ELLEN

1.10 P.M.

They walked the last stretch down Odengatan. The heat was hard to handle; she didn’t know why she hadn’t gotten used to it by now. Ellen had parked in a bus lane as it was impossible to find a parking space anywhere close to Sara’s apartment.

So, she’d been right. It must have been Patrik whom she’d met at Hanna’s house. She and Alexandra were apparently living with the same man.

‘I don’t know how he copes,’ said Andreas, rubbing the top of his shaved head. ‘I find it hard enough keeping up with one wife.’

‘Maybe wives are easier to handle when there are several of them,’ said Ellen with a shrug. She really wanted to be understanding.

Andreas laughed. ‘If that was the case, we’d probably all be living like that, don’t you think?’

‘No, I think you’re stuck in norm thinking. Who knows, maybe they don’t get how we can live in monogamous relationships. The modern family can look any number of different ways.’

‘So you mean you think you could live in that kind of relationship?’ He laughed.

‘Yeah, why not?’ Ellen knew that she wouldn’t really want to at all — the jealousy would totally eat her up, but she was trying to see beyond herself and be open-minded.

‘You’d never be able to do it.’ He shook his head.

‘Why not?’

‘Because women who live like that become like sisters.’

‘I see, and you know all about it, do you? So? That sounds great.’

‘But you’re not a sister person.’

Ellen stopped and looked at him. ‘What do you mean by that?’ She felt her cheeks starting to grow hot.

‘Take it easy, it’s just the way you are. There’s nothing wrong with it. Women feel threatened by you, and you feel threatened by women.’

‘Just because I work better with men?’ She continued walking.

‘No, I’m not just talking about work. How many female friends do you actually have?’

Ellen was not appreciating this analysis of her and didn’t reply.

‘I’m no expert, and perhaps it’s a normal reaction if you’ve lost your sister, but you feel threatened by Elsa, even though she’s dead.’

‘Okay, that’s enough, thanks!’ They had arrived at Sara’s entry. Ellen angrily entered the code and stepped into the darkness. ‘I’ll take the stairs.’

‘Ellen, stop it, please. Take the lift with me. I’m sorry.’

Ellen stood there, waiting for the elevator.

‘Did you bring the cinnamon buns?’ he asked.

She nodded reluctantly.

There was barely room for both of them in the elevator with all the equipment.

‘You know you can’t mention this stuff about polygamy to her sister. Maybe she doesn’t know diddly, and it could be it doesn’t have anything to do with her sister.’

Andreas zipped his mouth with his fingers.

‘What’s your guess?’ asked Ellen.

‘A three-room. They bought it four years ago and thought it was horribly expensive then, now they’re grossly satisfied that it’s risen in value — they can’t believe their luck. They’re not just millionaires, they’re multi-millionaires, they’ve made money just living there and now everything’s taken care of. They’re going to buy a house that they can live in till they die.’

Ellen laughed. ‘My God, the anxiety!’

‘Anxiety? Isn’t it what you want, too?’

‘No, I don’t really want that. You’ve got to stop thinking that you know all about me. I want a family and that whole package, but I really don’t want to live in the same house the rest of my life. It would feel like life had already ended. Don’t you think?’

The elevator opened.

‘No,’ said Andreas. ‘I can’t imagine anything better.’

They rang the doorbell. ‘Good thing we’re not married, then. Ellipse table or Myran chairs?’

‘Both. Of course.’

‘Rabbit children’s lamp or bird lamp that lights up?’

‘Lamps usually light up.’

‘Ha ha, very funny.’

‘Bird. Bookshelf or no books at all?’

‘No books. Wine chiller or bathtub?’

‘Both.’

‘We’ll see.’

When Sara opened the door, she looked surprisingly fresh for someone who’d lost a sister only a few days ago, but what did Ellen know about sisterhood. Apparently nothing, according to Andreas. She immediately cursed herself for judging Sara according to her appearance and wondered self-critically how she would have thought about it if Liv had had a brother instead. But even so, her thoughts continued in the same vein. Maybe because looks were so much easier to observe and draw conclusions about. Her hair looked freshly washed and blow-dried, and she had put on a bit too much make-up. The powder was like a thick cake on her skin. She had sprayed on way too much perfume, and Ellen had to stop herself from explaining that scents weren’t transmitted through the TV screen.

‘Come in,’ said Sara, and they stepped into the light-filled hallway. It was all very orderly. Maybe she was in the stage of denial, if there was such a thing. Grief could look very different in different people, and Ellen never stopped being surprised at its various forms. Grief was almost more palpable when it wasn’t being lived out.

