Dark Angel (18 page)

Her heart was pounding hard. Who in the world could be after her? She’d never done anyone any harm. But she was starting to wonder if she might be wrong about that. She turned off the TV and listened intently, straining all of her senses. All she heard was the wind. She sat down on the sofa in the dark living room and waited. Half an hour passed. Then another. Nothing happened. She was growing more and more annoyed. Should she keep sitting here like a rat in a cage? To make matters worse, she badly needed to pee, but unfortunately she had no chamber pot. She refused to consider peeing into a bowl that was used for food. After yet another half-hour passed, she gave up. She couldn’t hold it any longer. And by now anger had taken over. She wasn’t about to let fear keep her trapped inside her own house. Well, it wasn’t really hers, but the cabin had always been available to her because her friends who owned it lived abroad. They wanted to keep the summer place in the family, so they had let her use it ever since her children were small. She’d made it her own, and she loved the cabin more than anything.

She put on her jacket and pulled on her boots, hesitating a moment with her hand resting on the door handle.

Then she turned the key and opened the door.

THE REST OF
the world faded away and then vanished entirely as Knutas watched the Regional News programme on TV in the police break room that evening. The top story wasn’t about Viktor Algård but about the death that had resulted from the assault outside the Solo Club. He was deeply moved by the interview with the father of one of the witnesses, and the statements made by Alexander’s sister, the school principal and a few students. When he suddenly saw his own son appear on the screen, his breathing faltered.

In a voice-over Johan Berg proclaimed: ‘Several young people were witnesses to the drama. One of them was Nils Knutas. Out of fear of reprisals, he previously hasn’t wanted to say anything about what he saw. But today he has decided to come forward.’

Nils was shown standing at the scene of the assault, pointing to show where he and his friends had been, only a few metres away. They had watched as Alexander was severely beaten. None of them had dared intervene. He talked about his sense of guilt and about how scared he’d been, how powerless he’d felt. When the assault was over and the perpetrators had fled, he’d gone over to Alexander. He’d felt how faint the boy’s pulse was, and he’d seen all the blood. While his friends had phoned the police and the medics, he had simply walked away, leaving the scene without doing anything to help.

‘Why have you decided to talk about this today?’ asked Johan.

His expression sombre, Nils looked straight at the camera as he replied: ‘Because of what Alexander’s sister, Olivia, said in the auditorium. If she
has
the guts to stand up there in front of hundreds of people and say what she knows, then how could I remain silent?’

With that, the story was over. It was followed by a studio discussion with several participants. Knutas saw them through a fog, not taking in who they were or what they were saying. He sat on the sofa as if frozen, incapable of moving. Jacobsson, who was sitting next to him, patted him on the shoulder and got up without saying a word.

After she left the room and closed the door, something happened that hadn’t occurred in years.

Knutas wept.

KNUTAS OPENED THE
door to his house on Bokströmsgatan, filled with a sense of doom. He was overwhelmed by despair. For weeks Nils had kept quiet about having been a witness to the assault. Knutas didn’t know whether it was his role as a father or as a police officer that had prevented Nils from confiding in him. Or which was worse.

He had tried to phone Lina, but he got only a busy signal on the landline, and she hadn’t answered her mobile.

He hung his jacket in the front hall without calling out his customary ‘hello’. The TV was on in the living room. It was some kind of quiz show. Lina was sitting in a corner of the sofa with the reading lamp on, the newspaper spread open on her lap. She glanced up when he stepped into the room.

‘Hi, sweetheart,’ she said gently. ‘Come over here and sit down.’

He realized at once that she’d seen the Regional News report.

‘Where’s Nils?’

‘Upstairs in his room.’

‘Have you talked to him?’

‘No. I wanted to wait for you.’

Knutas shouted at the top of his lungs: ‘Nils!’

‘Calm down,’ Lina urged her husband. ‘This isn’t easy for him either.’

Knutas chose to ignore her. He was glaring at the stairs. He heard a door slowly open, and then a voice said: ‘What is it?’

‘Come down here.’

