A third car went by. The driver stared at him in curiosity. Justus gave him the finger and kept walking. When the noise of the car had died away he looked around. He saw a spiral of smoke from the cottage rise over the treetops. Then the road turned.
He knew that all the bad stuff had started when John was fired from the shop. Until then they had been happy. He had never before heard his parents quarrel in earnest, but that was when it started: the night talk that they thought he couldn’t hear. Their low, grinding voices from the kitchen or living room. Sometimes he couldn’t even tell who was talking. But he knew it was about money. He had sneaked up and listened. Once, they had been talking about him.
Justus walked on and quickened his step unconsciously. With every step his longing for his father intensified. How far would he have to go before the pain went away?
He reached an intersection where he came to a stop, not sure of what to do next. One thought he had had was to destroy that which had destroyed John. But suddenly he wondered if everything was Berit’s fault. What if it was true that she had met someone else? Justus collapsed as if a knife had been driven into his body. He sobbed as he thought about the shadow that had turned up in his doorway, when she thought he was sleeping. How she had simply stood there looking at him. Had she betrayed John? Was that why he had died?
He didn’t want to believe it, but the thought pestered him, rearing up like an ice floe inside. Was she the one who deserved to be punished? Had he been right to kill the Princesses? Loneliness drove him down into the pile of snow at the side of the road. The cold crept into his body as he pulled up his knees and leaned his head against them. A car drove by and slowed down, but Justus didn’t have the energy to pay any attention to it. The car stopped, a door opened, and the sound of a radio streamed out. The driver’s footsteps were muffled by the snow but still audible.
This is how Dad died, Justus thought. He died in the snow. Justus wanted to fall back into it. Then he felt a hand on his shoulder.
Thirty-six
Ann Lindell called Haver from Berit’s apartment and told him that Justus had left the apartment early in the morning and not been heard from since. Berit had convinced Lindell that this wasn’t like him. The sight of the butchered fish was enough. Berit had picked up some twenty Princesses of Burundi from the floor and laid them out on a plate.
Ola had not asked her anything about the other night. Lindell didn’t know if he was angry. He had sounded normal. He had agreed to come by and talk to Berit.
Lindell thought about leaving before he arrived but didn’t want to leave Berit alone. Deep down she also wanted to see Ola again. She felt guilty about what had happened and wanted to at least explain why she had jumped into the investigation.
He arrived after fifteen minutes, nodded to Ann, and shook Berit’s hand. They sat down in the kitchen and Berit related what had happened. The plate of fish was on the kitchen counter and Lindell thought it was already starting to smell.
She looked at Ola Haver. He looked tired. The lines in his face, which she normally didn’t notice, stood out more than usual. She couldn’t help gazing at him in a new way, as if he were someone she didn’t know, and she thought how handsome he was. Well, handsome was perhaps not the right word. Nice-looking was better. His hands were on the kitchen table, his eyes kind and directed at Berit, who was talking. At one point he glanced at her before again redirecting his whole attention to Berit.
He’s ignoring me, she thought. He’s upset and angry, but he’s keeping it under wraps. He’s probably had a fight with Rebecka and I’m the reason. It evoked conflicting feelings in her. She regretted what had happened, but it also generated a thrill that ran down her body. Forbidden love, she thought, and smiled when she realized how melodramatic it sounded. Berit finished talking and Lindell suddenly realized that both she and Ola were looking at her.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I was lost in thought.”
Ola raised his eyebrows.
“Could you write down the names of his friends and anyone else he might go see?” he said to Berit.
“I’ve already called everyone,” she said. “He isn’t with any of them.”
“Do you think he knows anything about the murder?”
Lindell caught the subtext of Haver’s question: Did Justus feel threatened? But Berit didn’t seem to understand.
“No, what would he know?”
“Maybe he’s seen or heard something?”
Berit shook her head.
“I don’t think so,” she said, but the tone of her voice revealed she was weighing this new possibility.
“Why did he behead the fish?”
Lindell had asked the same question, and it had driven Berit to tears. Now she hesitated before answering.
“John sometimes called me his Princess of Burundi,” she said in a low voice. “When he was happy he had a habit of calling me special names.”
She looked uncomfortable, ashamed, but also genuinely perplexed. Ann Lindell took her hand, which was cold. Berit met her eyes and slowly the words started to come out. She told them about Lennart’s visit and his accusations.
When she finished, Lindell saw that Haver was trying to decide how to proceed. A few seconds went by.
“Are there any grounds for these accusations?”
Berit looked at him with empty eyes. She’s tired to death, Lindell thought. She’ll collapse soon. She had seen it before, how the tension grew, only to be released in screams. But Berit appeared to have some strength left.
“We loved each other,” she said with a quiet but firm voice.
She simply let the four words hang in the air without elaborating, as if there were nothing else to say. Lindell had the impression that she didn’t care if they believed her or not, that it was enough for her that she knew the truth and that John had known it.
Haver swallowed.
“Could John have been interested in anyone else?” he said, and Lindell knew he felt bad about continuing in this vein.
Berit shook her head.
“I knew John,” she said and took a deep breath. Haver shot Lindell a look.
“You don’t understand,” Berit said. “We only had each other.”
Haver swallowed again, but had to keep going.
“Justus seems to have believed Lennart,” he said in a dry, strangely mechanical voice, as if he were trying to neutralize his own presence. “What reasons could he have for doing this if your marriage was as happy as you describe?”
“He’s a boy who has lost his father,” Berit said.
“You mean he’s searching for answers.”
Berit nodded.
“Can he have seen or heard anything that would give him an idea of who the murderer is?”
“No, I don’t think so.” Her voice was as thin as ice after the first frost.
“Many people have said that John seemed to be planning something, a heist or some such thing. Do you have any idea what it could have been?”
Berit stared into the table.
“I don’t know,” she said, barely audible. “Apparently he talked to Justus about us moving somewhere, but that wasn’t anything he discussed with me.”
“Move where?”
“I don’t know. I don’t understand any of this.”
“Okay,” Haver said. “We’ll put out an alert for Justus, but I don’t think he’s in any danger. He’s probably out walking around the town.”