I think his mother knows something. She seemed more than allowably confused and nervous. If I bring in mother and son and put pressure on them separately, then someone will break down, sooner or later. I actually think sooner.”
Sammy Nilsson had great respect for Lindell’s “feeling.” It didn’t always lead right, but often enough that you could take it seriously. She seemed to have recourse to a kind of inner direction finder, an instrument that made her the capable police officer she was.
“Have you talked with Ottosson?”
Lindell looked at Sammy Nilsson in confusion.
“About what?”
“This?”
“Yes, we’re bringing in Andreas and his mom early tomorrow, early as hell.”
Sammy Nilsson nodded, drank the last of his coffee, which had gotten cold.
“Then you’re not allowed to drink anymore this evening,” he said, fixing his eyes on hers. She returned the look a few seconds before she lowered her head like a penitent.
“Do you know what I did after we talked?”
“Showered.”
“Yes, but first I stuck my fingers down my throat and vomited. Erik didn’t hear anything, he has his own karaoke club right now. He’s been at it constantly for a couple weeks now, he sings along with every single TV program and video, sweet but tiresome after a while. I had just had two glasses of wine and you know I don’t need much, even more so when I haven’t been eating right. Then I drank a liter of milk and showered. I didn’t want to be drunk when you came.”
“Anders Brant,” said Sammy.
She nodded.
“What’s happened?” he continued.
“Do you really want to hear? It’s a depressing fucking mess, filled with stupid love, a lot of hope, but just as much disappointment and anguish, dreary to listen to if you’re not involved.”
“Tell me,” Sammy encouraged her, knowing that it would sound just as drearily predictable as Ann foretold.
“I think he has a woman in Brazil,” she said. “He didn’t say that flat out in his e-mail, but between the lines it was clear enough. Maybe she’s the one who was here and visited. And now he’s there.”
The tears welled up and made their way down her cheeks.
“And when you read his e-mail, you opened a bottle of vino,” Sammy observed.
“It’s so petty,” said Lindell. “I feel so deceived, as if someone holds out a bag of candy and then pulls it back right when you’re about to feast on it. The senseless thing is that I think he was in love too. We had a good thing!”
Sammy Nilsson wondered whether he should tell what he had found in Brant’s bedroom, but not everything needed to be told. She had drawn the right conclusion on her own, so why sprinkle more salt in her wounds by giving her the details?
She seemed to have shrunk on the couch, her voice had also gotten smaller. How long could she bear to be alone? How long would she manage to control her emotions? When would the wine drinking take over? In silence he cursed Brant, who had unleashed this.
“He’s coming back,” he said instead.
“Can you love two at the same time?” she asked no one in particular.
“I don’t know, I have my hands full with one,” said Sammy Nilsson.
“I can’t take it,” she said, her voice cracking. “The loneliness. I have Erik and he’s everything, everything! I like my job, I don’t have many friends, but I have you and a few others. But I want someone close. Is that so strange?”
“No, not at all,” said Sammy, taking her hand.
“It’s as if this life is not for me. That sounds like a bad soap opera, but that’s really how it is. I had Edvard, and say what you will about him, he was a man with substance, maybe not always fun, but solid. I lost him by getting knocked up. Should I have kept my mouth shut and had an abortion? Do you think I’ve wondered about that, wondered what my life would have been like then. But then I look at Erik and I don’t understand how I could even think that.”
“He’s a great kid,” said Sammy.
“I’m really lousy at living,” said Lindell. “I get jealous of all the others, who are living as couples or single and happy with that. How the hell do they do it?”
“It’s not a given that they’re happy,” Sammy Nilsson objected. “Look at Ola.”
“I know, but they have the tools, the recipes for it. I’m completely lost, confused when it counts, like a social caricature. If there’s a pill that makes you numb I should take it, go ahead like a mechanical apparatus.”
“I don’t believe that at all,” said Sammy, who was starting to get tired of the self-pity.
“No, me neither,” said Lindell downheartedly. “But the thoughts are there, that’s bad enough.”
“He’s coming back,” Sammy repeated. “If it’s as you said, that he was in love too, it may turn out that way. He’s just indecisive.”
“Do you believe that?”
“I don’t believe anything,” said Sammy Nilsson. “But it may be that way, you know that too. Don’t kick out like a terrified horse, just wait until he comes home. Sit down here on the couch together and talk about everything. You’re not very good at talking about what you’re thinking and feeling. Isn’t that right? You don’t believe anyone can like you.”
“It’s not like that,” Lindell protested.
“Yes, it is like that, Ann. It’s the same at work. You’re one of the best we have, but you diss yourself all the time.”
Lindell burst into tears. Sammy Nilsson pulled the sobbing body next to him. It occurred to him that he had never hugged her before. It was possible that she had awkwardly tried to imitate the lives she observed around her, but she had never adopted the weakness for hugging at all times.
She freed herself, straightened up, drew her hand over her face, sniffed, and tried to arrange her facial features.
“My life is filled with lies and a whole lot of blood,” she said. “That’s what I get.”
She got up and went over to the window next to the balcony. On the table was a chipped saucer. One of his cigarette butts was still there. The sun had gone down and the yard was slowly settling down into darkness. One of the neighbors was sitting by the mock orange, smoking a pipe. His wife, a woman Lindell had seen in line at Torgkassen, was gathering up the remains of a meal. They were talking.
“A little love wouldn’t be bad,” she said, with her back to him.
“You have Erik, he’s an exceptional boy,” said Sammy Nilsson, realizing how paltry that sounded.