much as a grown man. Ah, well. Edwin in Sweden? Highly unlikely. But there's no harm in listening to good advice. Anyway, it's time for me to go home and move my chair.'
CHAPTER 36
Two boys sat hunched over a fifteen-hundred-piece jigsaw. The image was a battle scene, Stamford Bridge in 1066, when Harald Hardræ°“da fought Harold Godwinson. The battle was slowly taking shape in front of their eyes, but there were still many blood-soaked pieces to go. One boy had found a severed arm, the other was holding a head. They had worked on the jigsaw for weeks. The horses and soldiers were in place and dark, dramatic clouds were forming in the sky. Alex Meyer stood silent, leaning against the wall with his arms folded across his chest. He was watching the boys with interest, but looked out of the window with an alert gaze when a white Mazda slowly rolled on to the drive. Seconds later his boyfriend appeared, but he did not say hello to the boys. Instead he went straight to the kitchen with two carrier bags.
'Nice to see you,' Alex called out.
Johannes took the groceries out of the bags. He still had his back to him.
'How was your day?' Alex was still smiling.
'Same as every other day,' Johannes replied. 'Every day the same trepidation when I get home. Wondering if the house is packed with those kids of yours.'
Those kids. Alex looked into the living room.
'They're called Oscar and Markus,' he said, 'and I like having them in the house.'
'Yes, that much I've noticed, they've been coming here for months. But if you've got any sense of responsibility, you'll put a stop to it. People are talking.'
'You're not responsible for me and my actions,' Alex said, 'and of course people are talking, we're not like them.'
Johannes gave him a reproachful look. His dark hair was cut short and Alex could see the rounding of the back of his head above his slim neck.
'Don't talk rubbish. Of course it affects me too. It's great that you're a star teacher, but you don't have any reason to get involved with their free time.'
Alex sat by the kitchen table.
'So what's the problem, Johannes?' he probed. 'Do you feel threatened?'
Johannes said nothing. He smoothed the carrier bags and folded them neatly before putting them away in a drawer, but he refused to sit down. The fact that he was still standing underlined how important this was to him.
'Two boys have gone missing and people are looking for a scapegoat. They said in the papers today they might have been abducted by someone who knew them. I really think you need to take this seriously. Everybody knows this house is overrun with kids and they're beginning to wonder why.'
'Children need to relax,' said Alex. 'So much has happened and I have to do something. They sit with that jigsaw for hours, Johannes, it's good for them, it teaches them patience and discipline, and kids today don't have much of that. Listen to how quiet they are.' He nodded towards the living room.
'And I sneak in a bit of history. If their parents are worried, all they have to do is call and we'll have a chat about it. And since nobody has been in touch I'll take it as a sign that everything's fine.'
Johannes shook his head. 'You don't understand how sensitive this is,' he said. 'There are some ugly rumours going around.'
'Perhaps it's all in your imagination?' Alex said. 'You think people are out to get you, that they're going to take something from you, but they're not. You need to learn to take it easy.'
He placed his elbows on the table. He was starting to feel angry. 'Life's wonderful, Johannes.'
Johannes started cooking dinner, but his abrupt movements gave him away. Alex returned to the living room, to the boys.
'How are you getting on?' he asked. 'Who's winning?'
'Godwinson,' Markus said.
'Godwinson is wiping the floor with Hardræ°“da.'
'What are you doing at the moment, do you have a plan?'
'We're collecting all the bloodstained pieces,' Oscar said.
'And afterwards you can collect all the pieces with iron,' Alex said. 'Then all the pieces with water. All the pieces with sky. Be clever about it, have a system.'
The boys found the pieces and put them into piles.
Alex held up a severed arm and described with gruesome detail how the wound would have been cauterised with a red hot iron in order to stop the bleeding.
'Imagine the sound,' he said, 'when the iron sank into