We Know You Remember (58)

They introduced themselves, said they had come to look through Olof’s things.

Her smile faded. “The police said they were done here. We rented out a room, that’s all. Helped a person with a place to live. I realize now that we should have done a more thorough background check, but you want to trust people, you know?”

She had already emptied the room, but Ingela asked to see it anyway. The woman—Yvonne—reluctantly fetched the key and followed them in. The room was in an outbuilding, down a slope, hidden behind bushes and trees. The landlords couldn’t see it from the main house, and didn’t keep track of whether their tenant was home or not, as they had already told the other officers.

“We’re not control freaks, we live out here for the peace and quiet.”

Aside from a few cans of paint, a stool, and some protective paper on the floor, the outbuilding was empty. Fifteen square meters at most, a simple pantry kitchen with a hot plate in one corner. The only running water was in the shower, crammed into a box room in the porch.

“We’ll have to deep-clean the place before we can let it out again. I had no idea what kind of state it was in. And the stench! The sprays we had to use shouldn’t even be legal.”

His things were beneath a tarpaulin outside.

“Is it OK if I leave you to it?” The woman strode away.

Ingela tore back the plastic sheet.

Olof didn’t have much furniture. A huge mattress, but no bedframe or headboard. A mattress topper and bedding, rolled up. A tired old armchair, a table and two chairs, a Yamaha stereo, complete with enormous speakers, all in a heap. Eira counted seven cardboard boxes and three bin bags.

“Guess it’ll all have to go to the tip,” said Ingela.

“We have space for the stereo,” said Eira. “And a few other boxes.”

She peered into the bin bag closest to her. Musty smells. Towels, clothes. All just tossed inside. She should have hired a bigger car, she thought. Pleading with the landlady no longer felt like a good idea. One heavy rain shower and everything would be damp, go moldy; there would be nothing left.

Ingela slumped down onto one of the chairs.

“I thought he was such a loser. I hated him for banging on the bathroom door while I was in there, for going into my room and stealing my things, the kind of crap siblings fight about all the time. I didn’t even believe what I heard, but I told on him anyway.”

She pulled a box towards her and folded back the lid, took out a pan. A handful of ladles and cutlery, a letter. Ingela turned over the envelope.

“From Mum,” she said. There were more letters; she soon had an entire stack in her hands. “Look, he opened them. Olof must have read them, but he never replied. Why not?” Her voice broke as she picked up a thick white envelope. “I recognize this one. It’s the invitation to Mum’s funeral.”

Ingela turned away. Eira didn’t know what to say. She peered into the box that was closest to her. A pack of quick-cook macaroni, jars of hot dogs.

“What didn’t you believe?” she eventually asked.

“What?”

“You said before that you didn’t believe what you heard, but you told on him anyway.”

“That Olof followed Lina into the woods.” Ingela put the letters in a neat pile beside her, then pulled out a tissue and blew her nose. “My little brother. He was still into model-making kits. Planes. I mean, his room sometimes stunk of something other than sweat—he was fourteen, and he’d had a huge growth spurt that year—but still . . . I thought they were talking crap, that they were lying, so I don’t know why I told Mum. I was just so angry with him—or more with Mum and Dad. They were always having a go at me about what I got up to, even though I was three years older, but they let Olof stay out however late he wanted with those older boys. He probably stole cigarettes and beers for them or whatever else it took to hang out with Ricken and Tore and that lot.”

“Rickard Strindlund?”

“Was that his name? I can’t remember all of them, it’s so long ago now, but I do remember how annoyed I was that Olof was hanging out with them. Guys my own age, and a few were really cute too, the kind you could imagine being with . . . But everything about him annoyed me back then, I was so caught up in myself and thought I . . .”

Ingela peered down at the pile of letters on the ground.

“Everyone said it was him. And he confessed, right? So it must’ve been him?”





Chapter 34





The first train of the morning pulled into Kramfors just before lunch. Eira found a scene of calm at the police station. Empty offices and stuffy air, no word about what might be expected of her during the rest of the day.

In the lunchroom she found a local investigator who had been on the force for an eternity. The woman never seemed to need to take any leave. There were rumors that Anja Larionova had married a Russian a few years earlier, hence the name, but she didn’t wear a wedding ring and no one knew where the Russian had gone. Some of the others whispered that she had just tried to make it look like she was married.

“How’s the investigation going, then?” Anja asked, in the same tone she might use to remark on the weather.

“Good,” said Eira. “Not much to do right now. We’re waiting on the reports from forensics.”