FABIAN RISK CLOSED THE door behind him as quietly as he could, pulled off his Converse shoes, and went into the living room. It looked like a bomb had just exploded. Black garbage bags were scattered all over the place, and there were open, half-empty moving boxes everywhere. It was almost four o’clock in the morning, and it was so far into dawn that it was more day than night.
He brushed his teeth and washed up in the kitchen to avoid waking anyone. After spending a few minutes searching for a towel, he gave up and dried off with his shirt before going upstairs.
Sonja was on the very edge of her side of the bed, turned away from him, which was a bad sign. She had still been angry with him when she fell asleep. He cautiously crawled under the comforter. Sonja turned onto her back and took a deep breath, a motion that could be interpreted as an extended hand; it was up to him to accept it.
He found her legs with one hand and carefully groped her thigh. She didn’t react; she was still deep asleep. He led his hand upward, edging closer toward her hips. He quickly realized that she wasn’t wearing any panties. Confident that he had interpreted her reactions correctly, he pulled the comforter off and spread her legs. She didn’t help him, but didn’t resist either. He dove down and ran his tongue along the inside of her thigh as lightly as he could, focusing on one side and then the other. He let his tongue get closer each time.
Her breathing started to change. He licked her labia and she pressed her crotch up against his face. He replied to her excitement by entering her with a finger as he continued to pleasure her with his tongue. Her body twisted and turned, and a few minutes later she buried her face in the pillow, moaning as she orgasmed.
She pushed his head away once she had recovered. Her breathing slowed as if she had never woken up. Fabian felt the frustration throbbing inside him, but he knew there was no point in trying and so closed his eyes.
*
THE IMAGES HE HAD repressed for so long were flying straight at him like a volleyball. He remembered one gym class where everyone was screaming his name to jump up and hit the ball. He whacked it as hard as he could. Claes, on the opposing team, was hit, and his glasses broke; blood streamed from his nose and everyone laughed, even the gym teacher. Fabian laughed too. Jörgen came over to give him a high five. Nice one, Fabbe! And he reciprocated. Claes cried and tried to go home, but the teacher kept him there. Everyone has to shower after gym class! They all headed to the white-tiled shower room. What the hell are you staring at? Claes’s pleading gaze, and his betrayal as he pretended to get soap in his eyes.
*
“HI, DAD! MOM SAID you were super tired and needed sleep.”
Fabian came down the stairs and took Matilda into his arms. The memories had haunted him all night. Ripped out of context, they had distorted into increasingly incomprehensible nightmares. He’d woken, drenched in sweat, to discover it was already nine thirty.
“Matilda, go brush your teeth so we can get going,” said Sonja.
“We’re going to Denmark!”
Fabian released Matilda, who edged her way past him on the stairs. He went to the kitchen, where Sonja was cleaning up breakfast.
“Good morning. Did you sleep well?”
Fabian nodded.
“As you heard, we’re going to the Louisiana Museum in Denmark today.”
“Oh — that’ll be nice. Do they have an exhibit on?”
“Theo doesn’t want to come.”
“Why not?”
Sonja shrugged. “Apparently he doesn’t want to do anything at all if you’re not there.”
“Sonja, no one wishes more than I do that —”
“I know. You have to do it.” She looked straight into his eyes. “But if Niva so much as thinks of calling again, you’ll have to live here on your own.”
“Honey, it’s not what you think at all.” He walked up to her and took her hands in his own. “She was only calling because —”
“You have no idea what I think.” She pulled her hands away and started loading the dishwasher.
Fabian knew exactly what Sonja thought, and he knew that he would never, ever be able to change it. After several failed attempts he had given up all hope of trying to tell her what had really happened. Or, most importantly, what hadn’t happened.
“Sophie Calle.”
“Sorry, what...?”
“You asked about the exhibit at the Louisiana. Sophie Calle is that Frenchwoman who made art out of a break-up email she was sent from her now ex-boyfriend.”
