it’s ten. Don’t you realize how worried I’ve been?’
‘I didn’t know you cared where I was,’ Peder said curtly, and regretted it the same instant.
Sometimes, when he was tired, stupid things like that just slipped out. He met Ylva’s eyes over his beer glass, saw the tears come to her eyes. She got up and went out of the kitchen.
‘For fuck’s sake, Ylva, I’m sorry,’ he called after her, keeping his voice down.
Keeping his voice down so as not to wake the children, sorry to try to get her back in a good mood. There was always somebody else whose needs he was supposed to prioritize over his own.
Peder felt anxiety and his guilty conscience clawing at him as he sat there at his desk. He simply didn’t understand how it could all have turned out so wrong when he got home. He’d rung, hadn’t he? The only reason he hadn’t rung again was that he hadn’t wanted to wake the children. Or he tried to convince himself that was the main reason, at least.
It had been a wretched night. The boys woke up and wouldn’t settle again, and it ended up with the two of them lying in between their parents in the double bed. Peder had fallen asleep with his arm round one of his sons. The little boy slept less fitfully that way.
Driving home from work the evening before, Peder had hoped that Ylva would still be awake and might feel like sex. How naïve of him, looking back. She’d only felt like sex once since they got back from Majorca. And he could hardly bring it up with his best mates when they were in the sauna after training on Thursdays.
It was bloody humiliating, thought Peder. Not being able to make love to your own wife.
And nobody humiliated Peder, that was for sure.
There had been so much life in Ylva when they met six years before. He could never for a moment have imagined then that he might cheat on her one day. But was it really cheating on someone when that person scarcely wanted sex all year? A year was an enormously long time, to Peder’s way of seeing things.
Ylva, Ylva, where the hell have you gone?
Pia Nordh’s number was burning a hole in his mobile.
If he just gave her a call and made himself sound really, really charming, and sort of hinted it was all his fault for handling it so badly when they broke up, she’d be sure to want to see him again. Peder straightened his back as he sat there. This enforced abstinence was affecting his judgment badly, he told himself. Affecting his judgment and making him frustrated. He’d do his job much better if he could just have a little distraction.
Peder’s fumbling fingers located his mobile. It took her a few rings to answer.
‘Hello.’
Husky voice, warm memories. Crazy memories. Peder cut off the call. He swallowed hard and ran his hands through his hair. He’d got to pull himself together. This wasn’t the time to lose his grip on real life again. It just wasn’t. He decided to ring Jimmy instead and see how he was doing.
Then Ellen, their assistant, stuck her head round the door.
‘Alex rang and said he wanted you to make sure the media get a photo of the girl to spread around. They didn’t get one yesterday.’
Peder braced himself.
‘Fine, no problem.’
Alex Recht felt under pressure as he assembled his team again on his return from Sara Sebastiansson’s. A pair of size 46 shoeprints belonging to an unidentified individual had been found just where Sara and Lilian were sitting on the train. Apart from that, there was no technical evidence to help the team in its work. Alex hoped the box that had gone off to SKL would give them some more leads.
But the parcel delivered to Sara was extremely alarming. The act was so calculated that it felt like the work of a not entirely healthy mind. What was brewing here, exactly?
‘Fredrika, try to get Gabriel Sebastiansson’s mother to tell you everything – and I mean everything – she knows,’ he said sharply.
Fredrika gave a brief nod and jotted a few words in the notebook
‘I didn’t know you cared where I was,’ Peder said curtly, and regretted it the same instant.
Sometimes, when he was tired, stupid things like that just slipped out. He met Ylva’s eyes over his beer glass, saw the tears come to her eyes. She got up and went out of the kitchen.
‘For fuck’s sake, Ylva, I’m sorry,’ he called after her, keeping his voice down.
Keeping his voice down so as not to wake the children, sorry to try to get her back in a good mood. There was always somebody else whose needs he was supposed to prioritize over his own.
Peder felt anxiety and his guilty conscience clawing at him as he sat there at his desk. He simply didn’t understand how it could all have turned out so wrong when he got home. He’d rung, hadn’t he? The only reason he hadn’t rung again was that he hadn’t wanted to wake the children. Or he tried to convince himself that was the main reason, at least.
It had been a wretched night. The boys woke up and wouldn’t settle again, and it ended up with the two of them lying in between their parents in the double bed. Peder had fallen asleep with his arm round one of his sons. The little boy slept less fitfully that way.
Driving home from work the evening before, Peder had hoped that Ylva would still be awake and might feel like sex. How naïve of him, looking back. She’d only felt like sex once since they got back from Majorca. And he could hardly bring it up with his best mates when they were in the sauna after training on Thursdays.
It was bloody humiliating, thought Peder. Not being able to make love to your own wife.
And nobody humiliated Peder, that was for sure.
There had been so much life in Ylva when they met six years before. He could never for a moment have imagined then that he might cheat on her one day. But was it really cheating on someone when that person scarcely wanted sex all year? A year was an enormously long time, to Peder’s way of seeing things.
Ylva, Ylva, where the hell have you gone?
Pia Nordh’s number was burning a hole in his mobile.
If he just gave her a call and made himself sound really, really charming, and sort of hinted it was all his fault for handling it so badly when they broke up, she’d be sure to want to see him again. Peder straightened his back as he sat there. This enforced abstinence was affecting his judgment badly, he told himself. Affecting his judgment and making him frustrated. He’d do his job much better if he could just have a little distraction.
Peder’s fumbling fingers located his mobile. It took her a few rings to answer.
‘Hello.’
Husky voice, warm memories. Crazy memories. Peder cut off the call. He swallowed hard and ran his hands through his hair. He’d got to pull himself together. This wasn’t the time to lose his grip on real life again. It just wasn’t. He decided to ring Jimmy instead and see how he was doing.
Then Ellen, their assistant, stuck her head round the door.
‘Alex rang and said he wanted you to make sure the media get a photo of the girl to spread around. They didn’t get one yesterday.’
Peder braced himself.
‘Fine, no problem.’
Alex Recht felt under pressure as he assembled his team again on his return from Sara Sebastiansson’s. A pair of size 46 shoeprints belonging to an unidentified individual had been found just where Sara and Lilian were sitting on the train. Apart from that, there was no technical evidence to help the team in its work. Alex hoped the box that had gone off to SKL would give them some more leads.
But the parcel delivered to Sara was extremely alarming. The act was so calculated that it felt like the work of a not entirely healthy mind. What was brewing here, exactly?
‘Fredrika, try to get Gabriel Sebastiansson’s mother to tell you everything – and I mean everything – she knows,’ he said sharply.
Fredrika gave a brief nod and jotted a few words in the notebook
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