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  65. Acknowledgements

‘Lena, the man had no head.’

3

Lena locks the door and takes me back to her office.

‘Shit, I’m sorry,’ she says.

‘I feel for his family. Imagine having to identify the body? In that state, from the neck down?’

She squeezes her eyes together and shakes her head.

I take a deep breath. ‘I’m going to write it tonight.’

‘Get the details down then go home. Food and sleep, Tuva. Need you strong for tomorrow.’

I work for twenty minutes at my new desk, my fingers still shaking. With Sebastian and Lars in here with me during the day it’s ridiculously cramped. I’m next to Seb’s desk. He’s adopted my old one. His microwave-size PC is surrounded by photos of his family sailing, and one of him with some half-famous American singer I don’t recognise. My desk has no photos. One fancy new laptop that Nils won’t quit complaining about, and no photos whatsoever.

I say goodnight to Lena and drive to my new apartment. A little further out of town than I’m used to but I have a small balcony and an extra bedroom. Benefits of getting promoted.

Once inside I lock my door and peel off my wet outer clothes and heat up a microwave ping meal for one. Chicken tikka masala. Hardly any chicken. Not much tikka masala. The neighbours are arguing again next door. I’ve been here ten days and so far there have been ten very vocal arguments. Her talking sternly. Him shouting. I can’t make out the words through the wall but I get the gist. And I feel each door slam and each stamp of a boot. They have a young kid but I’ve never heard him make a noise. Hardly even seen him.

I throw the food carton in the bin and their argument escalates. I want to scream, ‘I saw a dead man today lying on a layer of wet moss. I saw his blood on the leaves and his hands curled up into claws.’ I want to yell at them about how I couldn’t find a pulse. How I couldn’t even find a face. But instead I remove my hearing aids and drop them in a tub of desiccant on my bedside table to dry out. Yeah, I may have a fancy new job, but these still cost almost a month’s salary.

Silence.

The relief is all-consuming. No screaming, although I can still feel my neighbours’ fury through the walls. Their frustrations and disappointments and exhausted, repeated, never-changing, never-compromising arguments. But all is quiet.

I think of their kid.

Their quiet boy.

I shower and sleep and wake with a dark and heavy realisation.

What if the killer was watching us last night?