Page 55 of The Living and the Dead

Killian blinked. “Fine.”

The wound had started to heal.

“Here’s the thing,” Gerd said, with the ease that comes from a lot of experience in the field. “We’re here because you have a cut on your nose. It’s the kind of cut we often see after car accidents. The driver hits the steering wheel. In the car where we found Mikael, we also found blood on the wheel. That’s why we need a sample from you, so we can rule you out as the driver, rule out your blood. I’ve got a piece of paper here somewhere…” she said, starting to pat her pockets, “that proves two things: we have the right to take a blood sample, and you’re not the only person whose blood we’re taking. Where the hell did I—Here.” She held up the folded page of new protocols. “As soon as we’re done with that, we’ll leave. Is that okay?”

Gerd put the paper back in her pocket. Siri didn’t say anything. She thought of Felicia and Killian, of Madeleine and Sten. The heart is a fickle thing. This would change everything.

Wouldn’tit?

Killian sat down on one of the chairs and offered his arm, just as if he were visiting the school nurse. Gerd opened the bag and took out the disinfectant, wetted a cotton ball, and carefully rubbed down the inside of Killian’s elbow.

Siri watched him.

“Is it going to be your blood, Killian, that we found on the steering wheel?”

He shook his head. “It has to be from someone else.”

“Here’s a little poke,” Gerd said.

Killian didn’t react. He watched the tube fill with thick, dark blood.

“Someone else,” Siri repeated. “Are you sure of that? You could help us out, here. Your blood could have ended up there anyway. I understand not wanting to tell the police the whole story—you didn’t tell us about you and Felicia, for instance. That’s no big deal. We’re all human, even us cops, we realize maybe you don’t want to…Well, anyway, we believe you know more than you’re letting on. And if you tell us what you actually know, it might help us catch the person who killed your friend.”

Killian didn’t say anything for a long time. His gaze was oddly vacant. Another cotton ball.

“Hold that.” Gerd took out a Band-Aid and stuck it on. “All done.”

When Killian finally spoke, he said:

“The reason we didn’t tell anyone, about me and Felicia, I mean, it’s because of Sander. He likes Felicia. But you must have known that already.”

“No,” Siri said. “No, we weren’t aware of that.”

“He’s going to move away after graduation. So we thought we would just wait until then. I don’t want to hurt him or anything. Felicia doesn’t either.”

“That’s six months away. Do you really think you can keep this a secret for that long?”

Killian smiled wanly. “It’s already been months.”

41

One early spring, when they were all out skating on Lake Galta, Killian fell through the ice. They must have been around eleven then, maybe only ten. Pierre had brought hockey sticks, Jakob a puck, and Mikael two small goals.

One second, Killian was there with the hockey stick in his hand; the next there was a sharp crack and water cold enough to paralyze muscles splashed up across the ice. Killian didn’t even make a sound; his mouth was a black hole and his eyes were wide with shock.

The sight was petrifying; they couldn’t move. But Sander bolted into action: he got down on his belly and extended his stick to Killian, but Killian couldn’t get a grip on it. Killian’s face was turning blue; he was hardly moving. He stopped shivering.

“Help me!” Sander shouted. “Come on, help!”

But they couldn’t. Sander tossed the stick away, tore off his gloves, and army-crawled forward. The ice beneath him creaked and popped forebodingly.

And he thought about how lonely everything would be in Skavböke if he couldn’t reach Killian, thought of how the soccer goal would be empty, how Killian’s shoes would never again sit beside his outside their classroom, how he would never hear Killian knock on his window, see his face outside; and soon he could already feel his griefthrobbing, tearing in his chest, as though he were the one fighting for his life in the icy water.

Sander had reached the hole. He grabbed his friend by the shoulders and strained harder than he was capable of, and then he pulled.

Afterward, Sander’s throat hurt, although no one could recall hearing him scream.

He hauled Killian out of the water, impossible though it seemed given his large frame and heavy, waterlogged clothes and skates, and dragged him across the ice to the safety of land. He collapsed at his friend’s side and they lay there staring at the milky-white sky. Only then did shock loosen its grip on the other boys, and they rushed over.