Unspoken (31 page)

He realized that he wasn’t going to be able to sleep. It was fruitless to try, so he got dressed and tiptoed down the stairs. The sofa in the living room was empty, so Leif must have gone to bed even though he hadn’t heard him.

Anders sat down on one of the leather armchairs and started to fill his pipe. He lit it and inhaled deeply. He liked smoking when he was alone. He seemed to enjoy it more.

A painting caught his attention. It was of a woman with a dog resting on her lap. The woman was young and slender and wore a sleeveless red dress. Her eyes were closed, and her head was tilted toward one shoulder, as if she were asleep. Her lips were the same color red as her dress. The dog was looking out at the viewer. It was a beautiful painting.

Knutas leaned forward to see who the artist was. He got up from the armchair and ran his finger along the gilded frame. Moved his eyes to the wallpaper, which was a pale yellow with a slightly brighter border. Next to the painting stood a chair with a high back, richly decorated, and two turned posts with knobs. The details were merging into a puzzle, and slowly he realized where he had seen this chair before. It was without a doubt the distinctive chair back that was visible in Dahlström’s photographs. Norrby, who was interested in antiques, had explained that it was an English Baroque chair.

At first he was overcome with utter confusion. How could Dahlström have taken pictures of Fanny in Leif’s house? Had he and some companion exploited her in the summer house without Leif’s knowledge? Did it happen while Dahlström was building the sauna?

His thoughts moved on and in his mind everything began coalescing to create an appalling pattern. Leif owned a horse at the stable and he had hired Dahlström. His appearance matched the description. It could just as well have been Leif in the photos. His friend of twenty years. An electric shock wave of ice-cold instinct shot through his body, making its way into every nook and cranny. He lost his grip on his pipe, which fell to the floor, scattering bits of tobacco over the rug.

He took another look at the painting to make sure that he was right. No, no. He couldn’t believe it, refused to believe it. The thought passed through his mind that he should just go to bed and pretend that he hadn’t noticed anything. He should bury his head in the sand and go on as usual. Part of him wished that he’d never seen that painting.

He tried to convince himself that there must be some other answer. Suddenly it occurred to him that Leif had been out in the boathouse the night before. What was he doing out there?

He had to go and take a look. Quickly he put on his shoes and jacket and then opened the front door as quietly as he could. He crossed the dark yard as his thoughts whirled. A jumble of irreconcilable images appeared in his mind: Leif in the sauna, on the ski slope, as Santa Claus at their house, playing soccer on the beach, standing in Dahlström’s darkroom with a hammer in his hand and acting with cold-blooded brutality, bending over Fanny Jansson’s young body in the photographs. He went around the corner of the house, and it took a few seconds before he noticed the figure in front of him. Suddenly he was standing face-to-face with Leif, who was holding his hands at a strange angle behind his back, as if he were hiding something. But Knutas never managed to see what it was.

SUNDAY, DECEMBER 23

Lina sounded worried when she called Karin Jacobsson early in the morning.

“I haven’t heard from Anders since yesterday morning. Have you?”

“No, his cell is turned off. I’ve tried to call him several times.”

“Leif doesn’t answer, either. I just talked to Ingrid. I’m starting to worry. They were going out in the boat yesterday, and since then a real storm has blown in. I hope nothing has happened.”

“I’m sure they’re fine,” Karin reassured her. “Anders said that he’d be here this afternoon. His cell battery probably ran out. Don’t they have a phone at the summer house?”

“No. I’m thinking of driving out there to see if everything’s all right. This is making me nervous. It’s so unlike Anders not to call.”

Jacobsson checked her watch. Ten fifteen. Kingsley wasn’t supposed to land until that afternoon.

“Listen, I’ll go out there myself. I can get away at the moment.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’ll be there in half an hour. We’ll call you as soon as I get there.”

“Thank you.”

Jacobsson had tried to call Knutas on his cell many times without getting through, and she had started feeling uneasy herself. On her way out to Gnisvärd, she called the Marine Rescue Service. No, nothing had happened, as far as they knew. She got the same answer from the Coast Guard.

