Unseen (20 page)

The children were perched on tall bar stools, drinking chocolate milk and eating warm cinnamon rolls. It was their treat after the sting of shampoo in their eyes and water that was alternately too cold or too hot as their mother sprayed it over them in the shower they had just taken.

Emma watched them as they ate. Sara, seven years old and just finished with first grade. Cheerful, popular, a good student, with dark eyes and rosy cheeks.
Things have been going well so far
, she thought gratefully. Her gaze shifted to Filip, who was six. Blond, with a fair complexion, blue eyes, and dimples in his cheeks, good-natured but rowdy. Only a little more than a year between them. She was happy about that now.

It was rough in the beginning, though, with a child on each arm. Sara hadn’t even learned to walk yet when Filip was born, and Emma wasn’t finished with her degree. She had kept on plugging away during her last year at the teachers’ college, with one baby at her breast and another in her belly. Now she couldn’t understand how she did it, but it had all worked out—with a lot of help from Olle, of course. At the time he was also in his last year, working on a degree in economics, so they had taken turns tending to the babies and studying. It had been a struggle, what with the kids, little money, and difficult studies. Back then they were living in a sublet apartment in Stockholm. She smiled when she thought about how she had lugged around a double baby buggy, bought bruised tomatoes cheap at the Rimi supermarket, and how they had used cloth diapers with plastic ties. It was a matter of saving money as well as doing their part for the environment. In the evenings Olle would sit and fold diapers while he watched the news on TV and she nursed the baby. What a struggle it had been. Yet at the same time, their love had blossomed, and they had shared everything with each other.

Back then she thought they would stay together forever. Now she was no longer so sure.

Sara gave a big yawn. It was eight o’clock. Time for bed. After the kids brushed their teeth, Emma read them a short story and kissed them goodnight. Then she sat down on one of the sofas in the living room. She didn’t bother to turn on the TV, just looked out the window. The sun was still high in the sky.
Strange how a person’s perspective changes with the light
, she thought. Right now, with the garden bathed in light, it seemed absurd to put the children to bed. In December it would seem like bedtime at four in the afternoon.

She poured herself a cup of coffee and curled up in a corner of the sofa. Then her thoughts wandered back in time.

Of course things were good between her and Olle for a long time. When the kids were little, she had scrupulously made sure that they had their cozy dinners on Friday night, in spite of the children crying and the necessity of changing diapers. Many a night they had sat at the table with the candles lit while one of them rocked the children to sleep and the other ate before the food got cold. But sometimes things worked out well, and those moments were precious, she thought.

They hadn’t neglected each other just because they had children. That was a mistake that plenty of couples in their circle of friends had made, and it often resulted in divorce. But Emma and Olle kept on having fun together, laughing and joking, at least for the first few years. Back then Olle would often buy her flowers and tell her how beautiful she was. She had never felt so fufilled with anyone else.

Even after she put on almost sixty-five pounds when she was pregnant with their first child, he had looked at her naked body with admiration and said, “Sweetheart, you’re so sexy.”

She had believed him. When they strolled through town she had felt so pretty, at least until she caught sight of her own image in a shop window and realized that she was three times bigger than her husband.

They had carefully guarded their love, and she had been in love with him for a long time.

During the past two years, something had happened. She couldn’t really pinpoint when the change occurred; she just knew that it had.

It started with their sex life. She thought it seemed more and more dreary and increasingly predictable. Olle did what he could, but she had trouble feeling any real desire. Of course they still made love with each other, although less and less frequently. Most often she was only interested in putting on a soft nightgown and reading a good book until her eyes fell shut. Deep inside, a feeling of discontent began gnawing at her. Would they ever get back to the sex life they had shared before? She had her doubts.

Other things had changed, too. Nowadays Olle had a tendency to work like a dog during the week, and that seemed to be enough for him. He apparently had no need to think up fun things to do with her anymore. If they happened to go out to eat or to a movie, she was the one who had to make the arrangements. Olle was happy to stay at home. The bouquets of tulips and the personal compliments were getting to be few and far between. That was a big difference compared to the first years, and it became even greater with time.

She looked out the window again. Olle was at a conference on the mainland. He’d be gone for three days. He had called twice today, sounding worried. He wanted to know how she was doing. Of course she appreciated his concern, but at the moment she just wanted to be left in peace.

Her thoughts shifted to Johan. She couldn’t see him again. It was impossible. Things had already gone too far. But she was astonished by how he made her feel. She had forgotten what that was like. She had such a wild desire for him. In some strange way it had felt so right. As if she were entitled to feel that way and her whole body were meant to burn like that. Johan made her feel alive, like a whole person.

The realization was painful.

TUESDAY, JUNE 19

Knutas quickly greeted his colleagues as he entered the conference room, arriving out of breath and fifteen minutes later than all the others. He had overslept this morning. Kihlgård had called to wake him.

He sank onto a chair and almost tipped over the coffee cup that stood in front of him on the table. “So what have you found out about Hagman?”

Kihlgård was sitting at one end of the table with a cup of coffee and a huge open-face cheese sandwich on top of a plate that was much too small for it. Knutas stared at the sandwich in disbelief, thinking that he must have sliced the loaf of bread lengthwise.

“Well, we’ve found out a few things, all right,” said Kihlgård after taking a big bite followed by a gulp of coffee, making a loud slurping noise. “He worked at a high school called the Säve School up to and including the spring semester of 1983. Then he left voluntarily, according to the principal, who is actually the same one they had back then. That was a lucky break for us,” Kihlgård said with satisfaction, and then took another bite of his sandwich.

