Dark Angel (Anders Knutas 6)

entirely as Knutas watched the Regional News programme on TV in the police break room that evening. The top story wasn’t about Viktor Algård but about the death that had resulted from the assault outside the Solo Club. He was deeply moved by the interview with the father of one of the witnesses, and the statements made by Alexander’s sister, the school principal and a few students. When he suddenly saw his own son appear on the screen, his breathing faltered.
    In a voice-over Johan Berg proclaimed: ‘Several young people were witnesses to the drama. One of them was Nils Knutas. Out of fear of reprisals, he previously hasn’t wanted to say anything about what he saw. But today he has decided to come forward.’
    Nils was shown standing at the scene of the assault, pointing to show where he and his friends had been, only a few metres away. They had watched as Alexander was severely beaten. None of them had dared intervene. He talked about his sense of guilt and about how scared he’d been, how powerless he’d felt. When the assault was over and the perpetrators had fled, he’d gone over to Alexander. He’d felt how faint the boy’s pulse was, and he’d seen all the blood. While his friends had phoned the police and the medics, he had simply walked away, leaving the scene without doing anything to help.
    ‘Why have you decided to talk about this today?’ asked Johan.
    His expression sombre, Nils looked straight at the camera as he replied: ‘Because of what Alexander’s sister, Olivia, said in the auditorium. If she has the guts to stand up there in front of hundreds of people and say what she knows, then how could I remain silent?’
    With that, the story was over. It was followed by a studio discussion with several participants. Knutas saw them through a fog, not taking in who they were or what they were saying. He sat on the sofa as if frozen, incapable of moving. Jacobsson, who was sitting next to him, patted him on the shoulder and got up without saying a word.
    After she left the room and closed the door, something happened that hadn’t occurred in years.
    Knutas wept.

KNUTAS OPENED THE door to his house on Bokströmsgatan, filled with a sense of doom. He was overwhelmed by despair. For weeks Nils had kept quiet about having been a witness to the assault. Knutas didn’t know whether it was his role as a father or as a police officer that had prevented Nils from confiding in him. Or which was worse.
    He had tried to phone Lina, but he got only a busy signal on the landline, and she hadn’t answered her mobile.
    He hung his jacket in the front hall without calling out his customary ‘hello’. The TV was on in the living room. It was some kind of quiz show. Lina was sitting in a corner of the sofa with the reading lamp on, the newspaper spread open on her lap. She glanced up when he stepped into the room.
    ‘Hi, sweetheart,’ she said gently. ‘Come over here and sit down.’
    He realized at once that she’d seen the Regional News report.
    ‘Where’s Nils?’
    ‘Upstairs in his room.’
    ‘Have you talked to him?’
    ‘No. I wanted to wait for you.’
    Knutas shouted at the top of his lungs: ‘Nils!’
    ‘Calm down,’ Lina urged her husband. ‘This isn’t easy for him either.’
    Knutas chose to ignore her. He was glaring at the stairs. He heard a door slowly open, and then a voice said: ‘What is it?’
    ‘Come down here.’
    ‘But I’m doing my homework.’
    ‘Get down here this minute!’
    Nils appeared at the top of the stairs. His face was pale, his expression serious, his curly red hair more tousled than usual. His T-shirt was wrinkled and there were holes in the knees of his jeans.
    ‘What is it?’
    ‘Don’t play dumb with me. Come down here.’
    Knutas immediately regretted the harsh tone he’d taken, but it was too late now.
    Knutas led the way into the living room, turned off the TV and sank down on to the sofa next to Lina. He motioned for Nils to sit on the armchair across from them. Anger overtook the sorrow he felt at not having the right expertise to deal with the situation. He felt as if he were adrift on an ice floe, floating on some distant, ice-cold and bottomless sea.
    ‘Can you explain to me and your mother why you haven’t said a word to us this whole time about being a witness when Alexander was assaulted? Yet the minute a reporter waves a microphone in your face, you spill out the whole story as if you were getting paid to talk.’
    Nils gave