Hidden in Snow (The ?re Murders, #1)(67)

“I had to come up with a story about urgent council business, but I don’t think Fredrik believed me.” Mira drops the lip gloss back in her purse. Her dark eyes are filled with worry. “I think he knows what we’ve been doing, Harald. You should have seen the way he looked at me. He knows we’ve been seeing each other outside work.”

“That’s impossible—we’ve been so careful.”

“Fredrik has a lot of friends and acquaintances around here. Anyone could have seen us and told him . . .” Mira bites her lip. “You know what he’s like. Fredrik isn’t the kind of man who finds it easy to forgive.”

Harald has met him on a number of occasions, both socially and through his job. Fredrik is a tall man with a serious nature and a perpetually grim expression, the complete opposite of his petite, witty wife. He is an entrepreneur who has successfully built up his own construction company through hard work. The property boom in ?re created great opportunities for businesspeople; SkiStar’s investment gave the whole place a boost. Many people were tempted to buy a luxurious second home, and Mira’s husband was one of those involved in the project at Sadeln.

“Don’t contact me outside working hours again.” There is fear in her soft voice. “Promise.”

Harald gazes at her lovely profile, the straight nose that defines her face, the long, dark eyelashes. Her eyes are fixed on some distant point, as if she is already wondering what Fredrik would do if the truth came out.

Harald is prepared to go to any lengths to be with her.

“I love you,” he says hoarsely.

When Mira turns to face him, her expression is one of pity, not desire. “You’re still in shock. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Harald stares through the windshield. It has stopped snowing. Everything around them is white, except for the jagged black branches of the trees against the overcast sky.

The campsite is empty and desolate, with no hint of the summer’s lively buzz of activity.

There aren’t even footprints in the snow.

Mira presses her lips together and seems to reach a decision. She opens the passenger door, and the ice-cold air rushes in. She pats Harald’s knee gently with her left hand.

“Go home to Lena. That’s the best thing you can do.”

Then she gets out of the car and slams the door.

Harald closes his eyes. He is finding it difficult to take in what she has said. His daughter has been murdered, he is in the worst situation of his entire life, and Mira has dismissed him, just like that.

When he looks up she is already reversing her car. She doesn’t even glance at him as she swings around. Within seconds the Toyota has disappeared.

Harald wraps his arms tightly around his upper body. He rocks back and forth in his seat, oblivious to the world around him.

Everything hurts.

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70

Harald has spent hours in the car.

After Mira left, he simply sat there until eventually the cold made him start the engine and leave the campsite. He drove toward the Norwegian border without any real idea of where he was going. He ended up in Storlien, almost fifty miles from home.

Storlien is a construction site this winter; a huge border shopping mall is being built. As chair of the council, Harald supported the project. It is an important investment for the area, plus it’s better if the Norwegians shop here rather than causing traffic problems in ?re with their Teslas.

Today he merely glances in passing at the half-finished buildings and the noisy machinery. Then he turns the car around and heads back. Thoughts of Amanda’s death and Mira’s departure pulsate through his body like bleeding wounds.

It is dark by the time he reaches the outskirts of ?re.

Soon he will be passing ?ngarna, an area only five minutes to the west of the village center.

The area where Mira lives.

He feels a stabbing pain in his chest. He has stopped by a few times to drop off papers or a document he has signed.

It is on the opposite side of the village, but not far from his home.

He ought to go home to the children; he’s already been gone for far too long.

Instead he leaves the E14 and heads for Mira’s house. It is on a slight hill, with a beautiful view of the lake. A substantial red wooden house with white eaves and window frames.

A real master builder’s house.

He turns into Mira’s street, crawls past the property, looking for signs of life. No one seems to be home. There are no cars on the drive, and Mira’s white Toyota isn’t there.

She’ll be at work, of course. While he sat there at the campsite, completely floored, she went into the office as if nothing had happened.

When he reaches the end of the street, he pauses, then drives back again. He stops by Mira’s mailbox and stares stupidly at the impressive house on the hill. That’s where she spends every night, lying by her husband’s side.

Fredrik, the man she doesn’t want to leave. Dare not leave.

Harald has lost her, and his life is in ruins.

His breathing is labored. He can see tire tracks in the snow on the drive, presumably from Fredrik’s SUV. He has seen it on many occasions, when Fredrik has picked up Mira from work.

A fresh thought strikes him. If Fredrik found out about Harald and Mira’s affair . . . if he knows she’s cheated on him . . .