station. They’d partied all night and got very drunk. The night had ended outside the Saint Karin church ruins, with him and Madeleine getting together instead of going their separate ways. After that he’d accompanied her back to the hotel. No, he thought. No, no .
He turned on to his side and saw the cloud of brown hair sticking out of the covers.
Shit. They’d had sex . He’d slept with his work colleague. How low could he go? He wanted to forget the whole thing. As quietly as possible, he crept out of bed and went into the bathroom. He turned on the tap, but only halfway so the splash of the water wouldn’t be audible. He looked at himself in the mirror: his face was a sallow colour, his eyes were bloodshot, with a weary and slightly melancholy expression. Who was this man he was looking at? He discovered several new wrinkles near his eyes and on his throat. A new furrow that hadn’t been there before. His face had changed, aged. He had a bad taste in his mouth. The image of Emma’s face appeared before him. How could he have been so stupid? He felt so sleazy, and the contempt he felt for himself was nauseating. He’d wait until he got home to take a shower. He had to leave, get out of here. He slipped back into the room and grabbed his clothes, terrified that Madeleine would wake up.
Without a sound he closed the door behind him.
THE NEXT COAL transport wasn’t due to arrive in Slite harbour until the following week. Knutas set the matter aside for the time being and decided instead to pay a visit to Peter Bovide’s parents, even though they’d already been interviewed. He wanted to meet them in person.
It was great to leave police headquarters and set off alone. He chose to drive his own vehicle, an old Mercedes with no air conditioning, so he was feeling sweaty by the time he made it out to Slite. Katarina and Stig Bovide lived in a ground-floor flat in the middle of town. The blinds were closed, and from the outside it looked like no one was home.
Knutas rang the bell and then had to wait for a while.
Eventually the door opened, and Knutas was taken aback when he saw the expression of the elderly woman standing there. Even though Katarina Bovide’s face was both freckled and tanned, and in her long, bright dress she actually reminded him a bit of Lina, her grief and despair were painfully evident.
She merely nodded to him and led the way to the living room, which under normal circumstances was no doubt quite pleasant, but right now it was only dimly lit. The curtains had been drawn so that very little light seeped in from the windows. It was as if Peter Bovide’s parents wanted to close out the lovely summer day. As if they couldn’t bear the beauty.
The next instant a man appeared in the doorway. He looked just as haggard and empty of all life as his wife. Stig Bovide was tall and thin with sparse light-brown hair and blue eyes. He wore a light-coloured shirt tucked into a pair of jeans. On his feet he had a pair of Birkenstock slippers. A heavy sense of grief hung in the air, and the temperature bordered on intolerably hot. Knutas was thirsty, but neither of them offered him anything to drink. He decided to try toughing it out.
‘First, please accept my condolences, of course,’ he began. ‘As you may have heard, I’m in charge of the investigation. I was out of town, but I came back yesterday and I’ve taken over from Karin Jacobsson. She’s my deputy superintendent.’
He cleared his throat, wondering why he was wasting words on such things.
‘All right then. I have a few questions that I’d like to ask you.’
‘We’ve already talked to the police,’ said Stig Bovide. ‘With somebody by the name of Kihlgård. He was here yesterday.’
‘Yes, I know that. But since I’ve now taken over responsibility, I wanted to meet you in person. I hope you don’t mind. Naturally we’re doing everything in our power to catch the person who did this, and so it’s important that I find
He turned on to his side and saw the cloud of brown hair sticking out of the covers.
Shit. They’d had sex . He’d slept with his work colleague. How low could he go? He wanted to forget the whole thing. As quietly as possible, he crept out of bed and went into the bathroom. He turned on the tap, but only halfway so the splash of the water wouldn’t be audible. He looked at himself in the mirror: his face was a sallow colour, his eyes were bloodshot, with a weary and slightly melancholy expression. Who was this man he was looking at? He discovered several new wrinkles near his eyes and on his throat. A new furrow that hadn’t been there before. His face had changed, aged. He had a bad taste in his mouth. The image of Emma’s face appeared before him. How could he have been so stupid? He felt so sleazy, and the contempt he felt for himself was nauseating. He’d wait until he got home to take a shower. He had to leave, get out of here. He slipped back into the room and grabbed his clothes, terrified that Madeleine would wake up.
Without a sound he closed the door behind him.
THE NEXT COAL transport wasn’t due to arrive in Slite harbour until the following week. Knutas set the matter aside for the time being and decided instead to pay a visit to Peter Bovide’s parents, even though they’d already been interviewed. He wanted to meet them in person.
It was great to leave police headquarters and set off alone. He chose to drive his own vehicle, an old Mercedes with no air conditioning, so he was feeling sweaty by the time he made it out to Slite. Katarina and Stig Bovide lived in a ground-floor flat in the middle of town. The blinds were closed, and from the outside it looked like no one was home.
Knutas rang the bell and then had to wait for a while.
Eventually the door opened, and Knutas was taken aback when he saw the expression of the elderly woman standing there. Even though Katarina Bovide’s face was both freckled and tanned, and in her long, bright dress she actually reminded him a bit of Lina, her grief and despair were painfully evident.
She merely nodded to him and led the way to the living room, which under normal circumstances was no doubt quite pleasant, but right now it was only dimly lit. The curtains had been drawn so that very little light seeped in from the windows. It was as if Peter Bovide’s parents wanted to close out the lovely summer day. As if they couldn’t bear the beauty.
The next instant a man appeared in the doorway. He looked just as haggard and empty of all life as his wife. Stig Bovide was tall and thin with sparse light-brown hair and blue eyes. He wore a light-coloured shirt tucked into a pair of jeans. On his feet he had a pair of Birkenstock slippers. A heavy sense of grief hung in the air, and the temperature bordered on intolerably hot. Knutas was thirsty, but neither of them offered him anything to drink. He decided to try toughing it out.
‘First, please accept my condolences, of course,’ he began. ‘As you may have heard, I’m in charge of the investigation. I was out of town, but I came back yesterday and I’ve taken over from Karin Jacobsson. She’s my deputy superintendent.’
He cleared his throat, wondering why he was wasting words on such things.
‘All right then. I have a few questions that I’d like to ask you.’
‘We’ve already talked to the police,’ said Stig Bovide. ‘With somebody by the name of Kihlgård. He was here yesterday.’
‘Yes, I know that. But since I’ve now taken over responsibility, I wanted to meet you in person. I hope you don’t mind. Naturally we’re doing everything in our power to catch the person who did this, and so it’s important that I find
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