*
TUVESSON, MOLANDER, LILJA, AND Klippan were already reviewing the case details when Fabian joined them. Judging by the nearly empty fruit bowl, Fabian guessed they had been there for a while already. He sat down in an empty chair, sensing immediately that the atmosphere was heavy and serious — something had happened.
“Now that you’ve finally decided to join us, perhaps an explanation is in order?” said Tuvesson.
Everyone had turned to him with curious expressions. Fabian realized that he was that something.
“I’m sorry, I’m not sure I understand.”
“I’m talking about your little solo tour last night. Evidently you have a number of ideas about the case that, for some reason, you chose to keep from all of us, isn’t that right?”
“I wanted to wait until I had more to go on, until I was sure.”
“Fabian, as I’ve said many times, I don’t know how you all work up in Stockholm,” said Tuvesson, pushing two pieces of nicotine gum out of their crinkly packet. “But here, we work as a team. It doesn’t make a difference whether we are sure or unsure.” She stuck the gum in her mouth and chewed as if the nicotine couldn’t work fast enough.
Fabian felt like he was at school, getting a talking-to in front of the rest of the class. “I thought I had a solid idea of the motive, but unfortunately it doesn’t hold up.”
“Or maybe it does.”
“And since we don’t have anything else to go on...” said Lilja.
Fabian realized it was too late to get out of this, so he stood up and walked to the whiteboard wall, drawing a circle around the picture of Jörgen. “I believe that in some ways, Jörgen Pålsson got exactly what he deserved.” He saw the others exchange glances out of the corner of his eye. “I don’t know what he was like later in life, but when we were at school he was the worst sort of bully. His specialty was hitting with his hands — or rather, his fists.”
“And why are you only telling us this now?” said Tuvesson.
“I wasn’t one of his victims. I did what everyone else did; I looked away and tried to pretend nothing was happening. I had almost forgotten that it happened — it only came back to me last night that he used to beat someone up in this very shower room.” He drew an arrow toward one of the images, which showed the sawed-off hands on the tile floor.
“Who did he assault?” asked Tuvesson.
“Claes Mällvik.” He circled Claes on the enlarged class picture. The others came up to have a look.
“The only kid with glasses,” said Lilja.
“I suppose that’s all it takes,” said Klippan, moving to take the last pear from the fruit bowl.
“So you’re suggesting that his murder could be an act of revenge?” said Tuvesson. Fabian nodded.
“Would he attack just anyone back then?” asked Lilja.
“At first they picked on several kids, but in the end they settled for Mällvik.”
“They? It wasn’t just Jörgen Pålsson?” said Tuvesson.
“No. It was Glenn Granqvist, too.” Fabian circled Glenn in the class picture. “They were thick as thieves, and Glenn always did exactly what Jörgen told him to.”
“Did he have a specialty as well?” Molander asked.
“Kicking.”
“So if your theory is correct, he’s in danger too.”
Fabian nodded. “I was hoping that the Peugeot in Denmark belonged to Mällvik.”
“But it doesn’t,” said Molander.
“No, the registered owner is a Rune Schmeckel. As far as I know, there was no Schmeckel in our class.”
“We’ll have to look at that as another clue moving forward,” said Tuvesson, draining the last few drops of coffee from her mug. “Irene, find out all you can about Mällvik and Schmeckel. Klippan, how’s it going with the rest of the class?”
“So-so, to be completely honest. The whole country is off soaking up rays over the holidays, so we haven’t even been able to get hold of an official class list.”
“Fabian must have one...” said Tuvesson.
“Unfortunately, all I’ve found is my yearbook from ninth grade. I can check with Lina Pålsson to see if she has one.”
Klippan laughed and grasped Fabian’s shoulder. “I imagine you can, but I’ve already taken care of it.”
“What did she say?”
“She doesn’t have one. But at least I got a few names and numbers, most of which seem to be from the Cretaceous Era.”
“She didn’t give you any other information?”
“No... Like what?”
