Hidden in Snow (The ?re Murders, #1)(3)

“This is for the best,” he goes on. His voice is weary, but at least that’s better than the icy sharpness at the beginning of the conversation. He reaches for his suitcase.

Suddenly Hanna hates that case.

“What do you mean, ‘this is for the best’?” It’s as if she’s incapable of formulating a sentence independently. Is she really standing here saying this crap?

Christian sighs. “All we do these days is argue. We haven’t had sex in months. There’s no point in going on.

You’re unhappy, and so am I. We’ll be better off without each other. It’s sad, but that’s just the way it is.”

Hanna is overwhelmed by a strong sense of unreality.

The apartment looks the same as it always does. Their outdoor clothes are hanging up; their shoes are in a neat line. Just as they were when she left home this morning, before everything came crashing down at work.

Is her personal life being smashed to pieces as well? On the same day?

She watches Christian run his hand through his light-brown hair, the hair she’s stroked so many times after they’ve made love. They belong together—he must know that.

If he leaves, she has no one. She’ll be all alone.

Don’t go! she screams inside her head. I can change!

“I love you,” she whispers.

Christian freezes. A shadow passes over his face, an almost microscopic movement, but Hanna sees it. She understands, even though he hasn’t said a word.

“You’ve met someone else.”

He hesitates, then nods without looking at her.

He might as well have punched her in the face. During their five years together, Christian has often said that anything can be forgiven—except infidelity. They would never be the kind of people who went behind each other’s backs. Their love was strong and honest.

“I’m going to stay with a friend for a week—that will give you time to move out,” he says, pulling up the handle of the case.

“Move out?”

Hanna slowly looks around, her gaze falling on the attractive leather sofa that Christian acquired from a show home. The velvet-covered armchair by the wide window with a view over Lake R?sunda. That’s where she likes to sit, with her legs tucked underneath her. The wool throw draped over the armrest was a Christmas present.

She blinks, realizing that Christian owns the apartment.

He’d just bought it when they met. She’d been living in a scruffy sublet studio apartment ever since she qualified as a police officer.

The choice to move in with him had been very simple.

This has been their home, but now he’s intending to throw her out on the street, just like that.

Hanna straightens her shoulders.

“You can’t do that to me.” Her voice trembles; she hates the fact that she can’t control herself. “Where am I going to live?”

At least Christian has the decency to look embarrassed.

“Don’t make a fuss, Hanna,” he mutters. “This is my apartment. I’m the one who’s paid almost all the bills.”

Yes, because you were earning a lot more than me. She knows it would be pointless to say anything, even though they both agreed on the arrangement.

A police officer’s salary doesn’t go far.

Christian’s phone rings. He rejects the call, but not before Hanna sees the name on the display.

Valérie. She doesn’t know anyone called Valérie. What kind of a name is that anyway?

Suddenly she understands.

“You’re going to her place. That’s where you’ll be staying while I move out.”

Christian hesitates just a fraction too long. “Yes,” he snaps, turning away.

Turning his back on her. It’s the final straw.

Christian is leaving, before they’ve finished talking. He’s just dropped a bombshell, and he can’t spare five fucking minutes to listen to her.

“Look at me!” Hanna yells. “The least you can do is look at me!”

When Christian turns to face her, Hanna’s right arm moves of its own accord.

She throws the red wine right in his face. A cascade of blood-red droplets runs down his forehead and cheeks. Big, dark patches appear on his clothes.

She gazes at him openmouthed. What has she done?

“You’re fucking crazy!” Christian snarls. He wipes his face with one hand, which doesn’t help at all.

“Make sure you’re out by Sunday at the latest. I want the keys back!”

He slams the door, and Hanna drops to her knees. She’s so shocked that she can’t even cry. She’s finding it hard to breathe.

Then she hears water splashing as the bathtub overflows.

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TUESDAY, DECEMBER 10

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3

As Detective Inspector Daniel Lindskog gets ready for the day, both Ida and the baby are fast asleep beneath the mint-green coverlet on the double bed. Ida is lying on her side, her long, tousled dark hair spread across the pillow.

Alice is on her back, snoring gently with her mouth half-open.

Daniel pauses by the bed, gazing down at his daughter.

His love for Alice has opened a space in his heart that he hadn’t even known existed. When he touches her tiny fingers, something happens. He becomes a different person, a man who would face any peril for his child.