‘It’s because you either won’t or can’t free yourself from your mother in order to live your own life. I’m not saying that you should ignore her completely, but you need to see less of her. Not let her take up so much of your time. But you refuse to listen to me, and I don’t want to do this any more. I give up. You think she’s more important than I am. You think of her as the most important member of the family, not me and Daniel. I’ve been disappointed so many times, and it’s never going to change. I’ve been over and over this in my mind, thinking that we should stay together for Daniel’s sake, but I’ve decided that it’s not good for him if things are so bad between you and me. Children notice that sort of thing. We can share taking care of him. It’ll be fine. He can stay with you every other week. The important thing is that we remain friends even though we split up.’
The words poured out of her, as if she had planned in advance exactly what she wanted to say. Practised, as if she were giving a bloody speech. I sat there paralysed. Her words rolled over me like tanks, crushing me.
‘I’ve been thinking about this for a long time, and now I’ve made up my mind. This isn’t going to work any more,’ she repeated. ‘I’m going to stay with Sanna tonight. I’ve already packed a suitcase.’ She nodded towards the front hall. ‘We’ll talk more about this tomorrow. I’ve taken a few days off from my job, and I’m going to take Daniel with me so you can think about things in peace and quiet.’
She squeezed my hand again, as if asking for my approval. Wanting to know that I agreed. That I wanted the same thing. My lips felt dry; they refused to move. Not a word came out of my mouth. When she closed the door I was still sitting on the sofa in the exact same position, staring dry-eyed at the blank TV screen.
And at my shattered world.
THE PLANE LANDED at Bromma airport at five thirty. Jacobsson had instantly agreed to go to Stockholm with Knutas, which made him happy. Whenever it was necessary to conduct sensitive interviews, it was best to have a colleague along, especially someone he trusted. And he didn’t know the officers in Stockholm very well. He’d been in contact with Mikaela Hammar’s husband to warn him that they would be paying his wife a visit the following day. That was fine, even though she was expected home from her trip to South America that same day. Her plane was due to arrive at seven in the morning. Knutas and Jacobsson were going to rent a car and drive out to Vätö, which was about a hundred kilometres from Stockholm. They agreed to meet with Mikaela around noon.
The setting sun cast a crimson glow over the capital. Their taxi crept its way through the city streets. The rush-hour traffic was heavy, so they had plenty of time to look out of the window. Everywhere they saw people sitting at outdoor cafés and restaurants.
‘I can’t believe there are so many people. It’s way too crowded,’ said Knutas.
‘Pretty soon it’s going to look like this in Visby too.’
Jacobsson gave him a crooked smile. She seemed more relaxed than usual.
The cab dropped them off at a grand-looking building on Kornhamnstorg in Gamla Stan, the old part of the city. Surrounding the square, like beads on a necklace, were countless outdoor restaurants filled with people dressed in summer attire who were enjoying a drink as they sat in the fading sunshine after work. Right across from them was Skeppsbron where the ferryboat had just pulled away, headed for the verdant island and the zoo across the water. Near the Karl Johan sluice a few boating enthusiasts, getting a head start on the season, sat in their vessels, waiting to pass into the locks. From there their boats would be lowered to the water level of Saltsjön. They were probably going out to the archipelago for the weekend since the weather was so nice.
Knutas tapped in the code on the door of the block of flats. Then they took the lift to the fifth floor.
Knutas thought Simon Hammar looked younger than his thirty-three years, and he bore a striking resemblance to his mother. He was dressed in worn jeans and a wrinkled T-shirt.
‘Come in,’ he said listlessly, and he turned to lead the way.
It was a typical early-twentieth-century flat. The high ceiling embellished with plasterwork, the wainscoting which reached halfway up the walls and the hardwood floor all suited the style of the building. The rooms were lined up along one side, providing a fabulous view of both lakes, Mälaren and Saltsjön. Knutas and Jacobsson were amazed when they stepped inside the magnificent living room. They went over to the window to look at the view.