Page 88 of The Living and the Dead

Sander didn’t say anything for a long time.

“People always said it was one of my close friends who killed Mikael.”

“Killian,” Vidar supplied.

As though he were putting his thumb on a nasty bruise and pressing down.

“I never wanted to believe it was him. Or maybe it’s more like I had trouble believing it was him. I think it was someone else.”

“No one wants to think their friend could do a thing like that. Wasn’t it true that they had a fight at that party, Mikael and your friend?”

Sander shook his head.

“Mikael andJakobhad a fight. And there was a burglary too,” Sander went on, “that same night. Fifty thousand kronor went missing from Jakob’s family’s house. After the landslide, the money was found at Killian’s place. But if it was Killian, why didn’t he take it with him when he left? He could have used it.”

“You mean someone might have put the money there after the fact?”

“It’s just never made any sense to me. What if it wasn’t Killian, but…well, what if it was Jakob who killed Mikael, what if he’s the one who set off the dynamite at the Söderströms’ and caused the landslide? What if the dog took a bite out of his shirt? He might haverealized it would get out eventually, so he held on to the shirt to frame someone else—someone who can no longer defend themselves.”

“Sounds pretty convoluted,” Vidar said. “Why would he do that?”

“For the money? I don’t know. For Felicia, maybe?”

“Felicia?”

But Sander didn’t say more; instead he gazed at the park, toward the Nissan and its still, cool waters, past the bike trail.

“Is that the sun coming up?”

“Yes,” Vidar said. “It is.”

They got up and walked back toward the station.

“By the way,” Vidar said, before they parted ways. “What did you wear?”

Sander stared at him, puzzled. “What?”

“Did you used to wear flannels back then?”

Sander regarded him for a long time. “Yes, on occasion.”

“On occasion,” Vidar repeated, like he was testing the truth content in his mouth.

“But never one like that.”

“Good to know.”

67

He drove home to Marbäck, got a few hours’ sleep, then woke up and kissed Patricia, who was dozing in one of the loungers in the yard. They had met when they were young and had one child, Amadia, who had moved out several years ago now and would be starting an architecture program at the university down in Lund in the fall. Until then, she was living in town, which meant Vidar and Patricia had their big house in Marbäck all to themselves. Most of the time it was cozy and quiet there, but Vidar would have loved to start days like this one by hugging his daughter.

Instead, he sat down on the lounger next to Patricia’s and spent some time just relaxing in the sunshine.

“How’d it go yesterday?” she asked.

“Iffy. We’re going to have our work cut out for us.”

She reached out and stroked his cheek with a gentle smile. “You’ll figure it out. You always do.”