bag and book his flights?”
“Something like that.”
Rebecka Martinsson looked at the clock. She’d been afraid that a furious Anna-Maria Mella would turn up demanding the keys to the safe, but she’d wanted it to happen as well. But presumably the priest’s husband hadn’t mentioned it. Maybe he didn’t know what the keys were for. It was a complete bloody mess. She looked out of the window. It was starting to get dark. She heard a car drive onto the gravel yard outside.
Her cell phone buzzed in her bag. She rooted it out and looked at the display. The law firm’s number.
Måns, she thought, and hurried out onto the steps.
It was Maria Taube.
“How’s it going?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” answered Rebecka.
“I was talking to Torsten. He said you’d hooked them anyway.”
“Mmm…”
“And he said you’d stayed behind to take care of a few things.” Rebecka didn’t reply.
“Have you been to the village where your grandmother’s house is, what was it called again?”
“Kurravaara. No.”
“Problem?”
“No, it’s nothing.”
“Why don’t you go up there, then?”
“I just haven’t got around to it,” said Rebecka. “I’ve been a bit too busy helping our future clients sort out a load of crap.”
“Don’t snap at me, honey,” said Maria gently. “Spill. What kind of crap?”
Rebecka told her. She suddenly felt so tired she wanted to sit down on the steps.
Maria sighed at the other end of the phone.
“Bloody Torsten,” she said. “I’ll…”
“No, you won’t,” said Rebecka. “The worst thing is the locker, though. It must have the priest’s personal stuff in it. There could be letters and… anything. If anybody should have what’s in there, it’s her husband. And the police. There could be some sort of evidence, we don’t know.”
“I’m sure her boss will pass on anything that might be of interest to the police,” Maria Taube ventured.
“Maybe,” said Rebecka in subdued voice.
There was a silence between them for a moment. Rebecka kicked at the gravel with her shoe.
“But I thought you went up there to go into the lion’s den,” said Maria Taube. “That’s why you went with Torsten, after all.”
“Yeah yeah.”
“For God’s sake, Rebecka, don’t give me the yeah-yeah! I’m your friend and I’ve got to say this. You just keep on backing off. If you daren’t go into town and you daren’t go up to Kurrkavaara…”
“Kurravaara.”
“… and you’re just sitting there hiding in some village bar up the river, where are you going to end up?”
“I don’t know.”
Maria Taube didn’t speak.
“It’s not that easy,” said Rebecka in the end.
“Do you think I think it is? I can come up and keep you company, if you want.”
“No,” Rebecka cut her off.
“Okay, I’ve said my piece. And I’ve made the offer.”
“And I appreciate it, but…”
“You don’t need to appreciate it. Now I’ve got to do some work if I’m going to get home before midnight. I’ll call you. Måns asked how you were, by the way. I think he’s worried. Rebecka, do you remember what it was like when you went to the swimming pool when you were at school? And you jumped from the top board straight away, so you wouldn’t be scared of the other heights. Go up to the Crystal Church and go to one of their hallelujah services. Then you’ll have got the worst over. Didn’t you tell me last Christmas that Sanna and her family and Thomas Söderberg’s family had moved away from Kiruna?”
“You won’t tell him, will you?”
“Who?”
“Måns. That I… oh, I don’t know.”
“Of course not. I’ll call, okay.”
Erik Nilsson is sitting stock-still at the kitchen table in the priest’s house. His dead wife is sitting opposite him. He daren’t say anything for a long time. He hardly dares breathe. The least word or movement and reality cracks and splinters into a thousand pieces.
And if he blinks she’s bound to be gone when he opens his eyes.
Mildred grins.
You’re funny, you are, she says. You can believe that the universe is endless, that time is relative, that it can turn and go backwards.
The clock on the wall has stopped. The windows are mirrors. How many times has he invoked his dead wife these last three months? Wished that she would come gliding up to his bed in the darkness at night. Or that he might hear her voice as the wind whispers through the trees.
You can’t stay here, Erik, she says.
He nods. It’s just that there’s so much. What shall he do with all the things, the books, the furniture? He doesn’t know where to start. It’s an insurmountable obstacle. As soon as