A murder had been committed at his new place of work, and his employers had no problem with the fact that he had shot dead his brother’s killer.
That told him something about their expectations of him.
It told him a great deal, in fact.
Peder had found a place where he thought he could be happy.
If it hadn’t been so icy, the cold and the snow would have made her start running. Home to Spencer, home to the children, with her violin case in her hand. But her brain knew better than her heart, and sensibly exhorted her to go carefully.
Her mobile rang when she was a hundred metres from home.
‘Fredrika Bergman.’
‘It’s Alex – did you pick up my messages?’
She hadn’t listened to her voicemail, but she had seen that he had called. She had been in too much of a hurry to get home to wonder what Alex wanted in her free time.
It’s Spencer I’m married to. Not the job.
Spencer with his tall, lanky body and those eyes that could see straight through her.
‘Was it something in particular?’ she said, wanting him to know that she did care, even if it might not seem that way.
‘You could say that. A pre-school teacher was shot dead outside the Solomon school in Östermalm a few hours ago.’
Fredrika came to an abrupt halt.
‘Do you need me?’
‘If you’ve got time, it would be very helpful if you could come with me to see her parents.’
‘I’ll be there. I just have to go home and drop off my violin first.’
‘In that case I’ll wait for you.’
Spencer was in the bathroom with the children when she got in; she could see them through the open door from the hallway, her son in the bath and her daughter perched on the toilet, fully dressed. It could have been a perfectly ordinary chair as far as Saga was concerned. Spencer was kneeling beside the bath with his back to Fredrika, his shirt creased and his sleeves rolled up.
So many people had told her it would never work, that she would have to do everything herself because Spencer was too old to be supportive; a man of his age didn’t have enough energy to be the parent of small children.
And they had all been wrong. Fredrika had met people of her own age who seemed older than Spencer. It wasn’t the number of years that mattered, but the general attitude towards life.
‘Hi,’ she said.
She dropped her bag and her violin case on the floor, kicked off her shoes and went into the bathroom. She sank to her knees behind her husband and wrapped her arms around him. Just a brief moment of closeness, then she would turn her attention to the murder Alex had told her about. A woman had been shot. In the middle of the city.
Spencer’s body was like part of her own. After holding him for only a few seconds she knew that something was wrong. The feeling was so strong that she stiffened, didn’t even reach out to the children.
‘Hi,’ he said.
Saga greeted her mother cheerily like an echo of her father, energetically waving the book she was holding. Isak splashed away happily in the bath, in a world of his own.
‘Has something happened?’
She had lowered her voice without knowing why.
Spencer didn’t reply; he just reached down into the water and fished out a bottle of shampoo that Isak had knocked down.
‘What is it?’
‘Fredrika, we need to talk. When the children are asleep. It’s nothing serious.’
Her arms dropped. He still hadn’t turned around. Fredrika was never more sensitive to the possibility of a setback than when she was happy. The sense of impending problems was so powerful that it bothered her as much as a foul smell would have done.
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Alex called – I have to go into work for an hour or so.’
‘You’re going into work? Tonight?’
‘A teacher has been shot dead at the Solomon school in Östermalm.’
‘I heard about that. What’s it got to do with you?’
‘Apparently we’re investigating the case.’
‘Since when have you been involved in hate crimes?’
He lifted his son’s slippery body out of the bath and wrapped him in a towel. He still hadn’t looked at her.
She made an instant decision.
‘I’m not leaving here until you tell me what’s happened.’
Isak tore himself free and scampered out of the bathroom, stark naked. Saga hopped down from the toilet and followed him, yelling at the top of her voice. Brother and sister. Created by Fredrika and Spencer. Yet another incomprehensible mystery: the fact that it was possible to make a new person. Biological magic.
Spencer was still on his knees, while Fredrika had got to her feet.
‘For heaven’s sake, what is it?’
She rarely snapped or raised her voice, but she was angry now. Or just scared?
Eventually he turned and looked at her as he had done so many times before. But only for a moment. Then he disappeared again.
‘I was called to a meeting today,’ he said.
‘And?’
She still hadn’t taken off her coat, and the sweat was trickling down her back.
Spencer stood up.
‘I’ve had an offer, but we have to make up our minds right away. Ernst has had a stroke.’
Confusion made Fredrika take a step backwards. An offer? Ernst, Spencer’s colleague at the university, had had a stroke. What did that have to do with anything?
‘And?’ she said again.
Spencer reached for a towel and dried his hands.
‘Ernst was supposed to be going to Jerusalem. He was going to be one of the principal tutors on a course at the Hebrew University. But now he can’t go.’
‘And they’ve asked you to go instead?’
‘Yes. It’s a two-week course.’
Two weeks. That was a long time to be away, but even so Fredrika felt calmer. She had thought he must have terrible news of some kind.
I must stop getting so stressed.
‘When would this be?’
‘I’d be leaving on Sunday.’
‘On Sunday? In four days?’
‘Yes.’
‘But Spencer, that’s out of the question!’
‘I know.’
But you want to go, don’t you?
Of course he wanted to go. Was she being unreasonable if she said no?
She shook her head.
‘We’ll talk about it when I get home,’ she said.
She went into the hallway and put her shoes back on, picked up her bag. Spencer was standing behind her as she moved to open the door.
‘You know I love you?’ he said.
She smiled, but didn’t let him see.
You don’t get away with it that easily, Professor.
‘I thought so, but it’s nice of you to remind me.’
She turned around, her hand still resting on the latch.
He smiled, and she went weak at the knees. There weren’t many men over sixty who looked as good as Spencer. She hoped that she and the children would keep him young for many years to come.
Her mobile rang, and she fished it out of her pocket.
Alex. She rejected the call. She went over to Spencer and kissed him.
‘See you later,’ she said.
‘I certainly hope so. Anything else would be a disaster.’
She left her family behind, closed the door of the apartment. When she was outside the building, she called Alex.
‘I’ll take a cab; I’ll be at HQ in ten minutes.’
Cold and darkness.
And fear. Because it was too late; because he had done something stupid.
Simon and Abraham were sitting in a van. It was parked in the middle of a forest, and the man who had locked them in wouldn’t be coming back until the next day. That meant they would be alone in the bitterly cold vehicle all night.
Both boys were crying with exhaustion. If only they hadn’t got into the car. If only they’d caught the bus.
When Simon thought about the drive out of the city, for some reason it was the windscreen wipers he saw in his mind’s eye, scraping back and forth, trying to clear the snow so that the driver could see where he was going. Simon could see the back of his neck.