It took a long time for her to express herself. “Once or twice. Hard for me.”
“Hard how?”
“Physically. But memories too.”
“Of course. I understand. Were you ever out in the garage? Do you remember what it looked like?”
“A little.”
“He had tools there. You know, shovels and rakes and so on. Do you remember that?”
“Yes.”
“What I’m wondering,” Vidar said, taking out a folder that held a photograph, “is if you recognize this.”
She looked at the picture. “House.”
“Yes, that’s right. We took this picture at Filip’s house.”
“Spade.”
“Yes.”
She didn’t say anything for a long time, only speaking up again just as Vidar was about to moveon.
“Garage?”
“Yes, it was in the garage.”
“Never sawt.”
That didn’t mean much. The spade had been in plain sight, but it was just one of many tools. Nothing that would catch the eye.
“Now I have another question. It’s about Filip and your husband, Karl-Henrik.”
He thought he saw Lillemor move suddenly. He couldn’t say if it had really happened or was just a flicker of his eye.
“Did the two of them ever discuss the landslide together?”
A sound like a strangled cough came from Lillemor’s mouth. She tried to say “Sten Persson.”
“It was Sten Persson,” Vidar said slowly. “That’s what they said?”
“Mm.”
“And do you think so too?”
A growing silence. Vidar waited.
“Who else?” she said at last—a good question, and it was his job to answerit.
At the tip of Vidar’s tongue was another name. Jakob Lindell. He wanted to float it as a question, to test the idea. But he couldn’t, it would be too risky, so he said nothing.
Vidar had accomplished all he came for. He looked at the crossword again.
“Free of clocks,” he said, counting. “Eight letters.”
After pondering for a moment, Lillemor replied, “Timeless.”
