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Johan had several free days coming. First he was going to get the cleaning and laundry out of the way, then go visit his mother and spend some time with her. She was still grieving after his father’s death. He had died of cancer a year ago. The four brothers did the best they could to look after her, but Johan was the oldest, so it was only natural for him to assume the greatest responsibility. He would try to cheer her up, take her to a movie and maybe go out to eat. Then he was going to relax. Do some reading. Listen to music. On Sunday the Hammarby soccer team was playing AIK at Rasunda. His buddy Andreas had gotten them tickets.

He needed to go over to the newsroom to pack up his things, but first he decided to take a walk through town. A light, silent drizzle was making the streets wet. He didn’t bother with an umbrella. He turned his face up toward the sky, closed his eyes, and let the drops run down his cheeks. He had always liked rain. It made him feel calm. It had rained when his father was buried, and he remembered that the rain made everything feel better, more dignified and peaceful in some way.

On Hastgatan he saw her through the big glass window of the cafe on the other side of the street. She was sitting alone at a window table, leafing through a magazine. In front of her stood a tall glass containing what looked like a caffe latte.

Johan stopped, feeling indecisive. He had some time to himself before he had to meet Peter at the newsroom. Without knowing how he was going to approach her or what he would say, he decided to go in.

The cafe was almost deserted. He was struck by the trendy interior: nice high ceilings; straight-legged bar stools at the bar; shiny coffee machines. Baguettes were piled next to Italian cheeses and sausages. Enormous chocolate muffins were heaped on trays. A luscious-looking girl stood behind the cash register with her hair attractively arranged in a loose knot. Just like any other Italian cafe.

How incredible to find this kind of place in little Visby, he thought. Ever since the college had opened on the island a few years back, new businesses had sprung up, and the town had acquired a new life during the off-season.

Emma was sitting at the far end of the cafe. As Johan approached, she glanced up.

“Hi,” he said, thinking how ridiculous his smile must look. What was it about this woman that had such an effect on him? She peered at him inquisitively. Good Lord, she didn’t even recognize him! In the next instant her expression changed and she pushed her hair back from her face.

“Oh, hi. It’s you from the TV station. Johan, right?”

“Exactly. Johan Berg, from Regional News. May I join you?”

“Sure.” She put away her magazine.

“I’ll just get some coffee. Would you like anything?” he asked.

“No, thanks. I’m fine.”

Johan ordered a double espresso. While he waited at the counter, he couldn’t help looking at her. Her hair was straight and thick, hanging loose. She wore a denim jacket over a white T-shirt. Washed-out jeans again today. Prominent eyebrows and big dark eyes. She lit a cigarette and turned to look at him. He could feel himself blushing. Damn it all.

He paid for his coffee and sat down across from her. “I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

“No, I guess not.” She gave him a searching glance and took a drag on her cigarette.

“How are you?” he asked, feeling like an idiot.

“Not so good. But at least now summer vacation has started. I’m a teacher,” she explained. “Today was the last day of school, and this afternoon the school is giving a party for the children and their parents. I didn’t feel up to going. I’m just not feeling well. Because of Helena’s murder and all. I still can’t believe it’s true. I think about her all the time.” She took another drag on her cigarette.

Johan felt the same attraction to her that he had felt before. What he most wanted to do was to take her in his arms, to hug and comfort her. He repressed the impulse.

“It’s so hard to understand,” she went on. “That it really happened.”

She gazed absentmindedly at her cigarette, which she waved toward the ashtray, dropping tiny flakes of ash in it. “Mostly I think about who might have done it. And then I feel so furious. That someone has taken her away from me. That she no longer exists. Then I feel ashamed for having such selfish thoughts. And the police don’t seem to know what they’re doing. I don’t understand how they can keep Per Bergdal in custody.”

“Why not?”

“He loved Helena more than anything. I think they were even planning to get married. It’s probably just because of the fight that the police think he’s the murderer. Sure, it was unpleasant, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that he killed her.”

“What fight?”

“It was at the party, the night before Helena was found dead. Some of us went to Helena and Per’s house for dinner.”

“What happened?”

“Per got jealous when Helena danced with one of the guys, Kristian. He slapped Helena hard enough to draw blood, and then he punched Kristian, too. It was so stupid. They hadn’t done anything. They were just dancing like everyone else.”

“And this happened on the night before the murder?”

“Yes, didn’t you know about it?”

“No, I had no idea,” murmured Johan.

So that’s the reason, he thought. Here was the explanation for why Bergdal had been arrested.

“It’s so horrible… so unreal.” She hid her face in her hands.

He reached his hand across the table and patted her clumsily on the arm. Emma’s shoulders were shaking. Her sobs came in big, ragged gasps. Cautiously Johan sat down next to her on the sofa and handed her a paper napkin. She blew her nose loudly and leaned her head on his shoulder. Johan put his arms around her to offer some comfort.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” she whimpered. “I just want to get away from here.”

After she had calmed down, he walked her out to her car, which she had parked on a side street. He walked a few paces behind her, with his eyes fixed on her slumped shoulders. When they reached her car, they stood there a moment as she rummaged through her purse to find the car keys. Just as she said, “See you,” and bent down to unlock the car door, he took her arm. Very lightly. As if it were a question. She turned around and looked at him. He stroked her cheek, and then she leaned forward. Ever so slightly, just enough that he dared kiss her. A cautious kiss that lasted only a second before she pushed him away.

“I’m sorry,” he said in a low voice.

“That’s okay. No need to apologize.”

She climbed into the car and turned the key in the ignition. Bewildered, Johan stood in the rain, staring at her through the car window. Then she swung the car out into the street and drove off. His lips were still burning from the kiss, and he was staring foolishly down the street.

Slurp, shluuump. Rubber boots, sizes 2? and 3? sloshed through the muddy field. Matilda and Johanna loved the sound when the mud tried to hold on to their boots and pull them off. Here and there the sheep had created mini lakes that they were stomping and splashing around in. The rain was pouring down, and the rosy faces of the girls were lit up with delight. They pressed their feet firmly down in the muck and then pulled them back up. Swuuup, swuuump. From a distance two little figures in rain gear could be seen out in the field. As they were playing, the girls had wandered quite a way from home. They weren’t actually allowed to go this far, but their mother hadn’t noticed. She was sitting and nursing their baby brother, immersed in a discussion about infidelity on Oprah.

“Look at this,” shouted Matilda, who was older and the more adventurous of the two.