“What the hell does that have to do with this?”
“I mean…everything.”
Sander stared at him, far too upset to absorb what Killian wassaying. Or was that exactly what he was doing? Taking it in, feeling how this knowledge changed shape and turned into fury and jealousy: Of course Killian knew, while he didn’t. Of course he and Felicia had conspired to hide it from him, from everyone.
Sander’s eyes widened. “Wasit you?”
Killian looked surprised. “Who did what?”
“Uh, Mikael! What the hell do you think?”
Killian averted his eyes.
“Just answer me!”
Killian gave up. “I guess maybe I should just leave right now.”
Sander sensed something new inside himself, a dark seed that had been planted within him long ago and was finally beginning to sprout. With all his might, he hurled the present against the wall. It made a dull thud and fell to the floor. Killian gazed sadly at the package but didn’t say a word.
“Because what else can you do, Killian? When you come to me, and I don’t help you, what do you do? Just run away. Go ahead, because you never could solve anything on your own. Don’t just stand there like a fucking idiot,leave,for Christ’s sake!”
Without a word, Killian glanced toward the car, his mother’s Saab, and all at once Sander could sense that everything around him was decaying, falling apart; how finally, now, his fate had turned as he stood with an adamant finger pointed straight at Killian’s chest, a command.
44
When Christmas Day dawned, it brought a tentative kind of sunlight that filtered gently through the trees.
Siri was standing next to Gerd out in Esmared, almost thirty kilometers from Skavböke, observing the wreck from a distance. She hadn’t gotten much sleep.
The resigned paramedics and firefighters took notes, filled out forms, and performed a few last routine measures. Slender tendrils of smoke were still rising from what had once been an old Saab.
“Merry Christmas, or whatever, although I hadn’t expected to see you again so soon.” Gerd stomped in place on the asphalt to keep her feet warm. “You were right. Yesterday. About the blood sample.”
“I just felt like I needed to speak up. Hope you understand.”
Gerd nodded. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
And it’s a little late now,Siri thought.
Gerd made a face. “What a terrible smell.”
“Is it him, do you think?” Siri could hear how weak her voice was.
“The smell?”
“In the car. Do you think it’s him?”
“I hope not.”
—
Many rumors circulated, in the following days, about Killian’s death.
That he’d been drunk or that he’d had some sort of breakdown; that the accident outside of Esmared, right where Halland became Småland, was caused by some problem with the car. Or that fate had simply caught up with him at last, and that was that. The darkest theory said it wasn’t an accident at all, really, because someone had drained the brake fluid earlier that evening and turned Linda Persson’s old Saab into a death trap. Frans Ljunggren had noticed suspicious stains on the gravel road outside Linda’s house the next morning, perhaps from a leak.
Whatever the case, Killian had been spotted on the night between Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. He was behind the wheel of his mother’s Saab, speeding out of Skavböke. It was obviously Killian: he was recognizable by his blond hair and the scab like a thick, black swipe of marker over his nose. He seemed to be heading south, according to Isidor Enoksson, who had just finished talking to his sister on the phone and had gone out to throw away the trash from the Christmas smorgasbord. It was a few minutes before twelve thirty when he saw the car, which had taken a left after passing through Årnilt and headed down the old road toward Råmebo and Breared, and on toward Simlångsdalen.
