It strikes me. . Yes, it suddenly strikes me that I am standing exactly where I stood that winter evening so long ago. Just as cold or even colder than this one: I’m standing here beside Martin and watching as his sister comes walking up to the house with her secret lover. Our children are small and we have all our lives ahead of us: there are so many wonderful opportunities open to us, so many days, but we don’t think about that; we just stand here, in exactly the same place as Chief Inspector Simonsson and I are standing twenty-seven years later, Martin and I, trying to imagine who that man in the ordinary shoes and with his jumper pulled up over his head might be — and it occurs to me that life passes so quickly that one can remain standing there in the same spot and not notice that it’s already too late. You can sail without any wind for years, and believe all the time that you are on the way to somewhere.
And then I come back down to earth and watch the young police officer open the front door of my car — as usual I haven’t locked it — and see how he settles down behind the steering wheel and waves to us — possibly slightly embarrassed, it seems to me — before leaning forward and inserting the key in the ignition.
The ponies, I think. The pheasants. The Protection. .
The headlights come on, and it starts at the first attempt.
‘How about that?’ says Chief Inspector Simonsson. ‘It started. How do you explain that?’
I don’t answer.
‘Ah well, I think I must ask you to come with us, fru Holinek, so that we can continue our conversation in another place.’
I say nothing. Stand still and watch my car with its engine still running out there in the cold. Castor comes and sits down next to me. My mobile phone rings, I know who it is and don’t need to check.
‘I must just switch off the oven first,’ I say.