The Double Silence (Andas Knutas 7)

do with Strindberg’s novel of the same name.
    He switched on the ceiling light and went in. The purple-coloured carpet was soft under his feet; the walls were inviting with their warm,rust-red colour. It was the biggest room in the flat, and was most likely intended to be the living room. He had placed the water bed in the centre, and the ceiling was covered with mirrors. In each corner stood a pillar sprayed gold and topped with a scented candle and incense burner. The opposite wall was papered with photos of her. Naked on the bed, seminude in the garden on the other side of the hedge, fully dressed with the children outside the Coop Forum.
    He was going to bring her here, and they would re-experience what they’d once had. It would be even better than before. If only he could manage to persuade her, if only she would allow him near her again, then she would realize it was here she belonged. In the Red Room. With him and no one else. And now he had taken a definite step closer to his goal. A very important step. Pleased and filled with confidence he opened his bag and took out another stack of photos.
    Then he began tacking them up on the wall, one after the other.

JACOBSSON AND KIHLGÅRD decided to have lunch at the Kuten restaurant, which was right across from where the ill-fated Terra Nova group had stayed.
    Kihlgård looked astounded as Jacobsson pulled into the small car park near the road and stopped next to an old American Ford Falcon. They could hear fifties rock music as soon as they got out of the car. Playing on the restaurant jukebox was Little Gerhard’s big hit, ‘Buona Sera’.
    ‘What a place!’ he exclaimed. ‘It takes me right back to the fifties.’ He pointed at a sign above the entrance. ‘What an original name for a restaurant.
Kuten
,’ he said. ‘Doesn’t that mean seal pup?’
    Jacobsson shrugged.
    ‘I have no idea.’
    Inside the restaurant a genuine French chef was busy making crêpes. Kihlgård exchanged a few words with him in his native tongue. They ordered lunch and managed to find a free table. It was stifling inside, and Jacobsson felt a band of pressure on her forehead.
    ‘I can tell we’re in for a thunderstorm before tonight.’
    As soon as the food appeared, they both fell silent. Kihlgård was so preoccupied with his fragrant crêpe filled with salmon that he couldn’t talk. Only when his plate was empty did he feel like conversing.
    ‘That was fantastic,’ he said. ‘Don’t you agree? So crisp. And what flavour! You can tell that the chef is a real expert.’
    ‘Yes, but it’s incredibly rich.’ Jacobsson put down her fork. She’d eaten only half of her crêpe.
    ‘A real Frenchman, too,’ Kihlgård went on with satisfaction. ‘You can always tell when something is genuinely French.’
    Kihlgård’s weakness for France was well known, and a couple of years earlier he had told his colleagues that he had a French boyfriend. Jacobsson assumed that they were still together. She and Kihlgård liked each other on a professional basis, but they almost never talked about anything personal.
    She studied her colleague, unable to ignore his hungry glances. Swiftly she shoved her plate over to his side of the table.
    ‘I’m done. Have the rest if you like.’
    Kihlgård looked like a child on Christmas Eve.
    ‘Really? Thanks.’
    After lunch they found their way out to Arne Gustavsson’s place. He ran a farm in Hammars and lived close to Valter Olsson’s cabin. They declined the offer of coffee since they were starting to run out of time. A dog barked from an enclosed dog run. They sat down in the yard, and Gustavsson told them how Stina had ridden past on her bicycle a week ago, on Saturday afternoon.
    ‘Do you recall what time it was when you saw her?’
    ‘It was sometime after three o’clock, but no later than four. I’m afraid I can’t be more exact than that.’
    ‘How did she seem?’ asked Jacobsson.
    ‘I didn’t see much because she was going so fast. She rode past my house, with my dog barking after her. I think she wanted to get away as quickly as possible. My dog can seem a bit scary.’
    ‘Then what happened?’
    ‘I called after her, trying to get her to stop, but she just kept going. Then she disappeared.’
    ‘And you didn’t see her again?’
    ‘No, I didn’t.’
    ‘Did you notice anyone following her?’
    ‘No. Although I didn’t stand there to watch. I was busy with my own things. There’s always work to do here on the