Unspoken

grew. Not only did his mood get worse, his sleep was also affected. It was Sunday and the first day of Advent, but he was already awake by six o’clock. He had slept badly, with a hodge-podge of dreams. The dream images had merged into one another: Henry Dahlström with his head bashed in, Fanny Jansson wandering through the Botanical Gardens, Martin Kihlgård from the NCP chewing on pork chops served by Prosecutor Birger Smittenberg. Everything became jumbled together in his groggy mind, and he awoke exhausted, not knowing where he was or what time it was. He found himself staring at his wife’s ear and realized that the whole thing had been a dream. Maybe it was the wind that had made him uneasy. It was roaring and howling over the roof, whistling through the rain gutters.
    The weather had turned in the night. The wind was now coming from the north, and the temperature had dropped several degrees. Outside it was pitch dark, and snow was whirling in the gusty wind. Lina stretched out in bed next to him.
    “Are you awake?” she asked, sounding sleepy.
    “Yes. I was having such strange dreams.”
    “About what?”
    “I can’t really remember. It was just a mishmash.”
    “My poor boy,” she murmured, nuzzling the back of his neck. “It must be your work that’s getting to you. And look at this weather. Are you hungry?”
    She was mixing Danish words with Swedish. He liked to tease her by saying that she still sounded as if she had oatmeal stuck in her throat when she talked. But he had adopted quite a few Danish words and expressions himself, and the children spoke an odd blend of Gotland Swedish and Danish.
    When they sat down at the breakfast table he clearly noticed the pain. An aching, throbbing pain on the insides of his elbows, around his wrists, and at the backs of his knees, which confirmed the change in weather. It was a pain that he had lived with for as far back as he could remember. After the new weather conditions had gone on for a few days, the pain would vanish as quickly as it had appeared. There was no explanation for it, and no one in his family had experienced anything similar. By now Knutas was so used to it that he didn’t think much about it. It was worse when the weather changed from warm to cold, like today.
    He poured himself another cup of coffee. The uncertainty about Fanny Jansson was still gnawing at him.
    Some of his colleagues were guessing it was suicide. He didn’t believe in that theory, but as a matter of routine he had checked out several commonly used spots. One of them was Högklint outside of Visby, a steep precipice with a sharp drop to the sea below. But their search had turned up nothing.
    As for the murder of Dahlström, they had made no further progress. The investigation had come to a stand-still, and the only positive thing was that the media’s interest in the case had begun to wane.
    The impasse meant that Knutas could afford to take a day off and spend it with his family. Christmas was right around the corner. It was Shop Window Sunday, and they had made plans to meet Leif and Ingrid Almlöv to take a stroll downtown.
    Knutas had been looking forward to forgetting all about the investigation, but the Almlövs immediately started talking about it.
    “It’s so horrible, the story about that girl who’s missing,” Ingrid began as soon as they had said hello. “She works at the stable where my father has his horse, Big Boy. Actually, we own half the horse.”
    “We own it together, but your father is the only one who’s really interested. He was the one who wanted to buy it,” said Leif.
    “Well, it’s terrible, at any rate. What do you think has happened to her?” asked Ingrid, turning to Knutas.
    “It could be anything. Maybe she was in an accident, maybe she killed herself, or maybe she ran away from home. It doesn’t have to involve any sort of crime.”
    “But you think that it does?”
    Knutas didn’t reply. Lina jumped in and started talking about the Christmas decorations that had been put up all over town.
    The stores had made a real effort to create a holiday atmosphere. The wind had now subsided and the falling snow made everything look magical. Garlands of ever-green boughs were hung overhead between the buildings, and lights attached to the branches cast a warm glow over the streets. At Stora Torget, booths had been specially set up for the day, selling Christmas candy and handicrafts. Hot glögg and gingersnaps were available. The