Dark Angel (Anders Knutas 6)

ending.’
    His voice faded. For a while none of them spoke. Simon lit another cigarette.
    ‘You don’t really think that you can fix things in her life so that she’ll be happy, do you?’ Jacobsson asked at last.
    ‘I guess I do. I’ve always thought that.’
    ‘Can I bum a smoke from you?’ asked Jacobsson. ‘And how about a cold beer? I’m going to open a window, whether you like it or not.’
    They stayed in that flat for several hours. Surprisingly enough, Simon decided to open up and tell them about all the difficulties he’d encountered, both in his childhood and more recently. Jacobsson proved to be very sympathetic, and she was the one who was able to encourage him to talk. Knutas mostly kept to the background, listening and watching. It was 9 p.m. by the time they left.
    As they took the lift down, Jacobsson looked at Knutas and said, ‘I don’t think it’s him.’

THE MINUTE I got on the commuter train to Nynäshamn, I knew. The end was near. Mutely I gazed at the landscape rushing past outside the window. The rolling hills, horse pastures, and fields of Södertörn.
    In Nynäshamn I got off, bought a newspaper and some chocolate biscuits at a kiosk, and then strolled down to the ferry terminal. It was an overcast day, and the sea looked forbidding. A strong wind was blowing at the dock, and I pulled up my jacket collar over the turtleneck of my sweater.
    The weather suited my mood. I was filled with foreboding. It had to end. The boat was half empty. The tourist season hadn’t really begun yet, and it was an ordinary weekday.
    I sat down on a deckchair and closed my eyes. I didn’t want to go to the cafeteria, even though I could have used a cup of coffee. But I had no desire to talk to anybody.
    I am empty of all feeling, spent, used up and broken down like an old tractor. All those ruined expectations, all the hysterical outbursts and insane demands that I’ve had to fend off for as long as I can remember. I have no right to my own life. That’s what I have finally understood.
    She is stronger. She has won. There is only one way that I can get rid of my tormentor, my own flesh and blood, the person who long ago brought me into this wretched life. I wonder why she even decided to give birth to me. Was it in order to torture me, suck all the life out of me, obliterate me? To pass the sins of the parents down to the children in a pattern that would repeat itself, etched into the family tree for all eternity? So that the children would be afflicted, one generation after another? Trying to keep them from having a real mother and father because you never did, you fucking bitch? No one is allowed to have anything that you never had. Your children aren’t allowed to have good relationships since you never did. Your children are trying to live decent lives, but you keep trying to stop them. You’re like a huge, malicious demon standing in the road, imbuing your children with the same hatred that fills you. And they are repeating the irrational pattern that you created.
    I refuse to play along any more. There is only one way to put an end to this. And it’s finally going to happen – what I have so long yearned for. But the realization doesn’t fill me with joy or anticipation. Only a deep and profound sorrow.
    I keep my eyes closed all the way to Gotland.

IT WAS A relief to get outside. Dusk had arrived, but the air was still pleasantly warm.
    ‘Let’s go get a bite to eat,’ Jacobsson suggested. ‘I’m starving.’
    They had booked rooms at a hotel near Slussen, so they decided to walk up to the Mosebacketerrasse restaurant. It was packed, but they managed to get a table all to themselves. Soon they were enjoying lamb cutlets and a bottle of red wine.
    ‘What makes you so sure that Simon isn’t the killer?’ asked Knutas as he dug into his food.
    ‘He just seems too unstable. Do you really think he could have got hold of some poison, and then cold-bloodedly murdered Viktor while a huge crowd of people were having a party upstairs? And after that, do you think he could have gone to Holmhällar and burned down his mother’s summer cabin where he’d spent his childhood summers? I think he seems far too weak to have done any of those things.’
    ‘Well, maybe you’re right.’
    ‘Katrina, his ex-girlfriend, says the same thing. He’d never be able to do that. Even if he might want to.’
    ‘OK, but that’s what the wives and girlfriends of criminals always say.
They never