Unspoken

I said.”
    “And how often are you here?” asked Jacobsson.
    “Hm, what should I say? Twenty-five hours a day,” he said with a grin. “Well, practically every day. I’ve been trying to take at least one day off every other weekend. I do have a wife and kids, too—I can’t just live at the stable.”
    “How well do you know Fanny?”
    “Not very well. She doesn’t exactly welcome contact. I always have so much to do that I can’t just sit around chatting with all the young girls who come here.”
    Why didn’t Ekholm repeat the questions when Jacobsson asked them? Knutas found it enormously annoying.
    “Where do you live?” Jacobsson went on.
    “Right nearby. We’ve taken over my father’s farm. Well, my father still lives there, in the guesthouse.”
    “Does your wife work at the stable, too?”
    “Yes, she does. We have six full-time employees, and she’s one of them.”
    “How is the work divided up?”
    “We all help each other, training the horses and taking care of them, and lending a hand around the stable. It’s a full-time job all year-round, even when the racing season is over.”
    “We’d like to talk to everyone. Can you arrange that?”
    “Sure, no problem. Right now it’s just me and Jan, I’m afraid. But later in the day, or tomorrow.”
    Knutas realized that he would have to ask one more question, just to see if the trainer had decided to stop repeating them.
    “How many others work at the stable? Girls who work for free after school, and so on?”
    “Girls who work for free after school, and so on? Well, we have quite a few of them. We used to have more, but it doesn’t seem to be as popular as it once was. Or else maybe they have too much homework lately,” said the trainer, giving Knutas a smile.
    As they left the coffee room, Jacobsson noticed that her colleague’s expression was as dark as a thundercloud.
    The interview with the stable hand, Jan Olsson, went better.
    The man was slightly older than the trainer, maybe forty-five, Knutas guessed. He was darker than most Swedes. Brown eyes that were almost black, distinct eyebrows that grew together, and a stubble that looked to be several days old. Wiry and muscular from years of working with horses. Not an ounce of fat on his body—that was evident from the shirt and dirty pants that he had on. He was not wearing a wedding ring. Knutas wondered if he lived with anyone but decided to wait to ask that question. Instead, he asked him to tell them once again what happened when Fanny left the stable. Olsson gave the same account as had been recorded in the previous report.
    “Try to recall any details you can,” said Knutas. “Anything that might seem insignificant could actually be important.”
    Jan Olsson ran his hand over the stubble on his face. He made a very frank and sympathetic impression.
    “No, I really can’t think of anything. She takes care of the horses and doesn’t usually talk much. When she came back from her ride, she was happier than I’ve seen her in a long time. Her eyes were actually shining. After grooming Calypso and taking care of the harness, she said good-bye and left on her bike.”
    “What do you think might have happened to her?”
    “I don’t think she committed suicide, at any rate. She was much too happy and upbeat when she left here. I have a hard time imagining her going off to kill herself.”
    “How well do you know her?”
    “Quite well, I think. She seems to like being here, but I understand that she doesn’t have an easy home life. She’s always in a hurry to rush home because she has to take the dog out. As I understand it, her mother is rather difficult, but I’ve never met her.”
    “Has Fanny ever talked about any friends or anyone she hung out with?”
    “She doesn’t seem to have any friends, since she spends all her time over here. Those of us who work in the stable are much older. Although she sometimes talks to Tom, who works in the next stable.”
    “Is that right?”
    “I’ve seen them talking to each other on the stable hill once in a while. They seem to get along. Fanny isn’t exactly the most open person, so I notice when she talks to anyone.”
    “Are they the same age?”
    “God, no. He must be thirty, at least. He’s American but I think he’s lived in Sweden for a long time. You can tell because of the way he speaks Swedish.”
    “What’s his last name?”
    “Kingsley.”
    “And how long has he worked here?”
    “At least a year,