The Blood Spilt by Åsa Larsson Read Free Book Online Page B

attempted to say something, but Gustav was wailing like a siren. Anna-Maria tried to bribe him with her car keys and cell phone, but everything was sent crashing to the floor. He’d started stripping the rubber plant and he wanted to finish the job. Anna-Maria tucked him under her arm and stood up. The meeting was definitely over.
    “I’m putting in an advert,” she said through clenched teeth. “Free to good home. Or ‘wanted: lawnmower in exchange for thriving boy aged eighteen months, anything considered.’ ”
    * * *
    Sven-Erik walked out to the car with Anna-Maria. Still the same old scruffy Ford Escort, he noticed. Gustav forgot his woes when she put him down so that he could walk by himself. First of all he wobbled recklessly toward a pigeon that was pecking at some scraps by a waste bin. The pigeon flew tiredly away, and Gustav turned his attention to the bin. Something pink had run over the edge; it looked like dried vomit from the previous Saturday. Anna-Maria grabbed Gustav just before he got there. He started to sob as if his life was over. She shoved him into his car seat and slammed the door. His muted sobs could be heard from inside.
    She turned to Sven-Erik with a wry smile.
    “I think I’ll leave him there and walk home,” she said.
    “No wonder he’s making a fuss when you’ve done him out of a snack,” said Sven-Erik, nodding toward the disgusting bin.
    Anna-Maria pretended to shrug her shoulders. There was a silence between them for a few seconds.
    “So,” said Sven-Erik with a grin, “I suppose I’ll have to put up with you again.”
    “Poor you,” she said. “That’s the end of your peace and quiet.”
    Then she became serious.
    “It said in the papers that she was a bluestocking, arranged courses in self-defense, that sort of thing. And yet there were no marks to indicate that she’d struggled!”
    “I know,” said Sven-Erik.
    He twitched his moustache with a thoughtful expression.
    “Maybe she wasn’t expecting to be hit,” he said. “Maybe she knew him.”
    He grinned.
    “Or her!” he added.
    Anna-Maria nodded pensively. Behind her Sven-Erik could see the wind farm on Peuravaara. It was one of their favorite things to squabble about. He thought it was beautiful. She thought it was ugly as sin.
    “Maybe,” she said.
    “He might have had a dog,” said Sven-Erik. “The technicians found two dog hairs on her clothes, and she didn’t have one.”
    “What sort of dog?”
    “Don’t know. According to Helene in Hörby they’ve been trying to develop the technique. You can’t tell what breed it is, but if you find a suspect with a dog, you can check whether the hairs came from that particular dog.”
    The screaming in the car increased in volume. Anna-Maria got in and started the engine. There must have been a hole in the exhaust pipe, because it sounded like a chainsaw in pain when she revved up. She set off with a jerk and scorched out on to Hjalmar Lundbohmvägen.
    “I see your bloody driving hasn’t got any better!” he yelled after her through the cloud of oily exhaust fumes.
    Through the back window he saw her hand raised in a wave.

 
    R ebecka Martinsson was sitting in the rented Saab on the way down to Jukkasjärvi. Torsten Karlsson was in the passenger seat with his head tilted back, eyes closed, relaxing before the meeting with the parish priests. From time to time he glanced out through the window.
    “Tell me if we pass something worth looking at,” he said to Rebecka.
    Rebecka smiled wryly.
    Everything, she thought. Everything’s worth looking at. The evening sun between the pine trees. The damned flies buzzing over the fireweed at the side of the road. The places where the asphalt’s split because of the frost. Dead things, squashed on the road.
    The meeting with the church leaders in Kiruna wasn’t due to take place until the following morning. But the parish priest in Kiruna had phoned Torsten.
    “If you arrive on Tuesday evening, let me