The Double Silence (Andas Knutas 7)

to get through to him. The police interview would have to wait until his condition improved.
    Next she thought about Beata and John. He was American, and shewas a red-haired, long-legged Barbie doll who seemed absurdly naive. Jacobsson had met them before since they belonged to Emma Winarve’s social circle. Five years ago she had questioned them in connection with the murder of Emma’s best friend, Helena Hillerström, who had fallen victim to a killer. They had also been friends with Helena. What a strange coincidence, mused Jacobsson, but her thoughts were interrupted by someone tapping her on the shoulder. She gave a start and turned around to see a man in his forties with a Dalmatian puppy on a lead. The man looked friendly and agreeable.
    ‘Can I help you with anything?’
    His hair was cut short and smoothed down with gel. He had a gentle yet manly face with high cheekbones, a distinctive jawline with the trace of stubble, and widely spaced eyes that were slightly slanted, which gave his face character. He had a sensitive mouth, which looked both resolute and tender in a way that made him seem unusually attractive to Jacobsson. His voice was dry and a bit gruff. She was surprised by her own reaction, feeling almost weak at the knees as she stood there. The puppy leaped around her, wagging its little tail. She squatted down and let the dog jump up and lick her face.
    ‘Oh, what a sweet little guy,’ she exclaimed. ‘How old is he?’
    ‘Nine weeks. I just got him.’
    ‘He’s fantastic. He really is. What’s his name?’
    ‘Baloo. Like the bear in
The Jungle Book
.’
    Jacobsson stood up and looked at the man.
    ‘Do you live around here?’
    ‘Yes. Over there, in the last house. The yellow one.’
    She saw a lovely wooden house with white trim set slightly back from the street. The property was surrounded by a tall lilac hedge.
    Jacobsson showed him her police ID and introduced herself.
    ‘Karin Jacobsson. Police detective.’
    ‘Janne Widén. Photographer. I know who you are. I recognized you.’
    Jacobsson noticed to her chagrin that her cheeks were hot. A grown-up woman, standing here and blushing.
    ‘Is that right? Well, I’m here with regard to the murders, you know.I was thinking of talking to some of the neighbours. Do you have a moment?’
    ‘Absolutely. I just need to give Baloo some water. He’s dying of thirst in this heat. Would you like to come over and have a cup of coffee?’
    Jacobsson hesitated for a few seconds. But why not? She might find out something important. And that’s why she was here, after all. To meet people in the area who weren’t connected to the group of friends.
    ‘OK.’
    They went through an iron gate between the lilacs. A grey sports car was parked in the drive. The man led the way around the side of the house. At the back was a wooden deck and a lawn facing the woods. There the lilac hedge continued, shielding the garden from view.
    ‘How lovely,’ said Jacobsson, and she meant it.
    ‘Thanks. Have a seat. Would you like coffee or something cold to drink, or both?’
    ‘I’d like something cold. Water would be fine.’
    Jacobsson sat down in one of the armchairs on the terrace. A large umbrella provided shade from the sun. The puppy was trying hard to jump on to her lap. Janne Widén quickly returned with a tray holding a carafe of iced water and two glasses. He set down a bowl for the dog, who eagerly began lapping up the water.
    ‘How long have you lived here?’ asked Jacobsson as she raised the frosty glass to her lips.
    ‘Over ten years.’ He gave her a crooked smile. ‘Just like everybody else, I moved here when the development was newly built. Back then I had a wife and kids, and we thought this place was perfect. Unfortunately, the marriage didn’t last. We got divorced five years ago. The children moved with my wife to the mainland.’
    ‘But you chose to stay here?’
    ‘I have my business here, and I love this house, in fact the whole neighbourhood, even though it might not seem like anything special to an outsider. But it has a particular atmosphere that makes it hard to move away.’
    ‘Atmosphere?’
    ‘Yes, a sort of community spirit, or whatever you want to call it. Everyone helps everyone else, and we all care about each other. You’re never alone unless you want to be. I thought that was especially nice after I got divorced. I was used to having a house full of kids and their friends, and suddenly it was empty. The