He’s afraid of causing a scene when they’ve got guests, thinks Rebecka.
Her heart is pounding, but still she takes a step forward. Her voice is shaking as she stands up to Olof.
“We’re not here for a discussion,” she says. “Now, either you fetch Sara, or I will go straight to the police with your daughter and report you for abduction. I swear on the Bible, I’ll do it. And before I do it, I’ll force my way into your living room and play hell. Sara is Sanna’s daughter, and she wants her. Your choice. You can fetch her, or the police will.”
Kristina Strandgård peers anxiously over her husband’s shoulder.
Olof Strandgård smiles scornfully at Rebecka.
“Sanna,” he says to his daughter in a commanding voice, without taking his eyes off Rebecka. “Sanna.”
Sanna looks down at the ground. Almost imperceptibly she shakes her head.
And then it happens. Olof’s mood changes abruptly. His expression becomes concerned and hurt.
“Come in,” he says, backing into the hall.
“I f it was so important to you, you only had to say,” says Olof to Sanna, who is dressing Sara in her snowsuit and boots. “I can’t read your mind. We thought it might be nice for you to have a weekend to yourself.”
Sanna puts on Sara’s hat and gloves in silence. Olof is talking quietly, afraid the guests will hear.
“You didn’t need to come here threatening and carrying on,” he insists.
“This really isn’t like you, Sanna,” whispers Kristina, but she is looking daggers at Rebecka, who is leaning against the front door.
“Tomorrow we’re getting the locks changed,” says Rebecka as they walk to the car.
Sanna is holding Sara in her arms and says nothing. Holding her as if she’ll never let her go.
God, I was so angry, thought Rebecka. And it wasn’t even my own anger. It was Sanna who should have been angry. But she just couldn’t do it. And we changed the locks, but two weeks later she’d given her parents a spare key.
Sanna grabbed hold of her arm to bring her back to the present.
“They’re going to want to have the girls while I’m in here,” she said.
“Don’t worry,” said Rebecka absently. “I’ll speak to the school.”
"How long do I have to stay here?"
Rebecka shrugged her shoulders.
“They can’t hold you for questioning for longer than three days. Then the prosecutor has to make an application for your arrest. And that has to be heard no more than four days after you were taken in for questioning. So that’s Saturday at the latest.”
“Will I be arrested then?”
“I don’t know,” said Rebecka uncomfortably. “It doesn’t look good, finding Viktor’s Bible and that knife in your kitchen.”
“But anybody could have put them there when I went to church,” exclaimed Sanna. “You know I never lock the door.”
She fell silent, fingering the red jumper.
“What if it was me?” she said suddenly.
Rebecka found it hard to breathe. It was as if they’d run out of air in the tiny room.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” whimpered Sanna, pressing her hands against her eyes. “I was asleep, I don’t know what happened. What if it was me? You’ve got to find out.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” said Rebecka. “If you were asleep…”
“But you know what I’m like! I forget things. Like when I fell pregnant with Sara. I didn’t even remember that Ronny and I had slept together. He had to tell me. And how good it was. I still can’t remember. But I got pregnant, so it must have happened.”
“Okay,” said Rebecka slowly. “But I don’t believe it was you. Blank spots in your memory don’t mean you can kill somebody. But you need to think.”
Sanna looked at her questioningly.
“If it wasn’t you,” said Rebecka deliberately, “then somebody planted the Bible and the knife there. Somebody wanted to put the blame on you. Somebody who knows you never lock the door. Do you understand what I’m saying? Not some oddball who’s wandered in off the street.”
“You’ve got to find out what happened,” said Sanna.
Rebecka shook her head. “That’s up to the police.”
Both of them stopped talking and looked up as the door opened and a guard poked his head in. It wasn’t the same one who had shown them to the visitors’ room. This one was tall and broad-shouldered, with a cropped, military haircut. Rebecka still thought he looked like a lost boy as he stood in the doorway. He gave Rebecka an embarrassed smile and handed Sanna a small paper bag.
“Sorry to disturb you,” he said. “But I’m off duty soon and I… I just thought you might like something to read. And I bought you some sweets.”
Sanna smiled at him. An open smile, eyes sparkling. Then she quickly lowered her eyes, as if she was embarrassed. Her eyelashes brushed her cheeks.
“Thank you so much,” she said. “You’re really kind.”
“It’s nothing,” said the guard, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “I just thought you might get a bit bored in here.”
He was quiet for a moment, but when neither of the young women spoke, he went on.
“Yes, well, I’d better be off, then.”
When he’d gone Sanna looked in the bag he’d given her.
“You bought much better sweets,” she said.
Rebecka gave a resigned sigh.
“You don’t have to think my sweets are better,” she said.
“But I do, though.”
After visiting Sanna, Rebecka went to find Anna-Maria Mella. Anna-Maria was sitting in a conference room in the police station and eating a banana as if somebody were about to take it off her. In front of her on the table lay three apple cores. In the far corner of the room stood a television showing a video of an evening service at the Crystal Church. As Rebecka came into the room, Anna-Maria greeted her cheerfully. As if they were old friends.
“Would you like some coffee?” she asked. “I went to get some, but I don’t know why. Can’t face it at the moment…”
She finished the sentence by pointing to her stomach.
Rebecka remained standing by the door. The past was coming to life inside her. Set in motion by the faces on the flickering screen. She clung to the door frame. Anna-Maria’s voice reached her from far away.
“Are you all right? Sit down.”
On the screen Thomas Söderberg was addressing his congregation. Rebecka sank down onto a chair. She could feel Anna-Maria Mella’s thoughtful gaze on her.
“This is from the service before the night he was murdered,” said Anna-Maria. “Do you want to watch a little bit?”
Rebecka nodded. She was thinking she ought to say something by way of explanation. Something about not having eaten, or whatever. But she remained silent.
Behind Thomas Söderberg, the gospel choir was standing guard. Some of them shouted out in agreement as he spoke. His message was accompanied by shouts of “Hallelujah” and “Amen” from both the choir and the congregation.
He’s changed, thought Rebecka. Before, he used to wear a striped shirt with a mandarin collar from Arbetarboden, jeans and a leather waistcoat. Now he looks like a stockbroker in his Oscar Jacobsson suit and trendy glasses. And the congregation is made up of cheap H & M copies of this image of success.
“He’s a talented speaker,” commented Anna-Maria.
Thomas Söderberg was switching rapidly between relaxed jokes and intense seriousness. His theme was opening your heart to the spiritual gifts of grace. Toward the end of the short sermon he invited everyone present to come forward and allow themselves to be filled with the Holy Spirit.