“I can tell you that. That was the day I lay under the knife,” he said and gestured to his back.
“You recovered quickly,” Haver said. “When I met you in your office on the nineteenth you seemed very fit.”
“I was operated on for a slipped disk and they send you home as quick as the devil.”
“When did you come home?”
“The afternoon of the eighteenth, my birthday.”
“What kind of car do you drive?” Berglund asked.
“The Volvo out there,” Sagander said quickly. It was obvious that he was in pain and that he hated it, not for the pain itself, Lindell sensed, but because of the inactivity it imposed.
“How did you get home?”
“My wife picked me up.”
“In the Volvo?”
“Yes, how else? In a limousine?”
Mrs. Sagander came into the room with a tray covered with cups and plates, buns and cakes.
“Let’s see,” she said and turned to Lindell. “Maybe you could push those newspapers aside?”
The cups rattled. Lindell helped to set them out.
“This is beautiful china,” she said, and Gunnel Sagander looked at her as if she were drowning at sea and was being thrown a lifesaver.
“I hope you aren’t sick of gingerbread yet,” she said.
I would be enjoying this if it weren’t for Agne Sagander, Lindell thought.
“The coffee is brewing,” Mrs. Sagander said.
“I saw some pretty copper pots in your kitchen on the way in. Do you mind letting me have a closer look?”
“Of course not. Come with me.”
They walked out to the kitchen and Lindell felt Agne Sagander’s eyes in her back.
“He gets a little brusque,” Mrs. Sagander said when they were in the kitchen. “It’s the pain.”
“I can see that,” Lindell said. “He seems like the kind of person who thrives on being up and about.”
Together they viewed the pans and pots. Gunnel told her that she had inherited most of it but also bought some things at auctions.
“He goes crazy when I come home with more stuff, but then he thinks I make the house look nice.”
“That’s so like a man,” Lindell said. “You picked him up at the hospital, I heard.”
“Yes, that’s right,” Gunnel said, and her eyes lost some of their spark.
“That was the eighteenth?”
“Yes; it was his birthday, but there wasn’t much in the way of a celebration. He was in a bad mood mostly and wanted to get back to work.”
“I can’t believe they send people home so soon. He had been operated on the day before.”
“It must be the budget cuts, but he wanted to come home. It’s worse for those who are alone.”
“The ones who don’t have ground service, you mean?”
Gunnel smiled.
“Ground service,” she said slowly. “I don’t think of my role in that way. I like making things nice around the house, and he’s not as impossible as he seems.”
Lindell thought that Gunnel Sagander had aged attractively, and there was a warmth in her voice that indicated that she had seen and heard a great deal but forgiven and made her peace with that which hadn’t gone her way. Was she happy? Or was she simply making the best of her role of homemaker and wife to that grumpy old man?
Lindell had seen too many of these women who subordinated themselves, but could also feel the temptation of giving in to a more traditional woman’s role. It would be so easy to be like her mother. So seemingly secure. She wanted to talk to Gunnel Sagander about this but realized that it wasn’t the right time and would probably never be right either.
The coffee in the percolator gurgled a last time. Gunnel gave Lindell a hasty glance as if she had read her thoughts.
“Are you married?” she asked and poured the coffee into a big Thermos.
“No, single with a little Erik.”
Gunnel nodded and they walked back out into the living room.
Lindell could see from his face that Haver was disappointed-or was it the exhaustion? He sat slouched back in his seat and looked at his hands. He glanced at Gunnel Sagander and Lindell when they walked back in. Agne Sagander was talking. Berglund was listening attentively.
“Little John was good at his work. A singular man,” Sagander said. “It was too bad I had to let him go.”
“You fired him,” Berglund corrected him.
“I had no choice,” Sagander said. “I have a business to run. Employees-such as yourself, I might add-never understand.”
“Of course,” Berglund said and smiled.
“Another cup?” Gunnel asked and held the Thermos aloft.
“Thank you, I’ve had enough,” Berglund said and got to his feet.
Haver looked up at the sky. The clouds pulled back like a curtain at the theater and revealed a starry sky. He moved his mouth as if to say something but changed his mind.
“Thank you for the coffee,” he said to Gunnel Sagander. She didn’t say anything in reply, just nodded. Berglund shook her hand. Lindell lingered for a moment.
“You must have known John,” she said.
“Of course. He worked at the shop for years. I always liked him.”
“His son, Justus, has run away. Do you have any idea where he might have gone?”
Gunnel shook her head.
“He ran away? The poor boy.”
A car engine started up. It was the patrol car. Lindell shook Gunnel’s hand and thanked her. Haver and Berglund were about to get into Haver’s car when he stiffened, as if his back suddenly hurt. Lindell saw him leave the car and walk a few meters to the side, crouch down, and shout something to Berglund. The latter reached into the car for something.
“What is it?” Gunnel Sagander said anxiously.
“I don’t know,” said Lindell.
“I just thought of something, where Justus may have gone. John and Erki Karjalainen, his former coworker, were very good friends.”
Lindell had trouble concentrating on what Mrs. Sagander was saying. The outside lights only weakly illuminated the spot where Haver and Berglund were crouched. Berglund turned on his flashlight. She saw Haver’s excitement in the way he turned to Berglund. The latter shook his head, looked up at the house, stood up, and took out his phone.
“Erki was almost like a father to John, especially in the beginning,” Gunnel Sagander was saying. “When John needed advice. He could be a little impetuous but that never had an effect on Erki.”
Lindell craned her neck.
“What are they doing down there? Have they dropped something?”
“Maybe they found something,” Lindell said. “What were you saying about Erki?”
“Maybe Justus has gone to Erki. I know he likes him.”
“Do you know where he lives?”
“He lived in Årsta before, but now I think he’s moved out to Bälinge.”
Haver straightened up, put a hand to his lower back, and said something to Berglund.
“I can ask Agne. We could call Erki.”
“Yes, ask Agne. I’ll call,” Lindell said.
Gunnel went in and Lindell hurried over to her colleagues. The temperature had fallen noticeably and it was sparklingly cold. She tightened the scarf around her. Their breath formed puffs of smoke.
“What is it?” she asked.
Haver looked at her and all trace of tiredness had left his eyes.
“Tracks,” he said and pointed to the ground by his feet. Lindell thought she could see a smile on his face.
“Explain,” she said.
Haver told her about the snow dump in Libro where they had found John.
“Do you think it’s the same car?”
Haver nodded.
“Eskil is on his way,” he said, and now Lindell saw how nervous he was.
“Should we ask Mrs. Sagander which visitors they’ve had lately?” Lindell asked. At the same time her cell phone rang. It was her mother, wondering where she was. Erik had woken up once and they had given him the baby porridge, he had fallen asleep again, but now he had woken up again.
“Is he crying?” Lindell asked and walked away from her colleagues.