Hidden in Snow (The ?re Murders, #1)(89)
Her heart pounds harder and harder as the car stops.
Maybe she’s in luck and it belongs to the family next door?
Maybe they have two cars?
She holds her breath.
A car door slams shut, and she sees a tall man in dungarees walking toward the other door. A child’s voice calls out: “Daddy!”
The relief makes her go weak at the knees, and her ears are buzzing with stress. She has to get out of here—right now.
She races down the stairs and out through the door, her pulse still racing. Crouching down once more she runs back to her car under cover of darkness. Just as she is leaving the garden, another pair of headlights appears farther down the street. Hanna slips behind a tree as the Golf appears. It slows down and turns onto the drive.
A woman gets out and heads for the front door. Kristina Risberg? Hanna watches her go inside.
Only when she is sitting in her own car does she dare to breathe again.
OceanofPDF.com
96
The bottle of cognac on the kitchen table in front of Harald is half-empty when he opens his eyes. He must have fallen asleep after putting the children to bed.
His arm is numb where his head was resting.
Lena is still hiding away in the bedroom with her sleeping pills. The last time Harald checked on her, she was curled up in the fetal position with her eyes closed.
The room smelled stale and musty.
His phone rings; that must have been what woke him.
He answers, and a pang shoots through his body when he realizes who it is. Mira’s soft voice immediately releases a hurricane of emotions that he simply can’t deal with.
“What do you want?”
“I just wanted to . . . see how you are?”
“Why?”
He can hear her shallow breathing on the other end of the line. He knows her well enough to understand that she is upset.
“Harald, please. You must realize that I still care about you.”
Harald has no intention of going along with Mira’s attempt to pretend he is important to her. “That’s not what you said the other day.”
“Things are complicated right now.”
She is wrong. Things are not complicated at all. She doesn’t want him, and her husband might have murdered Amanda.
“There’s something I have to tell you,” Mira goes on.
She sounds as if her voice is on the point of breaking. “It’s Fredrik. The police have been here, asking questions . . .”
“And?” Mira is in the shit. What has that got to do with him? “I’m afraid I don’t have time for this.” He is about to end the call when Mira yells, “You have to listen!”
“Why?”
The kitchen is unnaturally quiet. Harald stares at the Advent star in the window; Lena always had to stand on a stool to hang it up.
In another life.
“Fredrik told me he went over to your house on Monday morning when he was really angry. He found your dog outdoors.” Her voice is muffled now. “He wanted revenge, so he went for Ludde. The dog struggled and scratched him, but Fredrik is strong, and he was mad with rage . . . Harald, he poisoned Ludde.”
Mira’s words bounce off Harald’s eardrums; then they land in his brain, and their full significance hits him.
Before Mira can continue, Harald hangs up. He doesn’t need to hear any more.
He puts down his phone, clenches and unclenches his fists several times. There is so little left of his old life, only loss and ineradicable pain.
If Fredrik is responsible for Amanda’s death, then he will have to pay.
OceanofPDF.com
97
The apartment is dark and silent when Daniel unlocks the front door.
It is almost ten o’clock; Ida is probably asleep. He didn’t mean to be so late, but he got stuck at the station, plowing through reports and emails. He tries to keep up with everything, and yet progress is far too slow. It’s like treading water—they’re getting nowhere.
The frustration makes his skin crawl.
Life with a baby is much harder than he’d imagined. He knows that Ida is carrying the heaviest load right now and he should try to do more, but he also feels as if everyone is constantly pulling at him.
He hasn’t eaten and moves quietly into the kitchen.
Maybe there are some leftovers? But the refrigerator is almost empty, apart from a box of eggs next to a can of low-alcohol beer. Eggs on toast, then.
A sound behind him makes him turn around.
Ida is standing in the doorway. She has put on her robe over her nightdress, her hair is tousled, and there are faint lines on her cheek from the pillow.
“Sorry if I woke you,” Daniel says, taking out a frying pan and pouring in a spoonful of rapeseed oil. When it is hot enough, he cracks a couple of eggs into the pan.
“How’s the case going?” Ida asks. To Daniel’s relief she seems neither angry nor disappointed, just tired.
“Okay.”
He’s tired too. Amanda is occupying all his thoughts and all his waking hours.
“I hope you’re taking care of yourself,” Ida says gently.
Daniel flips the eggs over. “I’m fine. You don’t need to worry about me.”
When the eggs are done, he slides them onto two slices of toast, then adds ketchup and black pepper before sitting down at the table. He opens the can of beer and starts eating his supper.