‘What do you know about how he spent his free time? I mean, when he wasn’t at school or at home? Did you get the feeling he was scared of anyone?’
‘Samuel’s restlessness, combined with his great experience of violence, meant that he was often in trouble with the police and other authorities. As recently as this spring he was himself attacked and robbed.’ Sofia reached for the ashtray.
‘Why do you think he ran away from home?’
‘When he disappeared, he and his family had just been informed that he was going to be taken into local authority care. I think that was why he decided to take off.’ Sofia stood up. ‘Well, I don’t know about you, but I could do with a cup of coffee now. Can I get you one as well?’
‘Please.’
Sofia went out to reception, and Jeanette heard the whirr of the coffee machine.
Jeanette thought about how peculiar the situation was.
Two fully functional, intelligent adult women discussing the murder of a violent and dysfunctional young man.
They had absolutely nothing in common with his world, yet here they sat.
What was it that was expected of them? That they should find a truth that didn’t exist? Understand something that couldn’t be understood?
Sofia came back with two cups of steaming black coffee and put them down on the desk.
‘I’m sorry I can’t be of more help, but if you give me a few days to look through my files, maybe we could meet again?’
Strange woman, Jeanette thought. It was as if Sofia could read her thoughts. It was both fascinating and – although Jeanette couldn’t quite understand why – frightening.
‘Would you like to? I’d be extremely grateful.’ She smiled and felt how her faith in Sofia just kept growing. ‘If you wouldn’t mind, maybe we could combine business with pleasure and go out for dinner together?’
Jeanette listened to her own words in surprise. Where did the idea of dinner come from? It could easily be misinterpreted as an invitation to intimacy, and that wasn’t the point. Was it?
What am I doing? she thought.
She didn’t usually get this personal. She’d never even asked the girls from her football team to her house, even though she’d known them for ages.
But instead of declining, Sofia leaned forward and looked her in the eye. ‘I think that sounds like an excellent idea. It’s been ages since I had dinner with anyone but myself.’ Sofia paused before going on, still without taking her eyes from Jeanette. ‘Mind you, I am in the middle of renovating the kitchen. But if you haven’t got anything against having a takeaway, I’d be happy for you to come round to my place.’
Jeanette nodded. ‘Shall we say Friday?’
Mariatorget – Sofia Zetterlund’s Office
AFTER SHOWING JEANETTE Kihlberg to the lift Sofia went back into her office. She felt excited, almost happy, and reflected on the fact that she had actually invited Jeanette over to her place for dinner. Was that really such a smart move?
Just because she had felt something for Jeanette didn’t mean that her feelings were reciprocated. And what exactly had she felt? It had been some sort of connection, that much was obvious. A sense of affinity.
But was she actually longing for physical contact with Jeanette?
Sofia thought for a while before concluding that she was. Although she wasn’t sure that that meant anything more than a hug.
Either way, at least she and Jeanette were going to meet in private, and only the future knew if anything was likely to happen. Sofia’s experience of intimacy with women, or men, for that matter, told her it was best to wait and see. Let it happen if it happened.
Like when she was in New York with Lasse.
Enough of that, she thought. Back to work.
She took out her cassettes of Victoria Bergman, put one of them into the tape player and pressed play. As she heard Victoria’s voice she put her notepad in her lap, leaned back and closed her eyes.
… so the cowardly bitch must have known all along, even though she pretended there was nothing funny about waking up alone and finding him in my room with his pants on the floor and yellow stains that smelled.
Sofia tried to harden herself against the intrusive images conveyed by Victoria’s voice. I have to be professional, she thought, I mustn’t let it become personal. Even so, she had a mental image of a father creeping into his daughter’s room.
Getting into her bed.
Sofia could imagine the smell of sex, had trouble breathing and started to feel sick.
Everywhere, the smell of defilement, the sort that could never be washed off.
… and of course I couldn’t shout out because then I’d get a beating and end up crying. The pickled gherkins on the liver paté were already salty enough without my tears so it was better to keep quiet and go along with it and answer the questions. And it was nice to get through and say hello to my cousin who lived in ?stersund, or Borgholm, or anywhere at all. Dad said there were more than enough stupid people to go round, and I always agreed. I went along with it and sat there with skin on my chocolate milk and his hand was there again when Mum wasn’t looking …
Sofia felt that she wasn’t up to hearing any more, but something was stopping her from switching off the tape player.
… and you could run even further and faster but never enough to get a prize to put on the bookshelf next to the picture of the boy who didn’t want to swim once he’d seen the view …
The voice was getting more intense, louder, but it was still just as monotonous.
The frequency and colour changed.
Bass to begin with.
… and only wanted to have a hug but he’d already found someone new to go on holiday with …
Then alto.
… and making a fuss of him when she was going to be allowed to go all the way up to Padjelanta …
Mezzo-soprano, soprano, lighter and lighter.
… and walking twenty kilometres a day and smelling the roseroot which was the only thing that felt exciting because there was something underneath that wasn’t ugly …
Still with her eyes closed she felt across the desk, found the tape player and knocked it to the floor.
Silence.
She opened her eyes and looked down at her notepad.
Two words.
PADJELANTA, ROSEROOT.
What was Victoria talking about?
About the violation of being wrenched from her life when she was least expecting it?
About seeking solace in integrity, becoming untouchable?
Sofia could feel herself fumbling in the dark. She wanted to understand, but it was as if Victoria were in a state of complete disintegration. No matter where Victoria looked, she kept coming eye-to-eye with herself, and if she tried to find herself, she found only a stranger.
Sofia closed her notebook and got ready to go home. She looked at the time. It was twenty to ten, so she must have slept for almost five hours. That would explain why she had a headache.
Gamla Enskede – Kihlberg House