They walked down a long corridor that led through to the kitchen and a large living room. On the TV stand was a photograph of Liv and a candle, plus two bouquets. Ellen had to restrain herself from going over and reading the cards.

‘Would you like anything?’ Sara asked.

‘A little coffee would be nice — we’ve brought buns,’ said Ellen as Andreas checked the lighting and tried to find a good place to do the interview.

‘Oh, you didn’t need to do that. Otto is asleep, so if we hurry, we can get it done before he wakes up. That would be easiest, I think.’

‘Where’s your husband?’ asked Ellen.

‘At work. He works every other weekend. Because of course you don’t take time off just because someone in the family has died.’ She put the cups out on the table with a bang.

Ellen wondered how to word it, but decided to get right to the point. ‘Sara, I’d like to ask you a question before we start the recording.’

‘Absolutely,’ said Sara, but sounded more uncertain than she tried to let on.

They sat down on the white Myran chairs around the elliptical table, and Andreas gave Ellen a triumphant look, which she ignored. Sometimes, they were forced to amuse themselves with little games to try to lighten up the heavy work.

Ellen told Sara about the email tip she’d received earlier.

Sara got up quickly. ‘What are you trying to insinuate? That it was Liv’s fault that she was murdered or something? What do you mean “loose-living”? Is someone trying to say she’s a prostitute? Who sent that email?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Ellen. ‘A lot of people choose to remain anonymous when they send in tips. But it must have been someone who knew Liv. Could it be an old boyfriend? Do you have any idea who it could be?’

Sara shook her head.

‘Do you think there’s any truth whatsoever in what it says? The person in question claimed that Liv had been assaulted, is that true?’ She tried to make her voice gentle.

‘What if these kinds of rumours start spreading about Liv? This person might have sent the same email to other journalists?’ Sara fetched the coffee and poured it into the cups. Sat down and let her shoulders droop. ‘I want to give a different picture of Liv. We’re a normal family, and Liv was a wonderful person.’

Ellen leant back in the chair. ‘Tell us about it.’

‘I think she might have been assaulted in a previous relationship.’ Sara thought for a few seconds before she continued. ‘She often had scratches and bruises on her body, and she always had lame excuses that were so obvious somehow. Despite that, I didn’t do anything about it. She could be so convincing. You know, when you hear a lie often enough, and you want it to be true, you end up almost believing the story.’

Ellen nodded and wondered why Sara hadn’t mentioned this when they’d last met. ‘What did the injuries look like?’

‘She had bruises on her throat. She said she was going to get it checked out, as if it were an illness. Sometimes strange scratches on her arms. She got this deep gash on her cheek that turned into a scar. She went and checked if she could have it removed.’

‘How did she explain the gash?’

‘She had so many rationalisations. I don’t even remember if I tried to get a sensible answer.’

‘Do you know where she went when she sought medical help?’

‘Yes, actually, though it wasn’t a doctor in that way. She was going to get the scar removed, so it was more cosmetic. I went along with her because I thought it was a little exciting, and because Liv felt unsure. It was all so secretive — she was afraid that people would think she was having plastic surgery or using Botox or something like that.’

‘Do you remember the name of the doctor?’

‘No.’

‘Was it a man or a woman?’

‘A man, because we talked about how hot he was. He was so nice, and we both had a little crush on him and argued about which one of us he would choose. It started as a joke, but then Liv got sore at me. All I said was that I thought he’d choose me.’ Sara blinked a few times. ‘It was only a joke, and doctors aren’t that hot anyway once they take their coats off. They’re just good-looking when they’re in their element.’ She shrugged. ‘I think so, anyway.’

Ellen agreed. It was like that with most professions.

‘Besides, I’m married, so she was welcome to him.’ Sara looked away and wiped her eyes.

‘Was it possibly the City Clinic you went to?’

‘Uh, yes.’ Sara looked at her with surprise.

‘Who knows, maybe she did get him? When was this, did you say?’ Ellen took her phone out of her bag and went onto the City Clinic website, feeling her pulse rising. She went to the tab Our Staff. ‘Was it any of them?’ She handed the phone to Sara. There was a group photo from when City Clinic had celebrated its ten-year anniversary. Two dozen employees stood in lines, like in an old class photo.

Sara looked carefully at the picture for a few seconds before she answered.

‘It’s the fifth man from the right. At the top.’

Ellen looked at the picture again. It was definitely Patrik Bosängen.