Sometimes he felt like her father, even though there were only thirteen years between them. Knutas had become dependent on having Karin Jacobsson as part of the team, and he certainly didn’t want to lose her.
She paused for a moment before answering his question.
‘I’m fine, thanks.’
‘Sure?’
Her expression was inscrutable as she met his gaze.
‘Of course. I’m fine.’
Even though he could see that something was bothering her, he knew better than to ask any more questions.
22
E mma had been caught completely off guard by Johan’s sudden proposal of marriage. In a sense it was inevitable, as if they would have to come to that decision sooner or later. They had a child together, after all. By the time she had chosen to keep the baby and break up her marriage, she’d already made up her mind. And yet she had kept wavering back and forth. When she thought about how she’d behaved since meeting Johan, it seemed a miracle that he still wanted to be with her. That he hadn’t grown tired of her long ago.
He had left the house for the city and his job a short time ago. He had kissed her before leaving, but had not said any more about the matter or pressed her for an answer. She had watched him walk down the snow-covered path towards his car, studying his dark curly hair, his brown leather jacket that was nicely worn, and his washed-out jeans.
It was really quite simple: she loved him and it was obvious that they should get married. At the same time she was terrified that her relationship with Johan would end the same way as her marriage with Olle had. The dreariness of daily life would come creeping in once the elation of living together had waned. The excitement would fade, gradually but relentlessly leading to the point when they were no longer excited by each other. Their sex life would wither and become mechanical and obligatory because neither of them would have the energy to sustain the passion that once existed.
She shivered under the blanket, where she could still smell Johan’s presence. They just couldn’t let that happen. She got up, stuck her feet in her slippers and put on the T-shirt that was still lying on the sofa. She went into the bedroom and leaned over the cot where Elin was sleeping.
In the kitchen, sunlight was streaming in through the window. It was almost unreal after so many weeks of grey skies. She’d nearly forgotten what sunshine looked like.
She made coffee and toast, then sat down in her usual place near the window and peered out at the snowy landscape. There was enough snow for the kids to go sledging, and that made her happy. There was a hill nearby, and the kids loved to take their sleds over there. Soon Elin would be old enough to go along with Sara and Filip.
Right now they were staying with their father. She was actually getting used to this every-other-week existence and was now able to enjoy being alone with Elin half the time. She looked at the kitchen chair across from her. That was where Olle had sat all those years, drinking his green tea; the smell had always made her slightly sick. Johan didn’t drink green tea, thank God.
She wondered what other bad habits would come to light if they moved in together. Things Johan hadn’t mentioned yet, but which would become apparent as soon as he moved in with all his belongings.
That’s where he’ll sit from now on, she thought, trying to picture Johan occupying the chair opposite. How long would love last this time around?
She sighed and put another slice of bread in the toaster. She realized that she was still suffering the effects of a failed marriage, and that her thoughts were much too negative. There was nothing to indicate that this time things would go just as badly.
After she finished eating and cleared away the breakfast things, she looked in on Elin again. She was still asleep.
As she left the bedroom, Emma caught a glimpse of herself in the small round mirror in the hall. She stopped, took the mirror from its hook and carried it back to the bedroom. Then she lay down on the bed and held the mirror overhead.
For a long time she lay there, staring up at her face, so pale in the wintertime. Her eyes looked sleepy and sad, her lips colourless; her hair was still lovely, flowing over the pillow. Who was she really? And what did she want? She had given birth to three children, yet she still felt like a lost little girl. In her heart she didn’t know what to make of the person she saw in the mirror. She was loved by many, but she felt rootless. She’d never been a particularly self-confident person.
Suddenly she realized that she’d never made any of her own choices. Not really. She had allowed circumstances to steer her. When she met Olle, he had courted her and usually taken the initiative. He was cute, pleasant, considerate, and very much in love with her. Had she simply slipped into the relationship like a passive dolt?
She moved the mirror a bit further away, and stared into her own eyes. What was she thinking? It was time to make up her own mind about what direction her life was going to take.
And when it came right down to it, the decision wasn’t hard to make. Not at all.
23
Late in the afternoon Knutas received answers to several important questions. Wittberg came into his office and dropped on to the chair in front of his desk. His hair was tousled, his cheeks red with excitement.
‘You’re not going to believe this. There’s so damned much to tell you that I hardly know where to begin.’
‘Just go ahead and start.’
‘I got hold of Sixten Dahl, Mattis Kalvalis and his manager, Vigor Haukas. It’s true that they all travelled together to Stockholm. At the gallery opening Dahl made the artist an offer he couldn’t refuse. Since he still hadn’t signed the contract with Egon Wallin, he agreed to go and see Dahl’s gallery on Sunday, to meet his co-workers and discuss the details of the offer. So far, nothing strange about that. But when it comes to the sale of the gallery here in Visby, it turns out that Egon Wallin sold it to a certain Per Eriksson from Stockholm.’
‘Yes, we already know that.’
‘What we didn’t know was that Per Eriksson is just a front. The real owner is Sixten Dahl.’
Wittberg leaned back with a triumphant smile.
‘You’ve got to be joking.’ Knutas had to take out his pipe. ‘We’re going to have to do some more digging into that. Are those two guys from Lithuania coming back here?’
‘They’re already at the hotel. But they’re leaving for home tomorrow, late in the afternoon. I took the liberty of telling them to be here tomorrow at noon.’
‘Good. What about Sixten Dahl?’
‘The Stockholm police are going to interview him early in the morning.’
‘Great job, Thomas.’
The phone rang. It was the ME, who wanted to give Knutas a preliminary post-mortem report. The superintendent placed his hand over the receiver.
‘Is there anything else?’
‘You can bet there is.’
‘We’ll take it up at the meeting later. I have the ME on the phone.’
Wittberg left.
‘Starting with the cause of death,’ said the ME. ‘Wallin was strangled several hours before he was hanged from the noose. Judging by his injuries, he was probably attacked from behind and strangled with a sharp wire, such as piano wire. He has defensive marks on his arms, skin scrapings under his fingernails, and scratches on his neck, all indications that he fought back. At the same time the wire cut deep into the flesh so that-’