Dark Angel (Anders Knutas 6)

on the edge of the bed. Nils had his back turned and pulled away until he was even closer to the wall. ‘What’s wrong?’
    ‘Nothing, I said. Leave me alone. Get out of my room.’
    ‘But, Nils.’ Knutas gently touched his son’s head. ‘Won’t you tell me what’s going on?’
    ‘Cut it out.’ He pushed his father’s hand away. ‘Just leave me alone,’ he snarled, his voice cracking.
    ‘But I bought pizza for dinner.’
    ‘I’ll be down in a minute,’ said the boy, his tone now much less aggressive.
    Feeling powerless, Knutas left the room. Pushed away again. Locked out. There was nothing he could do about it. He couldn’t very well force Nils to open up to him if the boy didn’t want to. That sort of thing had to be based on trust.
    Disappointed, Knutas went down to the kitchen and began setting the table. He was so respected and decisive at work, but his teenage children regarded him as a pitiful old man. He really had no clue how to deal with them. At the same time, he felt hurt and sad. Don’t they like me? he thought.
    He heard the stairs creaking. Petra came into the kitchen. As if she sensed how he was feeling, she gave him a brief hug.
    ‘Sorry, Pappa. But I was on the phone, and it was a really sensitive conversation.’
    ‘Anything you want to tell me about?’ he asked cautiously, encouraged by the meagre gesture of affection that she’d shown him.
    ‘Alexander died.’
    ‘What did you say?’ Knutas felt an icy stab in the pit of his stomach. He stared at his daughter, uncomprehending.
    Slowly it sank in that what she had said was true. All hope was gone. Then his brain began whirling like a centrifuge filled with questions. He immediately thought about Alexander’s mother, Ingrid, and his sister, Olivia.
    ‘I was talking to Olivia on the phone,’ said Petra, her eyes brimming with tears. ‘They just found out. She’s completely devastated. I promised to go over to see her after dinner.’
    ‘I didn’t know you were such good friends.’
    ‘We are now. After what happened over the past few weeks.’
    Again it occurred to Knutas how little he knew about his children these days.
    Nils came into the kitchen to join them.
    ‘Do you know what’s happened?’ Knutas asked. ‘Do you know that Alexander is dead?’
    Nils and his sister exchanged glances.
    ‘Yes,’ said Nils without looking at his father.
    They ate dinner in silence. Knutas didn’t know what to say, other than to reiterate how awful it was, and that he felt terrible for Alexander’s mother and sister.
    The case had largely been solved, with three sixteen-year-old boys under arrest, charged with aggravated assault. Now the charge would have to be changed. All three of the boys denied involvement, but the evidence was against them. Alexander’s blood was found on their clothes and shoes, and a couple of witnesses among the crowd of kids that had been present at the time had dared to single them out.
    It’s not just the fact that assault cases are becoming more frequent and severe, and increasingly involve younger kids, thought Knutas. But people are also less willing to testify.
    It was an alarming development.
    After dinner both children left the table and went out to the hall to put on their shoes.
    ‘Are you both going out?’ Knutas asked as he filled the dishwasher.
    ‘Yes,’ they answered in unison.
    ‘Where are you going?’ he asked Nils.
    ‘He’s coming with me to see Olivia,’ Petra said before her brother had time to answer.
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Oh, Pappa,’ said Petra, giving him a look of pity as she shook her head.
    The door closed after them.
    Knutas took a deep breath, sat down at the kitchen table, and picked up his mobile to call Ingrid Almlöv.

THE SWIMMING HALL was deserted when Knutas arrived the following morning. He was there at six thirty when the doors opened, and for the first fifteen minutes he enjoyed the luxury of having the whole pool to himself.
    Nothing helped him to unwind as much as swimming. He powered his way through one length after another, his body moving mechanically as if steered by a robot. Clarity was restored to his brain in the calm water, in the silence whenever his head dipped below the surface. The news of Alexander’s death had temporarily pushed aside the perplexities of the homicide investigation. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what it must be like to lose a child. What if the same thing had happened to Nils or Petra? He hardly dared complete the