Dark Angel (Anders Knutas 6)

like a nobleman. His surname ought to be something more aristocratic, such as Knorring or Silfversparre, she thought.
    ‘So what did you do?’
    ‘Nothing. I just let him scream and shout and contact various authorities while I tended to my business. And he couldn’t touch me, which no doubt made the poor man even more frustrated.’
    ‘Why did your company go bankrupt?’
    Sten Bergström’s face took on a distressed expression.
    ‘Unfortunately a few parties got out of hand. There was a lot of trouble with drunken guests and brawls. It tarnished my reputation, and people began talking behind my back. My clients fled and my revenue dropped dramatically. Finally it all went to hell. It wouldn’t surprise me to find out that Viktor was behind what happened. But I didn’t have the energy to pursue that theory. And besides, I’d lost any desire to go on since I no longer had the confidence and trust of my clients.’
    Bergström suddenly looked as if he were in terrible pain.
    ‘I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to lie down,’ he said with a moan. ‘I can’t stay on my feet any longer. Is there anything else you’d like to know at the moment?’
    He pressed his hand to his lower back and then, with an effort, got down on his knees. The dog began whimpering.
    ‘Would one of you be kind enough to bring over a chair?’
    Jacobsson watched in astonishment as the elegant man lay down on his back on the floor and held up his legs. Knutas helped him to prop his feet on the chair so his legs were at a 90-degree angle to his body. Knutas knew exactly what was going on. Lina had suffered from intermittent back pain for years.
    The dog eagerly licked his master’s face, clearly happy to have him down at his own level on the floor. Bergström didn’t share his enthusiasm. He ordered the dog away and the Afghan immediately retreated to his basket, curling up with a sigh of resignation.
    ‘Thank you so much for your time,’ said Knutas. ‘We’ll get back to you if there’s anything more.’
    ‘You’re welcome,’ said Bergström faintly. He closed his eyes. ‘Goodbye.’
    As they left, closing the door behind them, the dog stared after them.

ALL OF TUESDAY passed with no progress in locating Veronika Hammar. By the time it was six thirty and Knutas realized that he’d been on the job for twelve hours straight, he gave up.
    There was nothing more he could do, and besides, he’d promised to take care of dinner. Lina was again working the night shift at the hospital and wouldn’t be back until the early morning hours. He stopped on his way home to buy pizzas. The children had each requested a pizza topped with fillet of pork and Béarnaise sauce. He shuddered when he ordered the food. How could anyone come up with such a combination? Pretty soon they’ll be serving pizzas with shrimp and sweet-and-sour sauce, he thought. Or a Thai pizza with chicken and red curry. And why not a dessert pizza with saffron in the dough, topped with almonds and raisins?
    As soon as he stepped inside, he could tell that something was wrong. The house was dark, with not a single light turned on.
    ‘Hello,’ he called from the hall. No answer. He set down the pizza boxes and went upstairs.
    ‘Hello,’ he called again. ‘Anybody home?’
    He opened the door to Petra’s room. The only light came from a pair of thick scented candles on a tray on the nightstand. Several sticks of incense in a porcelain jar were spreading a heavy musk fragrance through the air. On the computer screen he saw flickering images of scantily clad teenagers against the Manhattan skyline, while incomprehensible hip hop music thudded through the room. His daughter was lying on the bed with her legs stretched up against the wall, her eyes on the ceiling as she talked on her mobile.
    ‘Shhh,’ she hushed her father, gesturing with annoyance for him to leave the room.
    ‘It’s time for dinner and—’
    ‘Shhh!’
    Knutas closed the door. Feeling discouraged, he tried the next room. It was pitch black inside, but he could hear the crashing of hard rock music from his son’s iPod.
    ‘Hi,’ he said, switching on the ceiling light. ‘What are you doing?’
    Nils quickly turned to face the wall, but not before Knutas saw that his eyes were red. It looked as if he’d been crying.
    ‘What’s wrong?’ He took a few steps towards the bed.
    ‘Nothing.’
    ‘But I can see that you’re upset about something.’ Cautiously he sat down