ANNA-GRETA STOOD ALONE ON THE QUAY IN WET, STICKY clothes and felt betrayed. The foam had dirtied her fine dress and her hair was a mess. Admittedly, the fire department had managed to put the fire out, and she ought to be pleased about that, but then everything had gone wrong. When the police and the fire department had left the quay, Blomberg had said that he must regrettably go home immediately—without giving her any further explanation. Then he had kissed her quickly on the cheek and had just rushed off. Since the power had come on again, presumably he meant that she could now manage without him. But the two of them had had such a wonderful evening together and she couldn’t understand why he was suddenly in such a hurry. Oh heavens above, it had turned into such a dismal failure and standing there abandoned in her loneliness she felt totally worthless as a woman. That damned man, one ought to keep one’s distance from men. They always made you unhappy, she thought.
Sad and angry at the same time, she pulled the police tape to one side and went down below deck to fetch her coat. Then she discovered that Blomberg had forgotten his overcoat when he’d left in such a big hurry. Oh well, in that case he ought to come back. She could, of course, simply wait for him, but perhaps it was smarter to take the coat back to him herself. If she went to his home now, he might let her in. Yes, why not, and then they could continue as if nothing had happened. He had mentioned where he lived; wasn’t it somewhere near Kungsholmen?
Cheered up by the thought, she put on her coat and took his coat under her arm. She could phone him first, of course. That same moment she felt his wallet in the coat pocket and couldn’t resist the temptation. There must be an address in there. She eagerly opened his old black leather wallet and started to search. There were some banknotes, a Stockholm travel card for the underground and a Visa card. But she couldn’t find his address. Strange. She was just about to hang the coat up again when a little card fell out of the other pocket. She quickly bent down and picked it up. Yes, it was his picture on a plastic identity card. She put on her glasses and read it. Her eyes widened in horror, and she read it again. It couldn’t be true. A policemen’s association card! His policemen’s association card! Her heart started thumping, and she had to look several times before she could take it in. So that scoundrel had been spying on them! She had nourished a serpent in her bosom (even though it had been really lovely just an hour or so ago).
Feeling exhausted, she put the card back in his pocket and hung the coat on a hanger. Then came the tears, and now she did nothing to stop the flow. Sniffling, she turned off the lights, locked everything, went up on deck and then down onto the quay sobbing all the way. And she stood there outside the police tape for a long time without even buttoning her coat or putting on her shawl, and without the energy to pick up her cell and phone for a taxi. A long time passed before she had at last pulled herself together, dialed the number and ordered a taxi. When the taxi arrived she didn’t even bother to hide the fact that she had been crying. It was getting quite light out now and the morning breeze was coming in, but she didn’t notice and didn’t think about it either. If she had been her usual old self and not completely exhausted, she would certainly have noticed that the mooring ropes had been damaged by the fire. But all the way to Djursholm she sat in the backseat and sniffled and didn’t notice that the wind was picking up.
When the police arrived later in the day to examine the crime scene, they could see the tape from far away. But the barge? No, that had gone.