Unspoken

walked down to the gate and opened it, then turned right, although she didn’t know why. She didn’t notice the neighbor family a couple of houses away who were talking and laughing as they climbed into their car and drove off. The mother waved to Emma but got no response.
    She felt empty inside, as if stunned. Her face felt rigid. What on earth had she done? Where should she go now? She couldn’t go back to her own house.
    The sports field next to the school was deserted. The wind was blowing from the north. She looked over at the main road where a few cars were driving past.
    When did the buses go into town on Sundays? She had never needed to ask that question before.

MONDAY, NOVEMBER 26
    The temperature in the sauna was 176 degrees Fahrenheit. Knutas filled a wooden ladle and tossed more water on the glowing hot stones. The temperature rose even higher.
    They had swum a mile and were more than satisfied. Once a week Anders Knutas and Leif Almlöv would go swimming together, at least in the wintertime. Knutas swam regularly at Solberga Baths during all seasons of the year. He actually preferred to swim alone. He always thought more clearly when he was in the water, swimming one lap after another. But this was a way for the two of them to meet. They had to put up with a good deal of joshing from their friends because they went to the swimming pool—something that was more typical for women. Men played tennis or golf together, or they went bowling.
    In the sauna they would discuss all sorts of daily trivialities, or just sit in utter silence. That was the sign of a good friend, Knutas thought. He didn’t care for loud people who insisted on jabbering incessantly, even when they had nothing sensible to say.
    Knutas described Lina’s birthday fiasco, which gave Almlöv a good laugh. They would never completely understand women—they could certainly agree on that.
    They had sons the same age, and they talked about the problems of puberty that had started showing up. Their sons were classmates and friends. A week or so ago Almlöv had discovered them smoking in secret. It turned out that they had lit a couple of old cigarette butts. Almlöv’s son, who wore his hair long—to the dismay of his parents—had managed to burn several locks on one side.
    They talked about their surprise at getting older, about the anxiety of bulging stomachs and slack muscles, about getting gray hair on their chests. Knutas didn’t think about old age and death very often, but sometimes he noticed how life seemed to be running away from him, and then he would wonder how much time he had left. He pictured himself getting older and older, with all the accompanying infirmities and immobility. How long would he be able to remain active? When he was thinking along those lines, he would start worrying about the fact that he smoked, although not much. Mostly he sucked on an unlit pipe, filling it and tending to it, but lighting it only a few times each day.
    Almlöv was struggling with the same anxieties, even though he didn’t smoke. He told Knutas that he had bought a home gym, and he was working out for an hour every morning. The results were quite evident, as Knutas noted with envy. He appreciated his friend’s candor and the fact that he could confide in him. But when it came to Knutas’s job, other rules applied. And Almlöv never asked him about his work. Even so, Knutas sometimes wished he could tell his friend about one thing or another. It was often good to talk to someone outside police headquarters, someone who had a different perspective. Lina was usually the one who served as his sounding board. She had helped him many times to think along new lines.
    It was eleven o’clock by the time Knutas arrived at his office. On his desk was a handwritten note from Norrby along with the transcription of an interview from the Uppsala police. The young woman who was with the witness at the harbor had been tracked down to an address there. Only one passenger of the right age and from that city had taken the boat on the day in question. Her name was Elin Andersson. The Uppsala police had apparently agreed to assist the investigative team by interviewing her over the weekend. She had conceded that she knew Niklas Appelqvist and that they had been together at the harbor on the morning of July 20 before she left. But she had not noticed anyone in particular down at the harbor. So it was as they had guessed—Dahlström’s young neighbor