We Know You Remember (112)

“I want to believe that she found the freedom she was looking for, that she found somewhere she could be at peace.”

Eira thought about the woman who called herself Simone, the hairbrush in the bag in her car. It was full of dark strands of hair that could hardly have come from Ivan Wendel’s shaved head. Eira had stolen it from his bathroom when she asked to use the toilet. Grabbed a silk scarf from the hallway, too. She couldn’t hand them in for DNA analysis right away, but maybe at some point in the future, once everything had calmed down.

If Lina Stavred’s case ever came up again.

The truth was still clawing at her, but it slowly started to settle as she breathed deeply, like the wind dying down.

They sat in silence for at least half an hour as the clouds overhead parted and the moon peeped through.

“You should find someone,” said Magnus. “Someone who’s good for you.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“It’s just what I think.”

Eira gazed out into the night, at the sky that was slowly growing brighter somewhere behind them, over the Gulf of Bothnia. For a split second she found herself thinking about August. She couldn’t quite get a grip on his face, on how he looked.

“I tried,” she said. “But it probably won’t come to anything.”

“Then he’s an idiot,” said her brother, flinching at the sound of a dog barking. Loud, somewhere close by.

“Shit,” said Eira, leaping up. She had forgotten about the dog. It had been locked in her car for several hours, and bounded out as she opened the door.

“Rabble!” she shouted. “Come here!”

But the dog was off, bolting away. Eira walked over to the hedge, but she couldn’t see him anywhere.

“Have you got yourself a dog?” asked Magnus.

“I’m just looking after Rabble for a while. It’s Sven Hagstr?m’s dog, and Olof is still in hospital. They took Rabble to the pound, but his sister called me, said she couldn’t take him herself . . .”

“I didn’t even know you liked dogs.”

Magnus whistled. A shadow by the neighboring property yapped and came lumbering over.

Eira grabbed the dog’s collar.

“Someone had to look after him.”





Author’s Note





This novel is a work of fiction, but as ever I have borrowed from reality. A similar incident to the gang rape in J?vredal took place in Vallsberget in Pite?, in the summer of 1985. The lenient sentences handed down in that case led to a furious debate and a change in the Swedish law. Likewise, the interviews with Olof Hagstr?m were also inspired by real investigations in which, after long interrogations, children confessed to murders they didn’t commit. In Arvika in 1998, for example, two brothers were believed to be guilty of killing a four-year-old, and in Hovsj? in 2001, a twelve-year-old was accused of killing his best friend. Similar “walk-throughs” were also conducted in the case of Thomas Quick. Years later, following journalists’ scrutiny of the cases, each of the accused has been freed of all suspicion.



Almost twenty years ago, my family and I bought a house in the ?dalen, a place with views stretching for miles across rivers and distant mountains—and all for the price of a pokey little closet in Stockholm. My longing to write about this landscape, in both its lightness and its melancholy, has grown stronger and stronger, but I would never have dared do it alone. So, a warm thank-you to everyone from ?dalen who has answered my strange questions, driven me around when I didn’t have the energy to cycle, shared stories and tales and checked local details: Ulla-Karin H?llstr?m Sahlén and Jan Sahlén, Mats De Vahl, Tony Naima, Hanna Sahlén, ?sa Bergdahl, and, not least, Fredrik H?gberg—without you, I never would have found my way.

Another huge thanks to Veronica Andersson with the Violent Crimes Unit in Sundsvall and to the other officers in the region. To Per Bucht, cousin and former police investigator. To Zorah Linder Ben-Salah, my fount of knowledge in all things relating to skeletal remains in blue clay, and to Peter R?nnerfalk for his medical expertise: thank you.

Any mistakes or extravagances are, of course, my own.



My warmest thanks also go to those of you who were by my side during the writing process, making the whole thing much less lonely: Boel Forsell, for your discussions about storytelling and drama; Liza Marklund, Gith Haring, Anna Zettersten, and Malin Crépin, for your sharp eyes and for reading my words, developing both me and the text; and G?ran Parkrud, for your conversations about the plot, the characters, and the psychology. I love that you always push me out into much deeper water.

My publishing house, Kristoffer Lind, Kajsa Willén, and everyone else at Lind & Co: it is a constant joy to work with you. Astri von Arbin Ahlander, Kaisa Palo, and the whole gang at Ahlander Agency, I’m so happy that you have taken on my books.

Astrid, Amelie, and Matilde, most important of all. Thank you for every minute you are around me, caring and supporting; for being the wonderful people you are.

—Tove Alsterdal





About the Author


TOVE ALSTERDAL burst on the Swedish book scene in 2009 with The Forgotten Dead and is the author of five critically acclaimed stand-alone novels. She won the Best Swedish Crime Novel award in 2014 for The Disappeared. We Know You Remember also won the Best Swedish Crime Novel in 2020 and marks her American debut.