“I was just wondering if she’d thought of something else since I talked to her,” said Fabian, realizing that he was about to paint his way into a corner. “The school must have a class list, I presume?”
“You would think,” said Klippan. “But according to the secretary, their records don’t go back further than 1988 — at least when it comes to class lists and that sort of thing.”
“Why 1988?” asked Lilja.
“They installed their computer system that year. Prior to 1988, class lists were stored as mimeographs in a physical file.”
“And those no longer exist, of course.”
“They do actually. The papers were sent to the city archive long ago.”
“Have you been to the archive?” Tuvesson asked.
“No, but it’s on my list.”
“Good,” said Tuvesson, turning to Fabian. “And I want to see you in my office in five minutes.”
*
TUVESSON’S OFFICE LOOKED NOTHING like how Fabian had imagined it. After his ride in her smoke-impregnated car he’d expected anything but this sparsely furnished room with a large, neat desk right in the centre, a set of leather furniture in one corner, and a few framed posters from the Lund Konsthall’s collections on the white walls.
He scanned the row of spines on one of the bookshelves. Besides a multitude of reference books, there was a solid collection of crime novels — everything from Josephine Tey’s The Daughter of Time to Graham Greene’s The Third Man.
He walked over to the window to check out the view. On the other side of the highway he could see the Helsingborgs Dagblad building, and a few kilometres past that was Fredriksdal School. He tried to figure out which of all the red-brick structures it was, but it was too distant and was hidden by closer buildings. Fabian looked at the clock on the wall. Tuvesson was one and a half minutes late, and he wondered if this was on purpose. Another thirty seconds went by before she arrived with two freshly purchased lattes, which she placed on the desk.
She smelled like smoke and Fabian wondered if his excursion to Denmark was to blame for her seemingly increased dependence on nicotine.
“Have you tried the coffee here yet?”
“Unfortunately I have,” said Fabian, sitting down in the visitor’s chair.
“That machine cost a small fortune. It must have thirty different buttons, displays, and God knows what else. The only thing it doesn’t have is good coffee. For that, you have to go to Café Bar Skåne on Bergavägen.”
Fabian tasted the beverage and could only agree that it was very close to the perfect latte, not too warm or too milky.
“Fabian, what didn’t you understand in the meeting yesterday?” Her smile had vanished.
“I’m sorry? I don’t know if I —”
“What part of teamwork did I make unclear?”
“Nothing.”
“Apparently it was something, since you still don’t seem to have grasped it.” She went silent and left him time to respond, but he didn’t know what to say. “I appreciate that you were thrown right into this case without any real introduction to the way I want us to work. I can also grasp the fact that we hardly know each other, which can excuse quite a bit. But I had hoped, or rather I had expected, that you would take the opportunity to explain everything that you knew about this case in the meeting today. But you didn’t. Even when we spoke on the phone last night, you said you were on your way home, but you weren’t, were you?”
How does she know? Fabian thought.
“You went back to the gas station. Why?”
“I found more reason to believe that the car is linked to the perpetrator, and I wanted to make sure that he couldn’t move it from the station.”
“How did you do that?”
“I removed one of the back tires and handed it over to the store.”
It seemed to take Tuvesson a while to figure out what he had just told her. “You’re telling me that you took off the tire and gave it to the gas station attendant?”
“Yes. She promised to give me a call if anyone comes looking for it.”
It looked like Tuvesson was having a hard time deciding how to react. They were at a crossroads. No matter which path she chose, it would end up affecting their working relationship in the future. “Okay. Let’s hope he leaves the car alone until the Danes get their thumbs out of their asses.”
“Have you been in contact with them yet?”
Tuvesson nodded. “Before I forget, here’s your access card.” She pushed the plastic card across the table to Fabian. “The code is 5618. Okay?”
Fabian nodded, took the card, and left the room.
*
“DID YOU GET A SMACKDOWN?”
Fabian stopped and stuck his head around the door of Irene Lilja’s office. “A little.”
