Göran grins again. ‘I’m probably too stupid to be afraid. Or maybe I feel safe because my little business attracts customers from all over northern Skåne. Helps to put Nedanås on the map, so to speak. And if there’s one thing you can say about Bengt Andersson, it’s that he really cares about the community. To the point of obsession, if you ask me.’

*

Anna stands on the step watching the van until it is swallowed up by the forest. She is trying to fit the new pieces of the puzzle with the ones she already had. Henry Morell never mentioned a garage fire at Änglaberga, even though it seems to have happened in connection with Simon’s death. Why not? And why does the incident still make people so uneasy? Twenty-seven years have passed. And perhaps even more importantly: why is she so interested? The whole thing started as a way of getting closer to Agnes through finding out more about the fascinating mural and its history, but even though she now knows the background, and has plenty of her own concerns to think about, she can’t let the case go. The mural and the visit to the quarry have touched something within her, in a way that she can’t really explain.

Chapter 22

22

28 August 1990

Alex had gone down to the turning area. He was drunk and stoned, and as he reached the lower part of the slope he stumbled and fell to the ground head first. A sharp pain in his knee took his breath away. He scrambled to his feet, brushed off the dirt and tentatively flexed his leg. The pain gradually subsided. He let out a long breath, his cheeks burning with embarrassment as he glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one had seen him. The whole evening had gone wrong, and he didn’t really understand how. Carina, talking about going away without him. Bruno, wandering around like a lost soul. Marie, getting drunk and throwing up. Fucking Joe, winding him up all the time, and his hot sister who for some incomprehensible reason didn’t seem to be impressed by Alex at all. And then there was Simon, who’d suddenly become the hero of the hour. Alex took a few uncertain steps towards the trees and started fiddling with his zip.

The night of their graduation from high school, the strangest feeling had come over him. Without any warning he’d started sobbing helplessly; he’d locked himself in the toilet so that no one would notice. He’d blamed it on too much bubbly and the ensuing drunken sentimentality, but the same thing had happened a couple of times since then. Tonight, the feeling was back, and twice as strong – the feeling that everything was slipping through his fingers. Tears burned behind his eyelids. The next step was snivelling, followed by sobbing. He had no intention of going down that road. Not tonight.