‘But I’m doing my homework.’

‘Get down here this minute!’

Nils appeared at the top of the stairs. His face was pale, his expression serious, his curly red hair more tousled than usual. His T-shirt was wrinkled and there were holes in the knees of his jeans.

‘What is it?’

‘Don’t play dumb with me. Come down here.’

Knutas immediately regretted the harsh tone he’d taken, but it was too late now.

Knutas led the way into the living room, turned off the TV and sank down on to the sofa next to Lina. He motioned for Nils to sit on the armchair across from them. Anger overtook the sorrow he felt at not having the right expertise to deal with the situation. He felt as if he were adrift on an ice floe, floating on some distant, ice-cold and bottomless sea.

‘Can you explain to me and your mother why you haven’t said a word to us this whole time about being a witness when Alexander was assaulted? Yet the minute a reporter waves a microphone in your face, you spill out the whole story as if you were getting paid to talk.’

Nils gave him a defiant look. His eyes were filled with contempt.

‘Neither of you ever asked me about it.’

The words were so unexpected that Knutas was left speechless. He cast a glance at Lina. She merely shook her head and then hid her face in her hands.

‘But we’re always asking you how you are and what’s going on. You never want to tell us anything, but we keep trying—’

‘You’re always so busy with your own stuff. You don’t really care how I am or what I have to deal with! You just pretend to take an interest, but the only thing that’s important to you is that fucking cop job of yours!’

Knutas was shocked. He was utterly unprepared for such an accusation. He’d been naive enough to think that Nils would be remorseful and apologize.

‘What do you mean?’

‘You don’t care about me. All you ever talk about is yourself and your sodding investigations, and I don’t give a shit about them. Why should I tell you anything? You pretend to care about me and Petra, but the only
effort
you ever make is to drag us along once in a while to do something you think is fun. Like when we went to the golf course. We just went along for your sake, even though you acted like you were the best father in the world who was doing something really great for his kids.’

Knutas felt his cheeks flush with indignation, but he forced himself to remain calm.

‘I think you have to agree that you’re being unfair. OK, I admit that there are times when I talk a lot about my work, but that’s only when I’m in the middle of an important case. And that’s not really surprising, is it? And think about all the fun things we’ve done together over the years. You don’t really think it was all for my sake, do you? All those excursions we’ve taken you on, ever since you and your sister were kids? I can’t even count how many times we’ve been to Kneippbyn and Vattenland. We’ve gone to Legoland and to the Astrid Lindgren theme park, and I’ve even gone riding on Iceland horses with you and Petra – and you know how scared I am of horses. Have you really forgotten all those things? I think you ought to show a little gratitude once in a while and not be so bloody sullen and selfish all the time. Your mother and I are doing the best we can!’

Nils stared at his hands, not once looking at his father. He said in a low voice: ‘It’s not Mamma that I’m mad at. She has always come through for us. Unlike you.’

Knutas looked at his son in bewilderment. He couldn’t believe his ears. He swallowed hard. No one else spoke as he searched for words.

‘I really don’t understand what you mean, Nils. I never come through for you? How can you say that?’

‘OK, maybe once in a while. And more often when we were little kids. But nowadays you never have time.’

Knutas leaned back on the sofa. The room began slowly spinning around. He took several deep breaths, blinked away a tear. Lina was silent, her face still buried in her hands.

This conversation with Nils wasn’t going to end with the family reconciliation that he had hoped for. He was shaken to the core by his son’s scorn.

‘But why didn’t you say anything?’ he ventured. ‘Why didn’t you tell us that you were there?’

‘Because I didn’t want to.’

‘Didn’t want to? Don’t you realize how serious this is? You’re a witness, for chrissake!’

‘Take it easy,’ Lina protested. ‘You’ve been a police officer for seventeen years, Anders. You, of all people, should understand how hard it can be for someone to admit that he saw something but either couldn’t or didn’t dare intervene.’

Nils glared at his father.

