Dark Angel (Anders Knutas 6)

thought. We need to take care of each other, he thought. While we’re still here. Everything can change in an instant.
    Knutas had talked with Ingrid, Alexander’s mother, on the phone for a long time last night. Both of his own children had chosen to sleep over at the Almlöv home, mostly for Olivia’s sake. He was touched that they cared so much and that they were capable of such empathy. At the same time, he was feeling guilty for having neglected Ingrid over the past few years. He hadn’t been in touch with her except right after the events that had led to her husband’s death. Then life had continued on. And now Alexander was also gone.
    He came to the end of the pool and turned, realizing that he’d lost count of how many lengths he’d already swum. He glanced up at the clock and decided it didn’t matter. Half an hour was enough. Two elderly women in bathing suits appeared at the edge of the pool and then climbed down the ladder, their legs dimpled and unsteady. They grumbled a bit and then with a titter sank down into the water, choosing the lane furthest away from Knutas, much to his relief.
    His thoughts returned to Veronika Hammar. Was she still on the island? He cursed himself for not detaining her immediately after that first interview. From the very beginning her explanation for not coming forward had seemed like a feeble excuse.
    They now had evidence that she had actually been at the crime scene, although she hadn’t mentioned it during the interview. Veronika Hammar might well be guilty of murder. The important thing now was to find her.

JOHAN WAS SITTING in the editorial office with a dull weight in the pit of his stomach. Over the past few days he’d been so focused on the murder at the conference centre that he’d put the assault case aside. Now that he’d received word of the boy’s death, he felt ice cold inside, and his heart ached. The sixteen-year-old had lost his life because of a completely meaningless dispute. What a shitty deal. Something that had lasted only a few seconds had put a halt to his future and destroyed his family’s life. The whole thing was the result of several kicks to the head. It was incomprehensible.
    At that moment Johan decided to concentrate all his efforts on the series of reports that he and Pia had planned about the current state of youth violence in Sweden – its causes and consequences, as well as what was being done to stop it from getting even worse. Later in the day they were expected to deliver a news story about Alexander’s death, along with a follow-up report on the Algård murder. At the moment talking about the boy’s death seemed more urgent.
    Johan was roused from his melancholy thoughts by Pia’s arrival. She didn’t say anything, just gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder as she walked past and noticed what was on his computer screen.
    They had coffee together and discussed the assault case.
    Alexander had been in his first year at the Rickard Steffen secondary school in Visby. They decided to start there.
    When Johan and Pia drove up to the school, they saw the flags fluttering at half-mast in the springtime sun. On the phone the principal had told Johan that the teachers would not be following the normal curriculum for the day. Instead, they would be talking about Alexander with their students. A memorial was planned for eleven o’clock in the school auditorium. They got there just in time. Every seat was already taken. It was clear that the students, teachers and other school staff members were not the only ones who had gathered. Parents and siblings were also present. Pia and Johan found room to stand at the very back of the hall. Traditionally the principal would have been the first to speak but, surprisingly enough, that was not what happened. When the lights went out in the auditorium, and a single spotlight shone on the stage, the audience saw a thin teenage girl standing there. She wore jeans and a black camisole under a pink hoodie. Her long dark hair fell loosely to her shoulders. Goosebumps appeared on Johan’s arms at her first words.
    ‘My brother is dead.’
    In a low, carefully controlled voice, Olivia Almlöv then spoke about her brother Alexander and what he had meant to her. How they had grown up together and what sort of things they had done – ordinary, everyday events. About Alexander’s interests and dreams for the future. How they had got ready for the party on that Friday evening, what they had