Ebba really did have the art of wrapping her grandfather round her little finger down pat – Eric was well aware of that. But as it happened, he had nothing against that.
This time Olle hadn’t wanted to go home after a concert and Martin had been busy with the artist, so Martin had called Ebba and asked her to pick up her brother.
And Ebba had called Granddad.
Who was now smiling wryly at the thought that he could have been at home with a good book and a Cognac instead of trying to wind his way through the building site that was Slussen.
Eric Titus pulled his Maserati onto Kornhamnstorg but was unable to park in front of the main door as he usually did. Instead, there were three police cars there. The aggressively flashing blue lights illuminated the Stockholm night and the pale faces of the officers. Eric pulled over to the kerb and stopped outside the bureau de change – far too close to the pedestrian crossing.
‘Wait here,’ he said to Olle, going over to the police.
‘It’s cordoned off,’ said one of them even as Eric was still approaching.
‘My son lives here with his family, and I’ve got my grandson in the car. What’s happened?’
The officer looked at Eric and seemed to be thinking over what to say. The family ties and Eric’s sharp suit decided matters.
‘A dead body has been found in the stairwell. Where does your son live?’
‘Top floor.’
‘Then it was probably his wife who found it.’
‘Where is she?’
‘Don’t know. Up there, I suppose.’
‘Can she come out?’
‘As soon as they’re done.’
Eric called Sara, who explained to the police that she was going down to see her son in the square outside, and then she emerged from the door around a minute later. Eric’s face radiated anxiety as she came towards him.
‘Where’s Olle?’ said Sara.
‘In the car,’ said Eric, pointing to it.
‘Is he angry?’
‘That probably depends on whether you reported that popstar to the police or not.’
‘Something else came up.’
‘It was very shocking to see the blue lights outside your door and be told they’d found a dead body.’
‘Yes, it’s awful,’ Sara sighed. ‘And now there’s a full crime scene investigation going on up there.’
‘Can you stay here tonight? Otherwise we’ve got lots of space.’
‘We’ll see.’
‘What’s happened? Is Scam there again?’
A group of inebriated youths had stopped next to Sara and Eric and were pointing at the patrol cars.
‘No,’ said Sara, who was almost tempted to satisfy the curiosity of these passing strangers.
‘Come on, let’s go and ask them,’ said one of the guys.
‘For fuck’s sake, no. I’ve been smoking – they might frisk us,’ his friend replied.
‘For asking whether Scam is there? Seriously?’ said one of the girls in the group.
‘Let’s head to Wirströms instead!’
‘Why isn’t Martin here?’ said Eric when the partygoers had disappeared into the distance.
‘He’s not picking up his mobile – he’s out with a superstar so his family can’t disturb him.’
‘Have you texted?’
‘Oh yes. I said “Answer!”. But it’s not like he’d be able to do much if he actually came.’
‘He’d support you. How are you feeling?’
‘Good. Angry as hell,’ Sara said curtly.
‘You found a dead body.’
‘Outside our bloody door.’
‘Who was it?’
Sara shrugged.
‘Is it a neighbour?’ Eric continued. ‘Or some junkie who died of an overdose? If you found the body in the stairwell, that is.’
‘It was a man I met the other day.’
‘What? Someone you knew?’ Her father-in-law sounded shocked.
‘A former German terrorist who’s been living here under a false identity for decades.’
‘What was he doing here? How did he die?’
‘Tortured to death.’
Eric stood there in silence for a long time, just looking at Sara.
‘Tortured to death,’ he said at last. ‘And someone left him outside your front door?’
‘Yes.’
‘Sara, what is all this?’
‘What’s what?’
‘Someone you just met is murdered and dumped outside your door. What if it’s you next time. Or your family? Olle?’
A pang of guilty conscience. Eric didn’t know anything about the gunshots into the apartment. If he had done, he would presumably have reported her to social services. The impulse to protect the family was almost greater in him than in Sara – which made her feel like a very bad mother.
There were lots of types of bad mothers. Self-absorbed mothers, angry mothers and tired mothers. But mothers who exposed their children to mortal danger probably numbered just one. Sara.
‘It’s just a warning,’ she said, and she heard how hollow that sounded.
‘“Just a warning”? Sara, your son can stay the night with us. And then you need to review your security here. And drop whatever it is you’re doing. Do you know who’s responsible for this?’
‘A former terrorist who wants to conceal their identity.’
‘How on earth have you managed to get dragged into this?’
‘I think it’s connected to Uncle Stellan and the spy accusations against him.’
‘You’ve never said exactly what happened at the Bromans’ that night.’
‘There’s nothing to tell.’
‘Those burns tell a different story,’ Eric objected.
‘They come with the territory.’
‘This isn’t the Sara I know, the Sara that Martin married.’
‘It’s the Sara he’s married to now.’
‘I’m just thinking of the kids.’
Sara knew that. The grandchildren. The progeny. The ones who would continue Eric Titus’ name and life’s work for all eternity. No, perhaps that was unfair. If nothing else, caring about his life’s work meant that he also cared about his family. Sara knew that Eric would do anything for Olle and Ebba. It didn’t matter if his true motivation was to propagate his genes.
‘Martin isn’t answering my calls either. I’ll take Olle home.’
Judging by his tone, the matter was settled.
Sara went over to the car and tapped on the window. Behind the glass a very sulky Olle was glowering at his mother. Sara opened the door.
‘Olle, do you want to go to Granddad’s? Something has happened in our building, and it’s going to be a few hours before the police are done.’
‘Have you reported Scam?’ said Olle.
‘No. Not yet. What did he say about the envelope?’
‘Dad talked to him.’
‘Good.’
‘But he could have been really pissed off. Do you get what you might have messed up for me?’ Olle exclaimed resentfully.
‘It wasn’t me who asked a fourteen-year-old to look after my drugs.’
‘If you report him then I’m never coming home again.’
Sara let out a deep sigh. Being a police officer and the mother of a teenager was no easy combination.
‘OK,’ she said.
Eric came over to the car. Instead of a hug, he looked sternly at Sara before getting into the driver’s seat and starting the engine, as if to emphasise his previous exhortations. Sara closed the passenger-side door and Olle turned towards his grandfather. The Maserati sounded like a tiger on steroids as it roared into life. Of all the grown-up toys men played with, a car that sounded like that was one of the few things she could wrap her head around.
Sara watched Eric’s car as it pulled away from the kerbside and the red tail lights disappeared into the distance. Then she turned back to her own building and saw the blue lights from the police cars shimmering across the façade.
Right there and then, she couldn’t help but wonder what she was playing at.