Hidden in snow the are m.., p.14
Hidden in Snow (The Åre Murders), page 14
Her calm, experienced voice puts across the message much more effectively. Daniel feels the sweat trickling down his spine from the nape of his neck.
A hand is waving at the back of the room.
“Apparently it was left to the girl’s parents to contact Missing People—why didn’t the police turn to them right from the start?” the journalist demands indignantly.
Daniel can’t understand what point he’s making. The police weren’t ignoring Missing People, they just needed to complete their analysis first. This guy is making it sound as if they were guilty of gross misconduct.
“Could it have made a difference?” the man goes on. “Could you have found the girl alive if Missing People had been involved from the outset?”
Daniel looks up at the ceiling and sighs. It is an impossible question; is this guy trying to blame him for Amanda’s death? He leans forward again.
“Hindsight is a wonderful thing.”
He tries not to sound defensive, and glances at his watch.
How much longer is this going to go on?
“Will you be closing down Åre?” asks a man from a national TV channel.
“We have no plans to do so,” Birgitta answers.
He’s not giving up.
“Is it safe to let families travel to Åre to celebrate Christmas when there’s a killer on the loose?”
Birgitta has had enough. “No comment,” she snaps.
After brief concluding remarks, she gets to her feet. The press conference is finally over.
Daniel follows the others through the side door, dripping with sweat.
43
Mimi and Kalle are watching TV in the living room. They were treated to takeaway pizza for dinner, then settled in front of the new version of The Lion King, which is a big favorite. Lena can hear them from the kitchen, laughing at some funny lines. Children have the ability to detach from the seriousness of a situation.
They know that their big sister is gone, but right now they are absorbed in the movie.
Lena can neither eat nor watch TV. Instead she wanders from room to room, adjusting the red Christmas cloth on the kitchen table, nipping a few wilting leaves off a poinsettia, taking a glass out of the cupboard above the sink. Then she stands there wondering why she has a glass in her hand. It is several minutes before she remembers that she was going to pour herself some water.
Why? She isn’t thirsty.
Fear and suppressed panic drive her on; she can’t keep still. It is taking all her strength to hold it together in front of the children rather than scream uncontrollably.
Harald isn’t home, he went out in the car several hours ago.
“I need some fresh air,” he’d said, jangling the car keys. “I can’t just sit here.”
Lena has no idea whether this is a good thing or a bad thing, whether she wants him to stay with her or if it’s better for him to be somewhere else. When he isn’t here she feels upset and abandoned. When he is here she can’t bear to see her own pain reflected in his eyes.
Ludde pads along behind her like a shadow when she leaves the kitchen. Maybe he understands that something is wrong. The sound of his claws on the wooden floor follows her up the stairs and into the bedroom. Mechanically she puffs up a pillow, straightens the pink blanket. Then she gathers it up and throws it on the floor.
What does it matter whether the blanket is neat and tidy when Amanda is never coming back?
Lena goes into her daughter’s room. She curls up on the bed, buries her face in one of Amanda’s tops, inhaling the scent that still lingers.
Three days have passed since she saw Amanda for the last time, though she didn’t realize it then. The pain is sharp and intense. She feels as if someone has stuck a knife in her heart.
Ludde places both his front paws on the bed. Lena lets him jump up and lie down beside her. He isn’t allowed on the beds, but it no longer matters. He wags his tail a few times, then rests his head on her shoulder.
She feels the warmth of his body as her tears drip onto his soft fur.
44
Ebba is lying in the double bed in her parents’ room with the covers pulled up to her chin. She is desperate to see her mother. Both she and Ebba’s father are on their way back from Stockholm.
Ebba has spoken to them several times since the news about Amanda’s death came out, but it’s not the same as having them home.
The news has spread quickly via social media during the course of the day. Messages have poured in from classmates and the rest of the school. Everyone knows that Ebba and Amanda were best friends. They assume that she will be able to fill them in on all the details.
She hasn’t replied to a single one.
Her phone buzzes. The name on the display makes her feel even worse. It is Lasse, their adviser.
Will he get mad if she doesn’t talk to him?
She realizes she ought to answer, but she can’t do it. Instead she stares at the screen until he cancels the call.
Yucky Lasse—that’s what Amanda used to call him.
Ebba pushes her phone under the pillow so she doesn’t have to look at it.
The TV is on with the volume turned up high; silence is too difficult. That’s when thoughts of Amanda come crowding in. She can’t take in the fact that her best friend is dead, that they’ll never see each other again.
The evening news has started. Suddenly she is aware that they are talking about the murder. A photo of Amanda appears on the screen, standing on a shore in the sunshine.
Ebba can’t breathe. She was there that day. She was the one who took the picture on her phone when they went swimming in the lake last summer.
When Amanda was still alive.
Every sound fades away. Each breath is a struggle, becoming painful and shallow. She can’t get any air.
She feels an increasing pressure on her chest, as if she can’t get oxygen.
Her lungs are burning.
