We Know You Remember (54)
The overalls were a common make, available from DIY stores and online, possibly at Nylands J?rn, too; they had someone checking now. Size large. They were well worn. Flecks of paint. Flecks of something else too, perhaps.
Eira pushed an image of the rubber gloves towards Mejan.
“We found all of this behind the bakehouse. Eighteen meters from it. You said you were there that morning. Are you sure you didn’t see anyone in the forest?”
“I was so busy with everything. Do you mean there was someone there?”
Bosse Ring leaned forward over the table. He had been sitting quietly so far. It had been his idea for Eira to start the interview. He thought it might be easier for Mejan to open up to another woman, to lower her guard. Eira had her doubts. She often found that men had a fairly naive attitude towards women, thought they were made of softer stuff.
Mejan Nydalen’s voice was steady; she didn’t hesitate as she took them through their preparations ahead of the grandchildren’s arrival again. There was actually a note of criticism in her voice, as though she didn’t think they really understood just how much work there was to do.
Eira thought she recognized something in her, something of the women around her while she was growing up—her grandmother and mother, various old ladies with stern voices and knowledge that couldn’t be questioned.
No, she had never seen anyone digging in the forest.
“You think she’s lying?” Bosse Ring asked once they were back on the top floor of the police station. Through the window they watched Mejan climb into her car and reverse out of the parking bay.
“She’s lying,” said Eira. “She just might not realize that she’s lying.”
Chapter 32
“How much shit can there be in one family?” GG asked when he learned who was behind the agitation against Olof Hagstr?m.
“Go to Stockholm,” he said a little later. “Let dear Sofi know that we know. Show her the wreck of the house—why not show her a picture of the poor bastard’s foot sticking out from under the tree, too. So it’s etched on the inside of her skull the next time she even thinks about sharing her every thought on Facebook. Let Sofi Nydalen know that we’re watching her, that we’ll see if she posts as much as a picture of her dinner. And get it all on tape.”
GG himself planned to have a chat with the prosecutor, once the custody hearing was over and they had time.
“Hey,” he added, “be nice. I want to know what’s hiding in this family, what they whisper about in the bedroom.”
Eira closed her eyes as the train pulled out of Kramfors, let herself drift away. There was something about the movement of the train, about being between one place and another, powerless to influence anything. She hadn’t had to clash swords with the home help or call a neighbor; Magnus had replied to her message. He would look in on their mother, maybe even stay over.
The scent of freedom, it was intoxicating.
Eira was in the quiet carriage, her phone switched to silent, but she felt the buzz of a text message come through. Tryggve Nydalen had been remanded in custody, GG wrote.
Her phone vibrated again just north of G?vle, with the seventh message from Sofi Nydalen.
Maybe better to meet outside somewhere instead?
Sure, Eira wrote back. Where do you suggest?
It was the third time she had wanted to change the location of their meeting, suggesting fear, nerves, possibly even guilt.
The original plan had been to meet at the Nydalens’ house, in a residential area on the outskirts of town. Then she had wanted to meet at a popular patisserie in central Stockholm, both to save Eira the trip out on the commuter train and because they had incredible prawn sandwiches. Now she thought it would be better to meet at a waterfront café on Norr M?larstrand, since the weather’s so nice.
OK, see you there.
Sofi sent a thumbs-up and a smiley face in reply, as though the two women were friends planning coffee and cake together in the sun.
The train arrived on time at 2:38 p.m.
Eira had almost forgotten what it was like to be surrounded by so many people. The cacophony of sounds mixing and echoing beneath the arched roof in Stockholm Central, the aroma of sweat and freshly baked cinnamon buns, Asian noodle dishes from kiosks that had popped up since she had last been there.
She walked to the café, which was on a floating pontoon. Eira could make out at least seven languages being spoken around her as she waited. She felt the gentle rocking of the waves caused by the boats in Riddarfj?rden, the anonymity of being in a place where the majority of people were simply passing through and didn’t know a soul. There had been moments when she loved living in the big city, even if her rented apartment was pretty far from the center.
“Sorry I’m late,” said Sofi Nydalen, arriving just as Eira had started to doubt she would ever show up. Wearing thin wide-legged trousers and a floaty blouse, both white. “I had to find somewhere to leave the kids. Patrik went back to work early. He doesn’t cope well without anything to do. What you have to understand is that it’s been an incredibly stressful time. I’ll just have a bottle of water. Sparkling. With lemon, if possible.”
A stubborn gull had landed where Eira was sitting when she returned with Sofi’s water and a fourth refill of coffee for herself. Sofi ducked as it flapped over to the next table.