We Know You Remember (46)

“He comes by to pick up his post sometimes.”

Eira resisted the urge to grab them. Unpaid bills, final demands, threats of canceled subscriptions. Guaranteed to be the kind of thing that got worse the longer they went unopened. “Do you have kids?” she asked.

“Oh yes, two boys and a little girl. They’re at their dad’s.”

Eira breathed a sigh of relief. They weren’t her brother’s, at least. The two he rarely saw were more than enough. Alice gave her a warm, slightly uncertain smile.

“Don’t you want to come in? Magnus has told me so much about you.”

“Thanks, but I really need to track him down.”

“It’s so interesting that you work for the police. You’re so brave.”

She wants to talk about him, Eira thought, that’s why. She’s happy he still comes over, even if it is just to pick up his mail.

“You might find him at Ricken’s place.” Alice grabbed a flyer and wrote a mobile number on the edge. “That’s what Magnus told me, anyway. That he’d be staying with him for a while. You know him, don’t you? Rickard?”

“Yeah, of course I know Ricken,” said Eira, trying to sound unperturbed. “Is he still in Strinne?”

She pictured the small house with its asbestos cement tiles. A recreation room in the basement, with low sofas and pine panels. Eira always glanced over whenever she drove past—for professional reasons, and possibly others. She knew he was still there.

“Yeah, he and Magnus have been friends for forever,” said Alice. “They call each other bro and that kind of thing.” Her fingers wandered up to her upper arm, an unconscious movement that made Eira notice her tattoo. No flowers or hearts, just his name. A pretty, slightly ornate style in which one of the lines from the “M” continued in a loop around the rest of the letters.

“Love comes and goes, but friendship endures. Isn’t that what they say?”





Chapter 26





Eira parked up behind the rusty shell of a Volvo Amazon.

There were wrecked cars all over the property, some that had sunk so deep into the ground that they looked like they might have taken root there. Hops vines crept through the windows of an old Ford. A few of the cars looked like they might still run if someone fixed them up very soon, but Eira doubted that would happen. The wrecks were a statement, a sign that whoever lived there was the master of his own territory.

The municipal commissioner in Kramfors had tried to start a debate about the many junked cars in Norrland, hoping to convince Parliament to reintroduce the scrappage fund that made it worth hauling them to a scrapyard rather than dumping them at random, to allow the local authorities to issue fines. He had spoken about the degeneration of the landscape.

Rickard Strindlund probably had a different name for it. Power, perhaps. He did whatever he wanted there, and didn’t give a damn about what anyone else considered beautiful or ugly, lawful or not. Those who entered had only themselves to blame.

Eira immediately recognized his sluggish gait, his long stride, swaying slightly like reeds in the breeze. That smile, charming as ever.

“Hey, Eira. It’s been a while.”

Ricken paused a few meters away. Pushed back his hair, squinted in the sun.

“Heard you were back. You here on cop business or did you just come to say hi?”

“I need to find Magnus,” she said. “Completely personal.”

“OK.”

He jerked his head back to indicate that she should follow him. Ricken’s name had been on the list of known petty criminals in the area, the ones GG had brought in for questioning. His record was certainly long enough—theft, drugs, an old assault charge from a Midsummer party in Norrf?llsviken. She hadn’t been able to avoid including him.

Ricken paused by the corner of the house. “How’s it going with the murder of that old bloke in Kungsg?rden?” he asked. “You got anyone for it yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Damn, sick bastard. Going after a lonely old man like that. If I knew who it was, I’d beat the shit out of him and serve him up on a silver plate. That’s what I told your pals.”

I know, thought Eira. I know what you said.

She was walking behind him again, his wiry body, the same tight jeans as ever, that unshakable confidence. She’d had to read through his interview. If Ricken was involved, that would complicate things. A relationship was a relationship, even if it was years ago, an eternity since he was the one she dreamed about, since she finally grew up.

The first was always the first, nothing could change that.

“We have a suspect,” she said, though she knew she shouldn’t say a thing. “It’s just a matter of time now.”

“Oh shit. Who is it?”

“I’m obviously not going to tell you.” A small shift of power. Insignificant, but still. She was no longer seventeen and head-over-heels in love; she was a police officer. An investigator. With the Violent Crimes Unit.

“No, right, I know,” said Ricken.

Magnus was sprawled in a rickety garden chair at the rear of the house. He reached out and grabbed her hand, but didn’t get up for a hug.

“How’s Mum doing?”

“Not great.”

“Has something happened?”