The road was slick. The temperature had dropped overnight and the slush had frozen, transforming the road into a sheet of ice. Jacobsson kept a safe distance from the other cars and was grateful that there was very little traffic.

When she came to the sign for Gnisvärd, she turned off and continued along a smaller road toward the old fishing village. The Almlöv summer house was half a mile away, in a secluded spot near the water. She had been there once before, for a crayfish party. The house had a marvelous location with its own dock.

The car was parked in the yard, and the boat was tied up at the dock. So they had to be close by.

It was almost eleven thirty. The house seemed deserted. No smoke from the chimney, and the lights were turned off. Of course it was daylight, but the clouds made it seem quite dark outside.

She knocked on the door. No answer. Pounded harder. Still no reaction.

She saw no sign of human activity anywhere, except for the footprints in the snow leading back and forth between the house and the dock. Maybe they were out taking a walk.

Imagine having a place like this
, she thought enviously.
Such peace
. She looked out at the sea and the boathouse made of limestone. Farther down toward the water, right next to the dock, stood the sauna. That was the one that Dahlström had built. He had been paid under the table for it. She started walking across the yard. She didn’t notice the person who appeared right behind her.

She heard only a brief rushing sound before she fell to the ground.

On the day before Christmas Eve the call that he had been dreading came through. Her words were like a battle tank that mowed him down. Powerful and inexorable.

“It’s not going to work anymore. I can’t keep doing this. I have to make up my mind, once and for all. I really care a lot for you, Johan, but I’m not ready to split up my family.”

“I see,” he said tonelessly.

“You have to understand. I just can’t,” she said, sounding more insistent. “It’s for the sake of my children, too. They’re still so young. And Olle and I get along fine, actually. It’s not exactly a passionate sort of love, but it works.”

“How nice for you.”

“No, don’t do that, Johan. I realize you’re upset. This is really hard for me, too. Don’t make things worse than they already are.”

“Right.”

“Don’t be like that,” she cried, sounding annoyed. “Don’t make me feel even more guilty than I already do!”

“So that’s how it is. You just call me up and tell me it’s over, after you’ve said a hundred times that you love me, and that you’ve ‘never felt this way about anyone else,’ ” he said, doing a terrible impression of her by raising his voice to a falsetto.

“Then in less than a minute you tell me that
I
have to understand, that
I
shouldn’t make things worse than they already are, and that
I
shouldn’t make you feel guilty. Thanks a fucking lot. How considerate of you. But you think you can just crush me underfoot like a cockroach. No problem at all. First you throw yourself into my arms and tell me that I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to you—well, except for your kids that you’re always talking about—and then you think it’s perfectly all right to just call me up and say it’s over!”

“It’s good that you brought up the part about my children,” she said, her voice icy cold. “That just confirms what I’ve suspected all along! You think it’s a nuisance that I have kids! Unfortunately, they’re part of the package, you know.”

“Don’t go saying that Sara and Filip have been some sort of obstacle, damn it. As you know, I’ve been fully prepared to take care of both you and the children. I’ve been daydreaming about moving to Gotland and maybe getting a job at the radio station or at one of the newspapers. The children would live with us, and I’ve thought about what my relationship would be with them. I wouldn’t force things. I’d take it easy. I would just be there for them and do the best I could. That’s what I’ve been thinking. And that maybe they would eventually get to know me and want to be with me, that we would play soccer and build tree houses and things like that. I love you—don’t you understand that? Maybe you don’t realize what that means. It’s so damn easy for you to bring up the whole issue with the children. You’re using Sara and Filip as some kind of fucking shield so that you won’t have to change your life!”

“Great,” she said sarcastically. “You said their names. I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you do that! So now you seem to think it’s time to show some interest in them. Well, it’s a little late for that.”

Johan sighed in resignation.

“Think whatever you like,” he said. “But I’m sure that’s exactly how things stand. You simply don’t dare break things off with Olle. You’re too scared. You should at least acknowledge this to yourself and stop putting the blame on anything else.”