The others in the room waited impatiently for him to finish chewing and swallow.

“The fact that he was having an affair with a student quickly spread, and it became an enormously difficult situation for Hagman. People started to talk, of course. As mentioned, he was married and had two kids. He took a job at a different school and moved his whole family to Grötlingbo. That’s in southern Gotland,” Kihlgård explained, as if he had forgotten that everyone in the group except himself was a Gotland native.

He glanced at his notes. “The school where he taught there is called Öja School. It’s near Burgsvik. Hagman worked there until he took early retirement two years ago.”

“Does Hagman have a police record?” asked Knutas.

“No, not even a speeding ticket,” replied Kihlgård. “But it’s true that he did have a love affair with Helena Hillerström. The principal confirmed it. All the teachers knew about it. Hagman resigned before the school had a chance to take any action against him.”

Kihlgård leaned back, holding his sandwich in his hand and looking around expectantly.

“Let’s go out and have a talk with him right now,” said Knutas. “I’d like you to come with me, Karin, all right?”

“Sure.”

“Would you mind if I came, too?” asked Kihlgård.

“No, not at all,” said Knutas, surprised. “You’re welcome to come along.”

Johan and Peter had finished editing a rather lengthy report about the mood on the island after the latest murder. They had conducted several good interviews: a nervous mother, a restaurant owner who had already noticed a drop in business, and several young girls who were afraid to go out at night. Even so, their editor wasn’t happy. That Max Grenfors. Never completely satisfied if a story didn’t take the exact form that he himself would have given it.
What a son of a bitch
, thought Johan. At least he had agreed to let them stay a few more days, even though nothing new had happened. There were still plenty of things to get done. Johan had scheduled another interview for tomorrow with Detective Superintendent Anders Knutas to find out the latest developments in the investigation.

The fact that Johan could stay on the island meant that he would have more opportunities to see Emma. If she wanted to see him, that was. He was afraid that he had scared her off by moving too fast. At the same time, a feeling of guilt was gnawing at him. She was married, after all. In spite of that, he thought about her practically all the time, saying her name out loud. Emma. Emma Winarve. It felt so right on his lips. He had to see her again. At least one more time.

He decided to take a chance. Maybe she was home and her husband wasn’t. She picked up after only one ring, sounding out of breath.

“Hi, it’s me. Johan.”

A brief pause.

“Hi.”

“Are you alone?”

“No, the children are here. And my mother-in-law.”

Shit
.

“Could we meet?”

“I don’t know. When?”

“Right now.”

She laughed. “You’re crazy.”

“Can your mother-in-law hear what we’re saying?”

“No, they’re outside.”

“I have to see you. Do you want to see me?”

“I want to, but I can’t. This is insane.”

“Who cares if it’s insane. It’s fate.”

“How do you know I feel the same way?”

“I don’t. But I’m hoping you do.”

“Oh God, I really don’t know.”

“Please. Can you get away?”

“Wait a second.”

He heard her put down the phone and walk away. It took about a minute. Maybe two. He held his breath. Then she was back and picked up the phone.

“Okay, I can do it.”

“Shall I pick you up?”

“No, no. I’ll drive into town. Where should we meet?”

“I’ll meet you at the parking lot by Stora Torget. In an hour?”

“Okay.”

I don’t know what I’m doing
, thought Emma when she hung up the phone.
I’m totally out of my mind
. At the moment, though, she didn’t care. It had all worked out much too easily. She told her mother-in-law that one of her women friends was depressed and couldn’t stop crying and that she had to go see her right away. “That’s all right,” her mother-in-law had assured her. She would take care of the children and make them pancakes for dinner. How awful, that poor woman. Of course Emma had to go. Her mother-in-law offered to stay all evening and even overnight if necessary. Olle wouldn’t be home until the next day.

Emma rushed off to take a shower. They had been out in the sun all day, so she was hot and sweaty, she explained, at the same time that warning lights were going off in the back of her mind. She washed her hair, rubbed scented lotion into her skin, and applied a few drops of perfume as she felt her heart pounding with excited anticipation. Swiftly she put on her best bra and a blouse and skirt. She kissed the children and said goodbye. She drew in a deep breath and promised to call later. By the time she sank into the driver’s seat she was starting to sweat again.

As she drove out onto the road to Visby, she turned up the car stereo as loud as it would go and rolled down the window. She let the warm air of early summer sweep into the car and blow her feelings of guilt right out the window.

When she turned the car into the empty parking lot, she caught sight of him outside the state liquor store. He was dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt. His hair was disheveled.

What happened next seemed so natural. They didn’t need to say a thing. They simply walked side by side along the street, and their steps took them automatically toward the hotel where Johan was staying, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Through the lobby, up the stairs, over to the door, and then they were inside. Alone for the first time in a private space. They still didn’t say a word. He took her in his arms the minute he closed the door. She noticed that he locked it.

Knutas drove fast along the road to Sudret. Karin Jacobsson and Martin Kihlgård were sitting in the back seat. They had decided to take county highway 142, which cut straight across the center of the island past Träkumla, Vall, and Hejde, then across the Lojsta heath, where the Gotland ponies live almost wild out on the moors. Jacobsson, who had worked as a guide in her younger days, told Kihlgård about the ponies, or the “forest rams”, as they were also called.

“Did you see the sign that said ‘Pony Park’? If you keep going in that direction for a few miles, you come to the part of Lojsta reserved for the ponies. They roam around out there in herds all year round and in all kinds of weather. There are about fifty mares and one stallion. The stallion stays for between one and three years, depending on how many mares he manages to impregnate. There are usually about thirty foals each year.”