Kennedy's Brain Page 0,12

a blood vessel in his brain, a hereditary weakness in his heart that had never been discovered. It was the medical experts who would be able to discover the truth once the police had handed the case over to them.

Louise registered what he was saying, but something immediately started to nag away inside her. There was something wrong. Henrik was talking to her, even though he was dead. He was urging her to be careful and watchful.

It was dawn by the time Göran Wrath stood up and left. Artur had asked to be left alone with Louise. He lifted his daughter onto the bed, then lay down beside her and held her hand.

She suddenly sat up. Now she had understood what Henrik had been trying to tell her.

'He never slept in pyjamas.'

Artur got off the bed and stood beside it.

'I don't follow you.'

'The police said that Henrik was wearing pyjamas. I know that he never wore pyjamas. He owned a few pairs, but he never wore them.'

Artur stared uncomprehendingly at her.

'He always slept naked,' she said. 'I'm certain. He told me that he always slept with nothing on. It started when he used to sleep in front of an open window, in order to toughen himself up.'

'I don't think I understand what you're getting at.'

'Somebody must have killed him.'

She could see that Artur didn't believe her. There was no point in going on. She didn't have the strength. She would have to wait.

Artur sat down on the edge of the bed.

'We must get in touch with Aron,' he said.

'Why do we have to talk to him?'

'He was Henrik's father.'

'Aron has never bothered about him. He's gone away. This has nothing to do with him.'

'But he has to know, even so.'

'Why?'

'It's just the way it is.'

She wanted to protest, but he took her by the arm.

'Did you really have no contact with each other?'

'No.'

'None at all?'

'He rang occasionally. And wrote the odd letter.'

'You must know where he lives, roughly?'

'Australia.'

'Is that all you know? Where in Australia?'

'I don't even know for sure if it is Australia. He was always digging new burrows, which he abandoned when he felt threatened. He was like a fox that never left a forwarding address.'

'It must be possible to find him. Don't you know whereabouts in Australia?'

'No. He wrote once that he wanted to live close to the sea.'

'Australia is surrounded by sea.'

He said nothing more about Aron. But she knew that Artur would never give up until he had done everything possible to find him.

She occasionally dozed off, and when she woke up he was always by her side. Sometimes he made a phone call, or spoke quietly to one of the police officers. She was no longer listening, exhaustion had reduced her consciousness to a point where she could no longer distinguish any details. The only thing that existed now was pain, and the never-ending nightmare that refused to release its grip on her.

She had no idea how much time had passed when Artur said they ought to go up to Härjedalen. In any case, she offered no resistance but accompanied him to the car he had rented. They drove north in silence. He had chosen to take the coastal road, not the meandering inland route he usually preferred. They passed by Ljusdal, Järvsö and Ljusnan. As they passed Kolsätt, he suddenly informed her that there used to be a ferry there. Before the bridges were built, you had to take a ferry over the mighty river in order to reach Härjedalen.

The autumn colours were sharp. She sat in the back seat, staring at the display of colour. She was asleep when they reached their destination, and he carried her into the house and laid her down.

He sat beside where she was lying on the red sofa that was patched and mended and had always been in that very spot.

'I know,' she said. 'I've known all along. I'm certain. Somebody killed him. Somebody killed him, and me as well.'

'You are alive,' Artur said. 'You are very much alive.'

She shook her head.

'No,' she said. 'I'm not alive. I'm also dead. The person you see is not me. I don't know yet who it is. But everything is different now. And Henrik did not die a natural death.'

She stood up and walked over to the window. It was dark. The street light outside the gate shone dully and was swinging back and forth in the wind. She could see her face mirrored in the window. She had