‘You’ve just made it horribly clear that the only thing you care about is your job.
You’re a witness, for chrissake
!’ he said, his voice filled with resentment as he repeated his father’s words. ‘You don’t give a fuck how I feel, or how I’m doing after watching those pricks beat the shit out of Alexander.’

Nils’s face was rigid with anger, and his eyes flashed as he looked at Knutas.

‘Why should I tell you anything? Give me one good reason!’

He leaped up and ran out of the room.

A few seconds later the front door slammed.

IN SPITE OF
the long workday, Johan didn’t feel tired, and he had no desire to go home to the empty house in Roma. Emma had gone with Elin to visit her parents on the island of Fårö. They were sitting in front of the fireplace drinking Irish coffee when he phoned. Emma complimented him on his report, which she’d watched on the news, and hearing her praise made him happy.

Pia had left the editorial office right after they had finished, presumably to go and see her sheep farmer. The relationship seemed to be serious. Usually she wasn’t so enthusiastic about her boyfriends.

Johan sat in front of his computer, spending the next few hours aimlessly surfing the Internet. Then he found himself pulling up the website for the Solo Club. They were open. Of course he’d already done several reports from there about the assault case, but he’d never visited the club in the evening when it was actually filled with young people.

It was just after ten o’clock when he left the TV building. He walked through town, heading for the harbour. He found Skeppsbron swarming with teenagers, and many of them looked younger than eighteen.

A long queue had formed outside the Solo Club, where it had all happened just a couple of weeks ago. The guy at the door recognized Johan and waved him through. Inside, the noise level was deafening and the dance floor was packed. He was surprised to see what the young girls were wearing. Many of them were scantily clad, to say the least, in minuscule tops and shorts that barely covered their bottoms. Some of them wore only lacy knickers with a top, and one big-busted girl was
dancing
around in her bra. Johan could hardly believe his eyes. Was this the latest fashion for teenage girls? It was alarming, and that alone made it worthy of a news report. The boys wore more familiar attire, most of them jeans and a T-shirt. A few were going around shirtless.

Johan ordered a beer and stood at the bar. It wasn’t long before several girls who didn’t look older than fourteen or fifteen came over to order Cokes. One of them wore only a bra and a pair of mini-shorts. He leaned towards her, forced to shout to be heard over the music.

‘Why are you dressed like that?’ he asked.

She giggled and stared at him, uncomprehending. Her eyes were almost invisible behind a thick coating of mascara. Her face was covered with tanning cream, her lips were smeared with a white ointment, and her hair stuck out every which way, sticky with hairspray. A typical fourteen-year-old.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Why are you out in public in your underwear?’

She tittered uncertainly, and then moved away and went back to talking to her friends. Johan saw one of them take a little bottle out of her bag and pour something into her Coke. So that’s how it’s done, he thought. Lots of the kids in the club were noticeably drunk. He signalled to the bartender.

‘Has this place changed since the assault happened?’

The bartender shrugged.

‘Not really. The first couple of weeks it was kind of quiet, but now there are just as many people as before, and they’re all just as drunk. As if it never happened.’

‘How can you make sure that kids under eighteen aren’t drinking?’

‘We can’t. All we can do here at the bar is ask for a valid ID before we serve anybody alcohol. But there’s nothing we can do about it if the kids drink before they get here, or if they hide the booze in the shrubbery and then go outside, supposedly to have a smoke, or if people outside the club sell them alcohol.’

‘There must be some kids who smuggle booze inside, right?’

‘Sure. But we can’t frisk everybody. That’s just how it is.’

He shrugged again and went back to work.

Johan finished his beer and left.

Outside it was just as lively as inside. Teenagers stood around smoking. A bunch of boys were laughing loudly as they tossed around a beer bottle. One young couple was wrapped in a tight embrace, kissing and not caring who saw them. And a little girl sat a short distance away, her head in her hands. She looked as if she wasn’t feeling well. Johan sat down next to her.

‘How’s it going?’

Cautiously he placed a hand on her thin shoulder. When she looked up, he gave a start. The girl wore dramatic make-up but she didn’t look older than twelve or thirteen. Her eyes were half-closed, and her face was very pale.