Page 90 of The Living and the Dead

Siri’s phone was on the bureau. She picked it up and checked something. “You think the murders are related.”

“I think they might be.”

“You quit the force too, I heard,” she said.

“That’s right.”

“But then you came back.”

As if the man in front of her were a riddle she wanted to solve.

“Yes. Which I regret, on days like these.”

She tilted her head and smiled for the first time since his arrival.

“No, you don’t.” She looked around like she might see something in the barn that could help her make up her mind. “What I’d really like is for you to leave, but I realize you’re not going to. If I answer your questions as honestly and thoroughly as I can, will you be satisfied?”

“Honestly and thoroughly. Then I’ll leave. Agreed.”

She nodded.

“Go ahead.”

68

They sat in wicker chairs in one corner of the barn. A flourishing plant sat on the table between them. Vidar recognized it as elephant’s ear, one of the few plants he could name. Next to the pot were magazines about carpentry and interior design, all cheerful, hopeful cover photos. Vidar placed his black binder on top of them.

“I haven’t sat in a chair this comfortable in a while,” Vidar said.

“There’s no need to flatter me.”

“How did you come to be a carpenter?”

“It’s a long story. Or maybe not. The station in Oskarström closed in January of 2005, after a decision was handed down from Halmstad. I’m sure you knew that. I had already quit by then, must have been, what, two years before that? But right around the time it closed I ran into Gerd. She was packing boxes at the station and asked if we could grab coffee. Sure, okay, I said, but I was kind of reluctant.”

“What did she want?”

“Just to visit. Nothing in particular.” Siri’s gaze darted, just for a second. “I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life, really, all I knew was I never wanted to work for the police again. This was before I met my husband, before the kids. Authority-style work in general—Ididn’t really like it. Gerd said I was good with my hands, she had noticed that somehow, don’t ask me why. She suggested I try to take up some kind of craft. Weave rugs or whatever. That’s actually how itstarted. But I like a little noise too. Weaving was too quiet. Cabinet-making and furniture restoration is a good fit.”

Vidar felt the chair with one hand. Stable, hardy. As though time would only make it stronger.

“I imagine you charge good money.”

“Very good money. But I’m also really good at what I do.”

“I can imagine that too. Speaking of boxes…” Vidar knocked on his binder. “That stuff Gerd was packing up, I think I’ve unpacked it again. And unfortunately, Gerd isn’t around to talk to me.”

“So you want to ask me about them.”

Vidar couldn’t tell if this was a question or a statement. “What do you think happened?”

“When?”

“On the night Mikael Söderström was killed.”

A fragile silence. “What do you think?”

A good question. He’d been expectingit.