Zetterberg snapped off a row of Marabou fruit and nut chocolate. She had bought a big bar at the Co-op store at the Central Station before boarding the train. She knew she shouldn't because she was always conscious of her weight, but this was a treat. It went nicely with the coffee she'd bought from the refreshment car in the next wagon. As she savoured the indulgence, trying not to get slivers of chocolate on her immaculately pressed trouser suit, she noticed the royal crest and the words “Purveyor to the Royal Court of Sweden” on the wrapper. They had good taste. Unlike a number of her contemporaries, she was a royalist. That had been the source of a number of early arguments at the Police Academy with Anita Sundström, the lefty republican. Ignorant slut! As far as Zetterberg was concerned, there was no place for officers with Sundström's views in the force. She'd even heard that Sundström's son was living with an immigrant. That just shows what could happen when subversive views were given free rein. This was a Sweden that had to be protected from unacceptable outside influences. That's why she had been quite happy to help in the cover up of Albin Rylander's death. She felt a wave of anger well up inside her as she thought about Sundström. Only another two rows of chocolate managed to restore her equilibrium.
Zetterberg became aware that her phone was ringing. She’d dozed off somewhere after Nässjo. The call was from Szabo. He was reporting in after his interview with Larissa Bjerstedt. She knew that he and Erlandsson weren't happy that she had used the other suspects as an excuse for a weekend away in the capital. Well, they would have to live with that because, quite frankly, she didn't care one jot what they thought. The sooner they realized that, the sooner they'd do things her way.
The call itself wasn't promising. Larissa Bjerstedt had stuck to the story she'd told twenty-one years ago. She had appeared to be on reasonable terms with Ivar Hagblom despite their split, which had been entirely amicable. She could check that out when she talked to Ivar on Monday. Larissa hadn’t been in touch with any of the others for a number of years, though she had once bumped into Lars-Gunnar Lerstorp. And she seemed to have been the only one to remain friendly with Linus Svärd after the murder, but hadn’t seen or heard from him after he’d left Malmö for good a couple of years later. She certainly didn’t know where he was now. The only remark of any real interest was that she indicated that she now believes that Linus was Göran’s killer.
Zetterberg wasn't sure what she had hoped for, but it wasn't this. She so needed Sundström to be wrong! The train glided into Norrköping, and her bitterness almost overwhelmed her. The surroundings were all too familiar. This was where she had wasted herself on her brief marriage to Arne, and then been stuck in a city that had seen her career and love life stall simultaneously. And she had spent all those useless, fruitless, listless years building up the case in her mind against Anita Sundström, whose selfish action had been the cause of her misfortune. But they say revenge is best served cold, and she was not going to miss this chance of dishing hers out.
After the last few months Danny wasn’t afraid of hard graft. Bending down wasn’t difficult, especially as he knew he wouldn’t be beaten up afterwards if he hadn’t put in enough effort or had upset McNaught and his nutcase pals. And by picking the small field of potatoes, he was doing something to repay Leif’s kindness. With the sun on his back, he felt good, even if his body still ached from its recent ravages. The bruises still hadn’t faded, and at some angles he still had the occasional twinge that caught his breath, especially the ache in his chest. But physically he felt better than he had for a long time. Yet he couldn’t help stopping regularly and glancing around to see if anybody was about. He couldn’t strip the fear away and think clearly about what he should do. He mentally measured how far the edge of the wood was from his position in the field just in case he had to make a dash for cover.
He tossed the plant heads to one side after scraping off as much earth from the potatoes as possible before lobbing them into a large box. He wiped the sweat off his brow. Leif had been touched that he’d wanted to give a hand. He indicated that his grandson used to come and help, but he’d turned into a lazy so-and-so. In their fleeting time together, Danny had grown fond of the old man. They had sat outside the previous evening watching the sun going down and had gone through the whisky that Danny had left after his kitchen raid. Leif had produced some old photographs of his family when he was younger. His wife had been sturdy rather than pretty, but he could see the old man’s eyes moisten when he looked at the pictures of her round the farm and with his daughter in her arms. He kept lapsing into Swedish and then would suddenly apologize, though it wasn’t needed. Danny felt a connection he had never had with his own father. And he knew it was going to be hard to leave because this was the sort of place he could rebuild his life, albeit temporarily. But he also knew he had to make his move before Sunday and the arrival of Leif’s daughter. The problem was that he wasn’t sure where in Sweden he actually was. He couldn’t find any maps or an atlas in the house. He had asked Leif in a vague kind of way so as not to alert him, and the farmer had mentioned some names of places close by. They meant nothing to Danny. He hadn’t strayed too far from the farm or the protective covering of the forest, so he wasn’t sure where the nearest main road was, or whether there were any buses. And, of course, he had no money. Jack had had the little they’d gathered together for their escape, and McNaught had found that. He could try and hitch a lift, but that might be dangerous. And where would he ask to go? He guiltily thought about Leif’s battered Volkswagen in the barn. He knew where the keys were kept. That would get him out of here. Then he could just dump it for someone to pick up and return. Leave a note in it with Leif’s name on. But after all that the old man had done for him, it would be such a betrayal. Was there any other way? As he bent down to continue the row, he realized that it was his only option. But when?