Ebba thumps her chest on the left side repeatedly in an effort to keep her heart beating; she is convinced she is going to die, just like Amanda.
Eventually she is able to breathe regularly again.
The panic attack is over.
When Ebba opens her eyes, she sees images from a press conference on TV. Two women and two men are sitting at a table on a podium. She recognizes one of them—it’s Daniel, the detective who was here on Friday.
She stares at his face, makes it her fixed point, and concentrates hard to stop the panic from overwhelming her again.
Her hands are still shaking.
She buries her head in the pillow and wishes once again that her mom were here. She needs to hear her voice, telling Ebba that everything will be okay.
If only she had the courage to tell her mom what happened.
It seems unreal to think that it’s only a few days since she and Amanda sat talking during recess.
The memory of that conversation on the bench outside school during a cigarette break still haunts her, but right now she is in the same situation as Amanda was, wondering what to do.
There is no one she can talk to.
45
Hanna is lying on the sofa in the living room with a book she can’t concentrate on. It’s about the #MeToo movement in New York. She chose it from the bookshelf but hasn’t gotten past page fifteen, even though the topic is close to her heart and the title has been on the bestseller lists for a long time. The news of Amanda’s body being found is crowding in on her thoughts.
It is six thirty. She has no desire to cook dinner. Her phone pings as she reaches for the remote to switch on the TV.
Thanks for the chat yesterday. A group of us are going to Supper this evening—want to join us? Karro x
It takes Hanna a few seconds to realize this is the Karro she met during the search with Missing People.
What is Supper?
A quick google gives her the answer: it’s a popular restaurant in the middle of Åre, with a good score on TripAdvisor. The home page shows attractive pictures of South American food in bright colors.
Her instinctive reaction is to say no. It’s nice of Karro to ask, but she can’t cope with being around other people at the moment.
Then it’s as if she hears her sister’s voice: You can’t sit at home, grieving over Christian. He doesn’t deserve it.
No, he doesn’t. For the first time since she arrived in Åre, Hanna is more angry than upset.
She hasn’t replied to his message about the ruined clothes, and he hasn’t sent any more. She has no regrets—he deserves it after what he did. How could he be in a relationship behind her back?
She still can’t get her head around the fact that he lied like that.
Her gaze is drawn to the cover of the book, the title emblazoned in red: She Said. Clearly there are plenty of male bastards out there.
Why did she fall for Christian in the first place?
She pulls a cushion onto her lap and settles down in the corner of the sofa. To be honest he isn’t her type at all; he’s too smooth and polished for her taste. The first time they met, at a party organized by one of her few childhood friends, he came across as decent and well mannered. Hanna described him to Lydia as a mother-in-law’s dream.
And yet she was charmed by his persistence when he showed up with roses and champagne. She was flattered when he refused to give up, even though she usually finds that kind of behavior over the top, bordering on stalking.
She had never dated someone so good looking, someone who fit her parents’ template so perfectly. Maybe that made him more interesting?
Her mother had always loathed Hanna’s previous boyfriends—not that she took many of them home. She had grown tired of being told that neither she nor they were good enough.
Life with Christian became so easy Hanna simply allowed herself to be swept along. It was wonderful to see her mother’s face light up for once when she introduced her new guy. His presence saved the trips to Spain and the unbearable family dinners. When she was with him, she became the successful daughter.
Until today, she had never admitted to herself that she was becoming someone else, a Hanna that she didn’t really recognize.
Now she is sitting here, her heart broken by a man she probably should never have been with.
She reads Karro’s message again; she is tempted. If she joins her for dinner, then maybe she can ask a few more questions about Amanda’s boyfriend, Viktor; she can’t stop thinking about him.
Before she can change her mind, she accepts the invitation.
Karro answers immediately:
Great. See you there at eight thirty.
46
The dark-brown council offices in Järpen are silent and deserted when Harald turns into the empty parking lot. He unlocks the main door and takes the elevator up to his office on the third floor.
He switches on the desk lamp, then takes a bottle of vodka out of the bottom drawer. It has been there for years. He would never drink at work, but it was a present, and he just left it in the drawer.
He fetches a glass from the staff kitchen. Pours himself a generous measure, and knocks it back with his eyes closed.
The alcohol is tepid and sears his throat.
Harald doesn’t like neat spirits, but he feels the warmth spreading through his body. His tense muscles relax. He immediately longs for more, but resists temptation. He must stay sober enough to drive home. He can’t get behind the wheel if he’s drunk; after all these years in politics, it’s part of his DNA.
Then again, he doesn’t want to go home. He can’t bring himself to pretend in front of Mimi and Kalle, can’t bear to see Lena’s despair.
The soft glow of the lamp lights up the family photo with Amanda in the middle. His wonderful daughter, whom he’d held and fed and sang to sleep so many times. When she was tiny he carried her in a sling on his stomach. He can still feel the weight of that little body, see the look in those dark-blue eyes as they met his, remember her first smile.
