Unspoken

He looked toward the racetrack, which was partially hidden in the cold and damp haze. The grandstands were barely visible through the mist.
    On both sides of the stable hill stood rows of stables. A solitary horse was jogging around in an enclosure. A steel contraption of some kind was keeping the horse on the path and regulating its pace.
    “It’s called a horsewalker,” said Jacobsson when she saw Knutas’s look of puzzlement. “Horses that aren’t going to be taken out riding can still get exercise. They may have an injury or be suffering from a cold or something else that means they shouldn’t be ridden as hard as usual. Ingenious, isn’t it?”
    She led the way into the stable.
    The horses had just been given their lunch feed, and the only sound was a pleasant munching along with an occasional stomping. Everything seemed very orderly. The floor was scrubbed clean, and the green-painted stalls were properly closed with locks. Halters hung on hooks outside each door. Shelves were filled with neat rows of supplies: bottles of liniment and baby oil, scissors, rolls of tape, hoof scrapers. Shin guards were stacked in baskets, along with rolls of binding tape, brushes, and other grooming tools. A barrel of sawdust stood in one corner. A black kitten lay on top of a feed box, sound asleep. In one window a radio was playing music at low volume.
    They had made an appointment to meet with Sven Ekholm, who was both the trainer and the owner of the stable, but he was nowhere in sight. A stable girl appeared and took them over to a closed door that led to a coffee room.
    Ekholm was sitting with his legs propped up on a round coffee table, talking on the phone. He motioned for them to sit down. Daylight was doing its best to penetrate through the dusty windowpanes. Spots of dried coffee marred the red plastic tablecloth. The table was covered with papers, stacks of racing newspapers, vitamin bottles, mugs, glasses, filthy riding shoes, rubber boots, and some threering binders. The ceiling was coated with spiderwebs. In one corner there was a kitchenette with a couple of hot plates, a dirty microwave, and a dusty coffeemaker. The walls were covered with finish-line photos of various horses, and a pile of dried roses lay on top of a cabinet. It wasn’t hard to see what took priority in the world of these people.
    Ekholm took his feet off the table and finished his phone conversation.
    “Hello, and welcome. Would you like some coffee?”
    They both said yes. Ekholm was a handsome man in his forties. He was muscular and moved with grace. His dark hair was tousled. He was wearing black pants and a gray turtleneck sweater. With some difficulty he managed to find clean cups, and after a moment they each had a cup of coffee; a plastic box of gingersnaps sat in front of them on the table.
    “Can you tell us about Fanny Jansson?” Jacobsson began. “We understand that she spends a great deal of her free time here at the stable.”
    Sven Ekholm leaned back in his chair.
    “She’s a smart girl who works hard. Not very talkative, but she has a good way with the horses.”
    “How often is she here?” asked Knutas.
    “How often is she here at the stable, you mean?” asked the trainer and then went on without waiting for a reply. “Probably four or five times a week, I would guess.”
    “When was she last here?”
    “Yes, when was she last here?” Ekholm repeated. “I think the last time I saw her was a week ago, maybe on Thursday or Friday.”
    “How did she seem?”
    “How did she seem?” Ekholm rubbed his chin. “I was busy driving, so I just said a quick hello. It might be better if you talked to the others in the stable—they spend more time with her than I do.”
    “Is Fanny paid for her work here?”
    “Is she paid? No, that’s how it is with stable girls, you know. They come here because they think it’s fun to be around horses. To groom them and take care of them. That’s how girls are at that age.”
    Sven Ekholm took a quick sip of coffee.
    “How long has Fanny been coming to the stable?”
    “How long has she been coming here? Hmm, maybe a year or so.”
    “Does she have a particularly good relationship with any of the employees?” asked Knutas, who was starting to get annoyed by the man’s tendency to repeat every question.
    “Any of the employees that she has a particularly good relationship with? Well, yes, that would be Janne. They seem to get along well. Otherwise she’s quite shy, as