Haver knew that Ottosson had a cabin near the city and thought he had heard that it was on Gysingevägen somewhere.
Ottosson suddenly turned around and spotted Fredriksson and the forensic technician, who were talking next to the body. Bea had left the pair and was wandering around nearby.
“Why did you come out here?” Haver shouted at his back.
Ottosson didn’t usually turn up so quickly at the scene of a crime.
“I booked Little John when he was sixteen. It was his first contact with us.”
“How old did he get?”
“He was forty-two,” Ottosson said and continued to his car.
Four
She was taken by surprise. She had looked back at the sound of something she thought was a scream. Ann Lindell turned around. A woman’s scream.
When she turned back again he was right in front of her, Santa Claus, with an overabundant beard and a macabre face mask.
“Good grief, you scared me to half to death.”
“Merry Christmas,” the Santa said, trying to sound like a Walt Disney character.
Go to hell, she thought, but smiled.
“No, thank you,” she said, as if the Santa had been trying to sell her something, which had probably been his intention because he left her in order to turn his attention to a couple with three children.
She walked into the supermarket. He would do more good shoveling the sidewalk, she thought. Then at least you’d be able to get in. She stamped hard to get the snow off her feet and took out her shopping list. It was long and she was already exhausted.
Candles were first on the list, then an endless number of various food items. She didn’t want to be doing this, but she had no choice. It was the first time her parents were coming to Uppsala for Christmas. Granted, her mother had promised to bring a few Christmas dishes with her, but the list was still daunting.
She was sweating by the time she reached the vegetable aisle.
“Do you have any cabbage?” she asked a passing employee, who gestured vaguely.
“Thank you,” Lindell said pointedly. “Thanks for the detailed directions.”
A hand appeared on her arm. She turned around and saw Asta Lundin.
“Ann, it’s certainly been a long time,” she said.
She kept her hand where it was, and Ann Lindell felt the pressure on her arm. The past flickered in front of her eyes. Asta was the widow of Tomato-Anton, a labor-union buddy who had been friends with Edvard Risberg. Ann had met her a few times through Edvard. They had had coffee in her kitchen and Edvard had later helped her when she moved into town.
“Asta,” she said simply, unable to think.
“I see you have a little one,” Asta said, nodding to the carrier on Ann’s back.
“His name is Erik,” Ann said.
“Is everything all right?”
She wanted to cry. Asta’s hair stood like a halo around her thin face. She recalled Edvard’s saying that Tomato-Anton and Asta were some of the best people he had ever met.
“Yes, everything’s fine,” Ann said, but her expression betrayed her.
“There’s a lot that has to go in the shopping cart,” Asta said. “What a chore.”
Ann wanted to ask about Edvard. She hadn’t talked to him in a year and a half, ever since that evening at the Östhammar hospital when she told him she was pregnant with another man’s child. She hadn’t heard anything about him through anyone. It was as if he had been erased from her life. Was he still living on Gräsö island, renting the flat above Viola’s? What was he doing? Was he in touch with his teenage boys? And-this is when she started to lose it-was he seeing anyone new?
“You look good,” Asta said. “Pink cheeked and healthy.”
“Thanks. How about you?”
“My sister’s coming up for the holidays.”
“How nice. My parents are coming up too, they want to see how Erik has grown. Have you…” Ann started, but couldn’t bring herself to finish.
“I understand. Our Edvard,” Asta said, putting her hand back on Ann’s arm.
Ann remembered what Edvard had told her about Asta and Anton, how physically affectionate they had been, how much they had hugged and kissed each other. For Edvard, the Lundins had embodied the principle of fidelity in their relationship to each other and in their lives.
“Maybe you don’t hear much from Gräsö,” Asta said.
“Is he still there?”
“The same place. Viola is a little frail these days, I think she had a stroke in the fall, but she’s back on her feet again.”
“That’s good,” Ann said flatly.
“Should we have a cup?” Asta asked.
They sat down at a small table and drank some of the complimentary coffee from paper cups. Erik whined a little, so Ann took off the baby carrier and unzipped his little coat.
“He looks nice and healthy,” Asta said.
There was so much Ann wanted to ask about, but she held back. It felt strange to sit there with this old woman, as if they had known each other for a long time, and yet they hadn’t. She felt ashamed. She had betrayed Edvard and by extension his closest friends. She had hurt him, caused him pain, she knew that, but she saw no bitterness in Asta, or anger.
“Edvard is doing well,” Asta said. “He came by about a month ago. He looks in on me from time to time.”
So he’s been in town, Ann thought. Maybe we’ve passed each other on the street, maybe he saw me?
“He keeps busy with work,” Asta continued. “He works on as before. They’ve all been workaholics, that family. I knew his father and his grandfather before him.”
Ann nodded. She remembered Albert Risberg, the old man who lived upstairs at Ramnäs farm, where Edvard was working when they first met.
“He’s become a real Roslagen boy.”
Asta paused, took a sip of her coffee, and looked at Ann.
“I’m sorry things turned out the way they did,” she said. “It really is too bad.”
“I can’t say it’s been the best time of my life,” said Ann.
“Edvard isn’t a strong man. Anton often said that to me.”
Ann didn’t want to hear any more, and it was as if Asta could tell, because she interrupted herself.
“Life doesn’t always turn out the way you expect,” she said with a crooked smile.
“Has he…?”
“No, he lives alone,” Asta said.
“You’re reading my thoughts,” said Ann.
“Your thoughts are an open book, my dear. Do you still love him?”
Ann nodded. She didn’t want to cry, not in a supermarket with crowds of people. She would let the tears come when she was alone. Of course she still loved him.
“These things take time,” Asta said. “Life will get better again, you’ll see.”
These things take time, Ann repeated to herself. Had Asta talked to Edvard? Perhaps he wants to meet with me-to forgive? She wanted to ask Asta what she had meant but feared the answer.
“Maybe,” she said and stood up. “I have to keep shopping. Thanks for the chat.”
Asta didn’t say anything. She stayed at the table and was still there when Ann walked by a little later on her way to the deli counter. That gray hair, her thin hands on the table. Ann sensed that she was thinking about Anton.
Five
He felt drawn to the moss peeking out from under the snow. If it had been summer he would have stretched out on it for a little while, taken a short rest. He breathed deeply. Once, twice. She had turned on a lamp in the living room. He was able to catch a few brief glimpses of her.
“I am a forest warrior,” he said aloud.
It was an appealing thought, that he was a creature from outside, approaching the warm windows from the moss and the darkness.