She walked into the hall and started putting on her boots. When she straightened up and reached for her jacket he was standing in the kitchen doorway, positively grinning at her.
'You're not leaving already?'
His tone of voice made it sound more like an order than a question. This was the end of good manners, as far as she was concerned.
'Yes, I am. I can't stand coffee without milk, you see.'
'Is that so? I got the impression you weren't that picky.'
He had bitten suddenly, like a snake. Unhesitatingly ready to drop any attempt at choosing his word with care. She suddenly felt deeply uneasy. Taking down her jacket, at first she could think of nothing to say at all.
'What do you mean?'
When she finally spoke, she no longer felt quite so sure of herself and her voice must have revealed it, for the smile came back to his face.
'That's obvious, isn't it? People like you should be grateful for what they can get.'
She tried as best she could not show how frightened she was feeling by now. He didn't look particularly strong, but that was a miscalculation she had made before and duly suffered for. If they were hungry enough for what they wanted, she had rarely had a chance. No way was she giving in without a fight, though. She backed away from him.
'Vimmerby seems to be one hell of a place. A serial killer and a rapist living just next door to each other. Maybe there's something nasty in the water?'
She glanced towards the front door. The key had gone.
‘It's locked, in case you wondered.'
He had an informative tone to his voice.
'Now there's something else I should let you know. If there's one thing I haven't got the slightest inclination to do, it's keeping you here for sex.'
This did nothing to convince her. She backed away from him, hitting her back against end of the stair railing.
'There are other things we've got to sort out together, you and I.'
She swallowed.
I don't think so.'
Now he grinned again.
'Oh yes, we do – Sibylla.'
She was dumbfounded at first. Her only clear thought was that things had gone badly wrong.
'How do you know my name?'
'I read the paper, like everyone else.'
He couldn't have recognised her – or could he? Not with her new hairdo, surely? A car drove past on the road outside and she looked at it over his shoulder through the kitchen window. Then it was gone.
'You might as well give up your idea of meeting Kerstin. She lives at the other end of town, as it happens. That house is empty. A German family has bought it and they usually don't turn up here until June.'
She wanted get out of there, get away from him.
'Why did you lock the door? What do you want from me?'
He didn't answer.
She glanced at the door again. There was no window in the hall.
'Don't even think about it, Sibylla. You're going nowhere without my permission.'
She was a prisoner. She closed her eyes for a couple of seconds, trying to pull herself together. He moved away from the doorway and because she had no choice, she followed him into the kitchen.
'I'd appreciate it if you took your shoes off.'
She stared at him. No fucking hope.
Instead she walked over to the table and sat down. A glance at him was enough to make her realise that her keeping her shoes on had angered him a great deal. Frowning, he got hold of a brush and pan form a cupboard and started sweeping up invisible muck from the floor. When he had put the things away, he came to sit down at the kitchen table. The smile had gone from his face.
'From now on you will do what I tell you.'
'From now on'? What was this weirdo after? Why was he so bossy?
She tried to speak in a low, calm voice. 'You have no right to keep me here.' He grimaced with mock surprise.
'Oh, don't I? Dearie me. Maybe you'd like to phone the police?'
He burst out laughing when she didn't answer immediately. She told herself that maybe phoning the police was exactly what she should do now. They were both focusing on each other, registering each other's every breath. Another car went past and for a fraction of a second Sibylla let her eyes wander away from him. He broke the silence.
'I must say, I was flabbergasted when you turned up in the cemetery out of nowhere. Like a gift from God. Indeed, God does look after his own.'
She stared at him.
'When I spotted your watch I couldn't believe my eyes at first. Do you know, if it hadn't been for your watch I might never have recognised you.'
They both looked at her watch. Then he smiled briefly before closing his eyes and turning his face upwards.
'Thank you Lord. You listened to your servant and saved my soul. You sent her to me.
Thank you…'
She thought he had finished.
'What's this about my watch?'
He turned towards her, silent at first. His eyes were open but had narrowed to slits. Leaning over the table, as if to give his words more weight, he spoke slowly.
'Never ever interrupt me when I'm talking with the Lord God.'
Suddenly everything fell into place.
'Accursed are those who rob the innocents of their rights.'
The truth pierced her like an arrow. Fear struck her speechless, her mouth filling with the taste of blood.
Fool that she was! What made all the difference was the person he had appeared to be. She already knew the importance of that for herself. How could she have forgotten? She had allowed prejudice to lead her by the nose – straight into a trap.
His face had changed somehow. Now he knew that she knew.
'You can guess where I saw that watch the first time, can't you? In the Grand Hotel's French Restaurant. You were keeping Jorgen Grundberg company while he ate his last meal.'
Alert and quivering like tensed bow-strings, they sat watching each other across the kitchen table. Both were expecting something to happen that would release the tension. She lost any sense of time passing.
Trying to link isolated perceptions of the truth into a continuous chain, she began with him. She had been right as well as catastrophically wrong. Rune Hedlund's secret both was and was not what everyone had suspected. He had taken a lover, but the lover was a man.
Now that man's strong hands were placed on the kitchen table in front of her. Hands which had carried out all the repulsive mutilations that she had been accused of. Stained with ordinary hobby paints and then covered with plastic gloves, they had been searching the hidden cavities of his victims in order to recover what had been taken from his beloved's body.
She whispered an appeal to him.
'Tell me why.'
This made him relax and took them into a new phase of their relationship, in which neither needed to pretend to the other. There was no point in dropping hints or making covert threats. The only thing left between them was the final confrontation. Before that, she wanted to know and he wanted to tell.
Afterwards was another matter.
He seemed calm now, clasping his hands in his lap and poised, it seemed, ready to give a speech. 'Have you ever been to Malta?'
This question was so unexpected all the air went out of her, making a snorting noise. He might have thought she was laughing, because he started smiling again.
'I went to Malta. It was about six months after Rune's accident.'
The smile had faded from his face now, his hands were back on the table and he was looking down at them.
'No one ever grasped how… profoundly I mourned him.'
He inhaled deeply, as if needing more air before he could carry on speaking.
'Our love is buried in Rune's grave. They all pitied her, of course. People were trotting round to commiserate every hour God gave. Feeding her stuff they'd brought. Listening to her endlessly babbling on about how unfair life was. All her fucking bullshit. There were times when I was on the brink of going there and shouting the truth out loud, straight into her fat, ugly face. I could've told her a thing or two! He had been with me that night, just before he collided with the elk. Straight from my bed, where my hands had held him and caressed him.'