“I’m sure you deserved it. I actually don’t like female bosses, but just so you know — this one, she’s good. If I had been in her shoes I wouldn’t have let you get anywhere near this investigation.”
“But fortunately you’re not.”
“Nope, I’m not,” she said. “Come in, I have a present for you.”
Fabian walked into her office, which was the exact opposite of Tuvesson’s. The small room was filled with teetering piles of stuff so high he found himself wondering if they had been glued together so they wouldn’t fall over. The window was covered in an orangey-yellow Indian fabric that had gold elephants and small mirrors stitched on it. An unrolled sleeping bag lay on a mat in the corner. One wall looked like a giant bulletin board, full of taped-up pictures and notes that were connected by strange symbols and arrows running in different directions. Lilja sat right in the middle of the room at an undersized desk.
“Why wouldn’t you want me working on the case?” said Fabian.
Lilja gave a laugh.
“Isn’t it obvious? Tuvesson is letting you work because she thinks you’re sitting on valuable information. But there’s nothing that makes you any less of a suspect than the others in the class — besides Mällvik, who is your theory.”
“You’re absolutely right,” said Fabian as he searched for something to fix his eyes on. “You said something about a present?” Lilja lit up and clicked her mouse. A printer quickly started humming.
“There.” She nodded at the printer, which was hidden among books and binders.
Fabian pulled out the paper as carefully as he could to avoid toppling the piles. He glanced through the document. “Glenn Granqvist?”
“Jörgen Pålsson’s right-hand man, if you’re to be believed. There are only three people with that name: one lives in Älvsbyn and one in Örebro, so I threw all my eggs into the third basket, in Ödåkra. He doesn’t seem to be God’s most gifted creation. Last time he did homework was in the ninth grade; he plodded his way through compulsory military service and will soon be celebrating his twenty-five-year anniversary as a truck driver at a construction supply warehouse in Åstorp.”
“Why am I not surprised in the least?” said Fabian, making a move to leave. “I’ll see if I can get hold of him. Maybe you and I can have lunch later?”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“If you can find anything like that on Rune Schmeckel, I’ll even consider paying.”
Lilja flashed him a smile and Fabian knew exactly what she was thinking.
“It’s okay,” he said. “You can still keep suspecting that it’s me.”
*
FABIAN SAT DOWN IN Hugo Elvin’s fancy futuristic chair, which he had firmly decided was truly comfortable, and started dialling Glenn’s number.
“I see you’ve made yourself at home.”
Fabian spun around to see Molander standing in his temporary office.
“I wanted to invite you and your family over for a barbecue tonight.”
“Today?”
“I understand it’s short notice, but if you don’t have plans I think it will be fun. Everyone else is coming. It’s a beautiful Friday with not a cloud in the sky...”
“That sounds really nice. Let me just check with my wife.”
“Sure. No problem. Hope to see you later,” Molander said, and went on his way. Fabian wondered if he was being paranoid or if he was actually a potential suspect in Molander’s eyes too. Was that the real reason for the invitation? Regardless of Molander’s intentions, he had to go to the barbecue.
Five minutes later, Molander came back with a full cup of coffee. “Well? Have you gotten the go-ahead from the missus yet?”
“No, but you can count me in.”
“Great,” he said, about to leave.
“Hey, listen... What’s Hugo Elvin like? The guy whose office I’m using.”
“Hugo...” Molander chuckled. “...is impossible to describe. You have to experience him in person, but if I were in your position, I wouldn’t mess with his stuff too much, especially the settings on the chair. Elvin isn’t the type you want to provoke if you don’t have to. Anyway, see you tonight.” With that, he disappeared.
Fabian lowered his eyes to all the knobs he had already twisted on the chair, realizing it was too late for him. He would have to deal with Hugo’s wrath when Elvin came back to the office.
He picked up the phone again to call Glenn. Six rings later, he heard Robert De Niro’s voice in the receiver.
“You talking to me?”