Silver Tears(38)

The watch that caught her attention was a Patek Philippe and it cost three hundred and fifty thousand kronor. Faye was aware that it was madness to buy it for a man she had known for only a matter of weeks. But it felt so right. She smiled at the thought of the Faye Dunaway print, now hanging on her living room wall, and nodded at the salesman in reply to his question about whether she’d made a decision.



“I’ll take this one,” she said, pointing at the watch. She handed over her Amex Black.

The salesman clapped his hands.

“An excellent choice,” he exclaimed.

The situation with David’s wife, Johanna, had begun to get under her skin. She couldn’t help but notice how badly it was affecting David, even if he was trying to be stoic. Johanna was apparently incapable of accepting that he had moved on and was trying to keep him in her life at any cost. She still refused to sign divorce papers, despite David having agreed to give her half of everything—even though they had a prenup and he didn’t have to give her a penny of his fortune. Faye admired him for that.

Faye said no when asked whether the watch was to be engraved. While she was signing the sheaf of papers the man had pushed across the counter to her, the mobile in her bag began to vibrate. She didn’t recognize the number and at first she wasn’t going to answer. What if it was Jack?

Then she got angry at herself—she couldn’t let fear gain the upper hand. When she answered, it turned out to be a reporter from Aftonbladet. Faye sighed. She changed numbers regularly to stay one step ahead of the press, but somehow they always managed to reach her. The reporter introduced himself as Peter Sj?berg. Faye vaguely recollected his face from his online bylines. He was one of the hacks who had written column inch after column inch about Alice and Henrik’s divorce.

“I’m obviously calling about your ex-husband’s spectacular escape,” the journalist said cheerfully, as if calling with a survey about which strawberries tasted best.

Faye frowned. She knew she shouldn’t speak to him, but she couldn’t help but be curious about the call. Reporters usually had information they couldn’t publish for ethical reasons, but that didn’t prevent them from sharing it in phone calls.

“Has he contacted you?” Peter Sj?berg asked searchingly.



“No,” Faye said truthfully.

“Are you scared? Given your…history?”

“I don’t want to answer that.”

“Okay. I understand.”

There was a brief silence on the line—she could hear someone whispering something in the background.

“Was there anything else?” she asked.

“Not really. Well, yes. Do you know the name…”

The reporter’s voice was drowned out by the obsequious wristwatch salesman babbling on. He hadn’t noticed she was in the middle of a phone call since she was using a headset. Faye pointed to her ear and the man held up his hands apologetically.

“Sorry, what did you say?”

“Well, I was just asking whether the name G?sta Berg was familiar to you?”

It was like a knife to her stomach. She went absolutely cold. She met her own gaze in the mirror behind the counter. She saw the terror in it.

“Why do you ask?” she managed to say, supporting herself against the counter.

“That’s the name of the man Jack escaped with. I mostly wanted to ask you whether they knew each other. But I assume it was just coincidence—the opportunity presented itself and off they went together.”

Faye ended the call, her hands trembling.

She handled the remainder of the purchase process for the watch mechanically. Sweat had broken out on her neck. When she had finished the transaction, she staggered out onto Biblioteksgatan and pushed her sunglasses onto her nose. She walked as quickly as her weak legs would carry her, resolving to go straight home and call her mother in Italy. How would she react when she found out that her husband had escaped from prison where he had been serving a life sentence for her murder?

Before Faye stepped off the street and through her door, she looked around anxiously. All of a sudden, it felt as if she were being watched from all directions. She quickly slipped inside and shut the door behind her, hard.



She squeezed into the elevator and leaned forward to examine her face in the mirror. She took a deep breath. Her pulse was no longer racing. Her heart was beating quite calmly in her rib cage. The elevator came to a halt on the fifth floor with a judder. Faye pulled the grille to one side and stepped out. The next moment she realized that she was not alone.





FJ?LLBACKA—THEN

I didn’t understand what would happen as I sat there curled up in the bow of Marika with my arms around my shins, staring out to sea. Sebastian had woken and was sitting up. The boys were smoking. Drinking beer. Sometimes they looked toward me, eyeing me as they talked. I wondered what they were saying.

Tomas came over and passed me an open can of Pripps Bl?. It was half-empty and lukewarm.

“Thanks.”

I took a big gulp while holding my breath to avoid the smell.

“You keep it,” he said when I held out the can. “There’s plenty more.”

He left me on my own after that. I opened a book I’d brought with me—Moby-Dick, since we were at sea. I also had Robinson Crusoe in my bag. It was an old copy that had once belonged to my grandfather. I drank warm, stale beer and read my book.