“You think you know everything,” she snapped, now sounding on the verge of tears. “Maybe a lot of things have been happening over here that you don’t know anything about. Everything is so easy for you, but life can be very complicated. I hope you’ll learn that someday. You don’t know shit about what I’ve been going through.”

“Well, tell me! You’ve shut me out for weeks now. I’ve called and called, and the closest I can get to you is by talking to Viveka. How can I do anything if I don’t know what’s going on? Tell me what it is, and I’ll help you. I love you, Emma. Can’t you get that into your head?”

“No, I can’t. I can’t tell you what it is,” she said in a stifled voice.

“What do you mean? What can’t you tell me?”

“Nothing, Johan. I have to go now. Merry Christmas, have a nice holiday, Happy New Year, and have a great life!”

She hung up.

Karin Jacobsson woke to find herself tied to a bed. A rope had been wound around her body, and she was completely immobilized, as if she were in a vise. Her arms and legs were numb, and her head hurt. She tried to get her bearings in the room as best she could from her immovable position. She was in a child’s bedroom that she recognized from her previous visit. On the table was an old-fashioned Parcheesi game with different-colored wooden cones as markers. There were chairs with homemade cushions covered with a tiny flower pattern and a Strindberg lamp. A polished hardwood floor, white cotton curtains at the window. How idyllic and homey it all was.

The house was quiet. Who had hit her?

What had happened to Knutas and Leif?

She listened for any sounds but couldn’t hear a thing.

How long had she been lying here? She had arrived at about eleven thirty. Through the window she saw that it was still overcast and impossible to figure out how high the sun was in the sky.

She tried to move her hands, which were tied to the sides of the bed. The rope cut into her wrists.

It wasn’t any better with her legs. With an effort she managed to lift her head and look around. Her jacket was lying on a chair. She arched her body, straining against the rope the way she had seen escape artists do. Tense and release, tense and release. Stubbornly she kept on, varying it by twisting and turning her wrists as she tried to loosen the rope.

At the same time her concern about Anders and Leif grew.

It bothered her that it was so quiet in the house. If someone had tied her up like this, shouldn’t that person be close by? Karin felt her anger growing. She had no intention of lying here like some sacrificial lamb, waiting for someone to take her to slaughter. She tensed her muscles and arched her body up toward the ceiling as hard as she could.

The rope loosened enough to give her new hope. She repeated the movement. Suddenly she felt the rope release. The next instant she was able to free one hand and her left arm.

In a matter of minutes she was free and off the bed. She stretched her body, waved her arms, and shook out her legs to get the blood circulating. She crept over to the window and looked out. She could see the water, which was motionless and gray, the boathouse and the sauna down by the shore. Not a soul in sight. She put on her jacket and put her hand in her pocket for her cell phone and car keys. They were gone.

The plane landed on schedule at Arlanda Airport. After Tom Kingsley came through passport control, the police were waiting for him.

The arrest was undramatic. Kingsley mostly looked surprised. The police explained to him that he was under arrest. Then he was cuffed and escorted by two plainclothes officers to the domestic terminal to wait for the plane to Gotland later that afternoon.

The news that he had been arrested was received with relief and joy at police headquarters in Visby. Kihlgård called Knutas but got no answer. He tried Jacobsson’s cell, but again with negative results.

“Why the hell can’t we get hold of the two top officers when something is finally happening?” he roared.

“Karin was driving out to Gnisvärd this morning,” said Wittberg. “Anders has apparently not answered his cell phone all weekend. She was worried that something might have happened. Hell, I forgot all about that.”

“What do you mean by ‘something might have happened’?” growled Kihlgård.

“He and Leif were going out in the boat, and there were nearly gale force winds.”

Kihlgård looked at his watch.

“Let’s drive out there. We’ve got time.”

A dull thudding sound was audible as Jacobsson came out into the yard. It sounded like pounding and it was coming from inside the boathouse.