Becoming a father at the age of twenty-three was kind of unreal, but he loved Amanda from the very first second. He would have died for her sake.
Now she’s the one who’s dead.
His beautiful child will never smile at him again.
Tears spring to his eyes. Harald reaches for the bottle, but with a huge effort of will, he manages to pull back his hand. Instead he collapses onto his chair, his heart racing out of control.
He presses the palms of his hands together in front of his nose and mouth, presses so hard that the muscles scream.
That kind of pain is better than the one in his chest.
Only when his hands and wrists are trembling with exhaustion does he lower his arms slowly to the desk. His forehead is damp with sweat. He is breathing heavily, and takes out a handkerchief to wipe his face.
His phone pings. Yet another message offering condolences. The words are followed by a string of red hearts and “sorry” emojis.
Messages have been arriving all day, from every possible direction. Even his greatest political opponents have contacted him to show their sympathy. Åre isn’t very big, and he is a well-known figure.
Thinking of you, they write. Let us know if there’s anything we can do. We are here for you and the family.
Harald puts his phone in his pocket. Hearts and emojis can’t help them through this.
After a few seconds he takes it out again. He is desperate to see Mira; she is the only one who can give him comfort right now. He hesitates, then writes:
I’m at the office, can you come?
He stares at the screen. The tension is unbearable. The minutes pass.
Then three dots appear; someone is replying.
Not possible.
The negative response makes him want to cry. He tries again:
Please.
When the screen remains blank, he makes one last attempt:
I need you.
The answer comes immediately.
I can’t come. Don’t message me at this time.
Harald’s grip tightens on the phone. Then he reaches for the vodka bottle.
47
The wind snatches at Hanna as she finds her way to the restaurant where she is meeting Karro. She hopes the snowplow will do its job before she goes back to Lydia’s house; it is snowing so heavily that she can barely see her hand in front of her face.
Supper is an old red-painted hunting lodge between the square and the train station. When she opens the door, she is met by a festive atmosphere and the hum of conversation. The place is packed, even though it’s a Sunday.
“Hi,” says a girl with a ponytail who appears to be the maître d’. She smiles warmly. “Have you booked a table?”
Hanna realizes that she doesn’t know in whose name the booking was made, but then Karro appears. Gone are the cap and the shabby jacket from the search party. Her honey-blond hair has been carefully blow dried and curled, and she is wearing a leopard-print blouse with a generous décolletage.
“She’s with us,” Karro says, leading Hanna upstairs to a corner table where two other girls are already seated. Malin has long hair with blond streaks, and she is wearing a sparkly top. Jenny’s arms are festooned with bangles, complementing her boatneck black top with trumpet sleeves.
Hanna, who is in her usual jeans teamed with a white shirt, immediately feels underdressed.
“Let’s get this party started,” Karro calls, beckoning over the waitress.
Hanna drove the car here. She can’t afford a cab and doesn’t want to spend too much on booze. However, she should be able to manage one drink if she sticks to water afterward.
“Four mojitos,” Karro decides.
The dark-haired waitress takes down their order with a smile on her lips; she tends to say “Fantastic” with unnecessary frequency. Hanna counts four times before she moves on.
“Make them strong,” Karro adds with a wink.
Hanna looks around.
It’s a big restaurant with space for plenty of people. The upper floor is divided into two areas—a long bar with lots of room to hang out, and on the other side there is a long table with tall stools. Behind the table is the kitchen, where the cooks can be seen preparing the food.
The place is noisy and full, with South American dance music playing in the background.
Hanna manages a smile and tries to get in the party mood. Christian is not going to ruin this evening.
The waitress returns with their cocktails. Straws, ice, and bright-green mint leaves adorn the tall glasses.
“We usually let the kitchen put together the menu,” Karro informs Hanna. “They know what’s best on the night.”
Hanna nods as if this is an excellent idea.
She just hopes it won’t be too expensive.
They clink glasses, and the mojitos are every bit as delicious as they look. Hanna’s shoulders relax a fraction. She’ll worry about the tab tomorrow; these girls don’t seem the kind to go crazy. She needs this.
Karro describes at length how she and Hanna met during the search for Amanda. She makes it sound as if they were out on some kind of adventure.
“It’s just terrible,” Malin says with a sigh, tossing her hair. “Hard to believe that something like this can happen in a place like Åre.”
The waitress is back with another tray, and begins to set out the food. Prawn tacos, ceviche, and grilled corn on the cob. It looks wonderful. Hanna reaches for a couple of sweet-potato fries dusted with Parmesan. They both smell and taste amazing, and she helps herself to a few more.
Jenny leans across the table. Her lipstick is a pretty shade of dark pink, but the plumpness of her top lip seems unnatural to Hanna. She can’t help wondering if Jenny has had some kind of filler. You see it all the time in Stockholm, but she’d thought it was a big-city phenomenon.
“I really hope they find the person who did it,” Jenny says. “I’m almost scared to go out.”
Karro gives Hanna a little nudge. “You’re a cop—what’s your theory?”
