office with all its bloody traditions that could go to hell, and all the pissed-up partners looking straight through your blouse while outside, life just carried on without you. You didn’t know whether you wanted to cry or start a revolution but all you could actually manage was to drag yourself home to the TV and pass out in front of its soothing, flickering screen.
It’s six o’clock and here are the morning headlines. A well-known religious leader around the age of thirty was found murdered early this morning in the church of The Source of All Our Strength in Kiruna. The police in Kiruna are not prepared to make a statement about the murder at this stage, but during the morning they have revealed that no one has been detained so far, and the murder weapon has not yet been found…. A new study shows that more and more communities are ignoring their obligations, according to Social Services….
Rebecka swung her chair round so quickly that she banged her hand on the windowsill. She turned the radio off with a crash and at the same time managed to spill coffee on her knee.
“Viktor,” she exclaimed. “It has to be him.”
Maria looked at her with surprise.
“Viktor Strandgård? The Paradise Boy? Did you know him?”
Rebecka avoided Maria’s gaze. Ended up staring at the coffee stain on her skirt, her expression closed and blank. Thin lips, pressed together.
“Of course I knew of him. But I haven’t been home to Kiruna for years. I don’t know anybody up there anymore.”
Maria got up from the armchair, went over to Rebecka and pried the coffee cup from her colleague’s stiff hands.
“If you say you didn’t know him, that’s fine by me, but you’re going to faint in about thirty seconds. You’re as white as a sheet. Bend over and put your head between your knees.”
Like a child Rebecka did as she was told. Maria went to the bathroom and fetched paper towels to try to save Rebecka’s suit from the coffee stain. When she came back Rebecka was leaning back in her chair.
“Are you okay?” asked Maria.
“Yes,” answered Rebecka absently, and looked on helplessly as Maria started to dab at her skirt with a damp towel. “I did know him,” she said.
“Well, I didn’t exactly need a lie detector,” said Maria without looking up. “Are you upset?”
“Upset? I don’t know. Frightened, maybe.”
Maria stopped her frantic dabbing.
“Frightened of what?”
“I don’t know. That somebody will—”
The telephone burst in with its shrill signal before Rebecka could finish. She jumped and stared at it, but didn’t pick it up. After the third ring Maria answered. She put her hand over the receiver so that the person on the other end couldn’t hear her, and whispered:
“It’s for you and it must be from Kiruna, because there’s a Moomintroll on the other end.”
When Inspector Anna-Maria Mella’s telephone rang, she was already awake. The winter moon filled the room with its chilly white light. The birch trees outside the window drew blue shadow pictures on the walls with their bent and aching limbs. As soon as the phone started to ring, she picked it up.
“It’s Sven-Erik—were you awake?”
“Yes, but I’m in bed. What is it?”
She heard Robert sigh and glanced in his direction. Had he woken up? No, his breathing became deep and regular again. Good.
“Suspected murder in The Source of All Our Strength church,” said Sven-Erik.
“So? I’m on desk duty since Friday, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“I know”—Sven-Erik’s voice sounded troubled—“but bloody hell, Anna-Maria, this is something else. You could just come and have a look. The forensic team will be finished soon, and we can go in. I’ve got Viktor Strandgård lying here, and it looks like a slaughterhouse. I’d guess we’ve got about an hour before every bloody TV station is here with cameras and the whole circus.”
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
There’s a turn-up, she thought. Sven-Erik ringing to ask me for help. He’s changed.
Sven-Erik didn’t answer, but Anna-Maria heard his suppressed sigh of relief just before he put the phone down.
She turned to Robert and gazed at his sleeping face. His cheek was resting on the back of his hand and his red lips were parted slightly. She found it irresistibly sexy that a few strands of gray had started to appear in his straggling moustache and at his temples. Robert himself used to stand in front of the bathroom mirror looking anxiously at his receding hairline.